#The Little Sure Shot of the Wild West | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vallification · 5 months ago

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In My Heart You Pay No Rent

Pairing: cowboy!gojo x reader

TW/CW: historical inaccuracies, smut, outdoor sex, first times, mention of guns, alcohol, MDNI

Too obstinate and infatuated with a dastardly outlaw to bend to the will of your father, you head to town to find the target of your distant affections, a sharp-tongued cowboy with a long list of charges decorating his reputation.

This work is part of the "Slow It Down, Cowboy" AU, a collaborative effort with @slutshamethesquirrels. Read its sister work, "All The Sweet Tea In Carolina" here.

The wild, wild west was aptly named, given the plethora of things bound to go awry in the massive stretches of empty land between each isolated township. Terrain, storms, animals, vagrants, vagabonds, money-hungry city folk swarming in droves to strike oil, and, of course, outlaws. Some days you’d see well-groomed, mild-mannered, decent gentlemen dressed to the nines strolling to the bank to make a deposit, and others you’d see sweat-soaked, sharp-tongued, wild cowboys dressed in grimy leather storming out of that bank with those gentlemen’s cash. Of course, the township’s staggering number of law enforcement officers (three)(including the sheriff) would chase after those slimy vandals, but that always ended in either a sprained ankle, a see-through hat, or a funeral.

However, as the surrounding communities began to flourish into cities, you began to see less and less of those outlaws. Daddy would mutter something about how it’s damn time, how sick to bastard death he was of those ruffians hanging around your good, decent town, how lucky you were that one of those good-for-nothin’s never thought to heave you up over his shoulder and ride off with you, because you still weren’t married, and had no one but your old Daddy to keep you safe.

Suitors, courtship, marriage, suitors, courtship, marriage, babies, suitors, courtship, marriage, babies, lawfully wedded and married and holy matrimony and blah, blah, blah. He raised you right, you were ladylike enough, you looked just like your mother, why were you so hard to marry off? You were so damn tired of that conversation, and you had begun to make it known, remembering the first time you turned your nose up at a potential romantic proposition like it was yesterday. Your poor old Daddy called you to the porch, and you were sure he’d pop something by the way he turned so red.

“The banker’s son’s coming from town tomorrow,” He mentioned, passive and gentle as he puffed on his cigarette.

“So?” You said, hip jutted out to rest against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Daddy shot you a warning glare, but as his one and only little girl, you knew it’d only ever be just that: a warning.

“He wants t'marry you. He’s got a good daddy, a good mama. Some money. More money ‘n us if you can believe 'at,” Puff, “He can take care of you.”

“I’d rather wear a potato sack on m'head than marry that man.”

It only took two more times for him to throw his hands up in defeat. There wasn’t anything wrong with any of those men, they were decent enough, and they did have the means to take care of you, but it didn’t matter. No, you weren’t keen on marriage, or babies, or domesticity; what you were keen on was your every-other-monthly ride to town, snug in your nice go-to-town dress, much to Daddy’s dismay.

Technically, you weren’t doing anything wrong when you went to town. What was so wrong about waiting at the edge of town by the dirt road, under the big southern live oak, nose faux-stuck in a book, aching for a glimpse of that white head of hair hidden under the brim of a black cowboy hat? Was it a sin to watch his tall, broad, strong frame saunter down the road and into the bar? Was it a sin to imagine what his sun-tanned, dirty, sweaty skin looked like beneath his grimy, baby blue cotton button up?

Sometimes it felt like a sin, given the way you’d hide your face in your unread book to bite your lip and blush when he looked in your direction. You still lie awake at night, face flushed pink and hands over the blankets, reminiscing about the time those dangerous blue eyes flicked up and down your figure before they gave you a wink. That was the only time you felt brave enough to push Daddy’s limits to let you ride back to town early the next morning, under the guise of helping one of the elderly ladies with her cleaning, when in reality you were scoping the outskirts of town for his shiny black horse. If you saw it, well, that meant he stayed in place for at least one night. Sure enough, around the backside of the homely little inn, that black stallion stood tied.

You weren’t sure why you did it, at least not at the time, because it wasn’t like you’d ever get the chance to do anything with that information. He was a stranger, named a troublemaker in the paper, too, and you were locked away in that ranch house 5 miles down the beaten trail like a knightless, wild-west princess.

… That is, until Daddy’s got overnight business to tend to. With a bad storm rolling over the endless sea of grassy prairie, and some pretty sleazy cowhands, he forbids you to travel the 150 mile round-trip alongside him to help drive a fellow rancher’s cattle further uphill. You tut, whine, roll your eyes, and stamp your foot in protest, but oh, no, it’s just no use, sweetheart, Daddy says. It’s a miracle that little trick still works on him, or else he might’ve remembered it’s nearly time for your ride to town.

With a shotgun shoved in your hands and a kiss pressed to the top of your head, you watch Daddy ride off, standing barefoot on the porch. For the first time in forever, now grown and far braver than you were the last time, you’re by yourself; you’re freer than the summer breeze blowing through the trees, freer than a bird, freer than the water trickling in the crick at the other end of the pasture. It’s a secret, sweet victory, and in your glee you almost go running off the porch before realizing it’s probably a good idea to put the gun down first.

—

It’s close to 10 o’clock when you trot into town on your dark bay horse, Ace, dressed in the prettiest non-fanciful dress you own. Compared to your usual attire, with bustles, corsets, undercoats galore, it almost feels like a nightgown once you’re in the realm of the rest of the town folk. You figured it was better to dress down than up, though; if anyone was to spot you riding into town, your go-to-town dress would be your first identifier.

Daddy’s not the type of man to drain his money and life away in such a grimy place, and neither are his friends; well, maybe one, but he’s done so much money and life wasting in that saloon that you doubt he’ll recognize you. Or, if he does, you doubt he’ll remember. However, you find yourself hesitating to leave your horse, once he’s tied up next to the saloon.

The lively music playing from the shabby little building is so loud, loud enough for you to hear from where you stand… outside. Inside, people are yelling, laughing, singing, shouting, swearing, and you start getting the feeling that you really shouldn’t be here.

“God, ‘ve gotta piss like a fuckin’ racehorse.”

You snap your head in the direction the voice came from, but it’s too little too late. In the dim moonlight, you watch the man stumble ‘round the corner of the saloon, drunk hands popping open the button of his thick, canvas pants. “Don’t look, Blackjack, got my dick ou— oh, shit!”

“Wh— I-I, um,” Stammering, you whip around and squeeze your eyes shut (although it’s far too late for that to do anything), your legs immediately carrying you back to your horse’s side. There’s no mistaking the snow-white hair peeking out from underneath the brim of that black hat, and you’re utterly mortified.

“Woah, sweetheart. Hang fire,” The stranger drawls, the sound of fabric rustling behind you as he haphazardly tucks his shirt back into his now-buttoned pants. “Y’look awfully familiar, y’know.”

“I don’t believe I do,” You mutter, your back still turned to the outlaw as you work at the knot securing your horse to the wooden hitching rail. If you weren’t so flustered by the man’s presence, and the eyefull you got of what’s hidden in his pants, maybe the knot wouldn’t take so damn long to come loose.

“I said hold it, miss,” He emphasizes, hooking a finger into the ribbon at the back of your dress and tugging you away from the hitching rail. Without 100 feet of distance separating you, you realize just how much he towers over you, dwarfing you in comparison… However, you’re no regular, resigned, reverent little girl, and you’re not about to let a stranger—no matter how handsome—ragdoll you around. “‘S no mistakin’ you.”

“You’d better get your grimy hands off'a me, mister, or else,” you bite back, praying for his soul should his grip tear the bow off of your dress. He’s not pulling on it anymore, but he’s still got his finger crooked into the baby blue silk.

“Ooh, yer a mean ‘un, huh?” The man sneers, snorting at your pitiful attempts to wriggle away from him without ripping the shiny, delicate fabric. Bending down to meet your ear, he lowers his voice to something just above a whisper. “Or what?”

“You’ll find out, that’s what. Let go'a me.”

“Say, yer th’girl who sits under ‘at tree over there, ain’t ya? Watchin’ me?” Pointing a long, deathly still finger at the live oak tree, he turns his head to look at your scowling face. ��Well, ya don’t usually look at me ‘at way, but y’sure are her. I’d recognize ‘at hair anywhere, sweetheart.”

“If you don’t turn me loose m'gonna blow that finger clean off your hand, sir.” One final warning. He lets you go, not because of your threat, but because he wants to. It’d be a shame if he spoiled his fun so soon. Plus, the only person capable of blowing a finger clean off of his hand is himself.

“Thank you,” you mumble, glaring up at him when he returns upright, reaching behind you to make sure the ribbon is still tight, neat, and secure against your back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leavin' now.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, his voice yet again a smooth drawl, grinning ear to ear as he follows each of your steps back to your horse. “Y’can watch me for months but ya can’t gimme th’time t’introduce m’self?”

“Will you stop with that?” Punctuating your question with a hand planted on your hip, you look at him incredulously, using your other hand to jab a finger into his chest. Although your cheeks are bright pink in embarrassment, the night sky acts as your ally and disguises the girlish glow. “You— If I’d’ve known you were such a— a bastard I’d’ve saved m'self the trouble!”

“A bastard? Y’got quite th’mouth on ya, huh?” He laughs, his hand coming up to pick the hat off of his head as the other smooths his sweaty white hair back, bringing his hat to his chest so it doesn’t fall to the ground. “Quit yer caterwauling ‘n let me introduce m’self, please, ma’am, or I’ll hafta show ya a real bastard.”

From what you can tell, he is a real bastard, just the most charming bastard you’ve ever had the privilege of running into. The outlaw holds out his rough, calloused hand for yours, which you hesitantly give.

“Six Eyes Satoru Gojo, ma’am, ‘s a pleasure t’meet ya,” Satoru greets, bowing to place a kiss on the soft skin of your knuckles, only serving as fuel to the flames burning on your cheeks. You quickly take your hand away from his and hold it close to yourself. “But if ya’d like t’call me bastard, at’s okay too.”

You give him a once-over, humming in some semblance of approval at the newfound half-properness in Satoru’s behavior. That won’t last long, but you’re a lady after all, a lady who has been treated nothing but properly your entire life, which is exactly why you find yourself subconsciously wishing he’d get back to his dastardly act.

“Well, Six Eyes Satoru Gojo, I’ll be leavin' now,” You say flatly, trying to offset the fact that he’s got you wrapped around his finger already. It’s no use giving into the idea of staying, things have already gone further than they should have, and if you stay any longer you’re not sure you’ll know when to say when. Gathering a handful of your dress, you slip your foot into the stirrup at Ace’s side and heave yourself up into your saddle.

“Oh, for th’love of— After I introduced m’self s’ sweetly?”

Clop, clop, clop, is all Satoru hears in response as you back your horse away from the hitching post, throwing your hair over your shoulders and out of your line of sight.

“Awww, don’t leave m’lonely already, sweetheart! C’mon, I ‘on’t bite,” he calls to you as you slowly start your way back in the direction of your house. The back way, the way you came, just for extra insurance that you won’t be seen leaving the saloon. “Not ‘nless ya want m’to, at least!”

All he gets in response is a grin over your shoulder, and the same clop, clop, clop of Ace’s shoes against the dirt. Well, shit, Satoru thinks to himself as you ride away, almost walking back over to the doors of the saloon, but he’s found himself far too interested in the way your body shifts up and down in tandem with your horse’s steps. He takes one step towards the door, then swivels over to Blackjack, then the door, then Blackjack—

“Fuck, still gotta pee.”

After relieving himself, this time without flashing anyone, Satoru makes quick work of the knot tying Blackjack to the hitching rail and slings himself up into his saddle. No mind is paid to the poor waitress still waiting for his return in the dingy saloon, who’s eyeing the double-doors for his reappearance; no, he’s dead set on following your path into the horse-high grass, pulling Blackjack into a higher gear with the reins in his hands.

If you cared, you’d chastise yourself for walking the line of inappropriate behavior as an unwedded woman with a man you just met. If you cared, you’d scold yourself for taking your sweet time, for the slow trot you’ve kept Ace at when you could have hauled ass home. But you don’t care, not when you can hear Satoru’s horse almost pick up to a gallop behind you.

With one hand keeping his hat from flying off his head and one on the reins, Satoru races to close the gap between the two of you till he’s about 100 feet from you, slowing Blackjack to a trot. He hangs behind you once he’s caught up, matching your pace, watching you ride, pulling a cigarette and a match box from his stash in shirt pocket. Once it’s lit, he pinches out the match, tosses it over his shoulder, and pulls a drag from the cigarette between his lips.

“For bein’ s’hellbent on gettin’ away from me, y’ain’t very fast,” Satoru comments, smug as ever that he’s caught you—as if you weren’t trying to be caught— blowing smoke from the side of his mouth. He’s still watching the up down up down up down of your body in the saddle. “Y’got a name?”

“Not one y'need t'know,” you reply coolly. Somehow you can feel the weight of his blue gaze on your back, a type of audacity you’ve never experienced in all your born days, and it makes you blush. You’re glad he’s watching you from behind, not just to satisfy your itch for his attention, but also so he can’t see the girlish grin you can’t seem to fight off.

“Stubborn,” he tuts around his rolled cigarette, only tearing his eyes away from your backside to shake his head. “Sweetheart’ll work, then. How’s ‘at?”

“Inappropriate, really.” Another cool reply. Both of you know your feigned unaffectedness isn’t going to shoo him away; if anything, it’s pulling him in closer, making him more interested in getting you to drop that nonchalant act with each short, clipped comment.

“Where we goin’, sweetheart?” Satoru asks, tugging the reins till Blackjack gets him right beside you. He pulls another drag from the cigarette dangling between his lips before leaning over to you, pointedly blowing the smoke in your face.

You fake cough, bringing a hand up to erratically wave that damned cloud of cigarette smoke away from your mouth and nose as he laughs. Satoru shakes his head as his laughter subsides, freeing a hand to wipe at his teary eyes.

“We are not goin' anywhere. I am goin' home, Six Eyes,” you sass, punctuating your words with a hmph. All that serves to do is wind his laughter back up and lean back in the saddle, making Blackjack stop in his tracks. Ace keeps on trotting. “What’s that even mean? Why do people call ya that?”

“Whew, ‘s fun t’wind y’up, y’know ‘at?” Satoru says once he gets Blackjack to catch up to you again, killing the smoldering end of his cigarette before flicking it away. “I’ll tell ya th’story when we get t’where we’re goin’.”

Huffing at the way he overlooks your I, not We statement yet again, you instead focus on the view of your ride. Bright, silvery light of the near-full moon shines off of the smooth live oak leaves, illuminates the wide expanse of tall grass where the trees don’t grow, and kisses every square inch of the crop fields in sight. The clear sky seems to go on forever, wrapping its dark arms across the horizon and on, highlighting each star in the sky. It’s warm, humid from the system of storms not too far off, the epitome of a perfect mid-July night.

A perfect mid-July night that you just had to take advantage of. Despite the serenity of the view, internally, you’ve spent the last three miles flip flopping between excitement and anxiety. On one hand, you’ve taken action, and that’s something to be proud of; on the other, you’ve taken action to do this, with him, who’s enough a bastard without the criminal record to make any good lady’s father bust a few vessels. God, you think about your poor father, how he loosened his reins after keeping you on a tight, protective leash, and you wonder how he’d feel if he found out. His one and only daughter alone with an outlaw, a dirty, grimy, criminal cowboy, in the face of all the kindhearted, decent suitors you turned your nose up at.

“You’re nothin' but trouble,” You say, softer than anything else you’ve said to the man beside you. Anxiety has outweighed your excitement, and it’s written all over you in big, red, capital letters. Satoru could sense it before he saw it, and he’s getting the feeling you’ve never done so much as come home late.

“Aww, ‘at’s not true,” He says, feigning hurt with a pout, his pink bottom lip pushed out. Maybe, he thinks to himself, he can tease the nerves out of you. Playing with you is far too fun to give up. It’s a shame you didn’t come up to him earlier, maybe you wouldn’t be so nervous if you had. “Want me t’show ya how good I can be, sweetheart? Y’got a lil’ sneak peek earlier.”

“You’re gonna get me in trouble! This 's hardly appropriate, and I hardly know ya outside of your charges listed in th'paper, and if my daddy finds out he–he’ll have me arrested, or somethin' like that. He’ll put a hole right through your head!”

Now, that just makes him laugh, which he knows will do nothing to soothe you. “I’d love t’see ‘em try,” Satoru snorts. However, knowing a sliver of your temperament from experience, he doesn’t want to push you too far yet. He’s got a secret weapon in his saddle bag, and it isn’t another gun to aid the two on his hips. “Y’know what, I got somethin’ ‘at’ll help calm those boil over nerves’a yours. Ev’r been down south’a the border, sweetheart?”

–

Cold iron warms in the heat of your drunken hands, the shiny metal revolver gleaming in the moonlight heavy in your inexperienced grip.

“Atta girl– now, look right down the top’a the barrel ‘n line ‘at iron sight up,” Satoru instructs at your side, knees bent so he can see what you see. The scent of gunpowder, cigarettes, tequila, and sweat floods your senses with him so close, the amalgamation sure to stick to your dress, but you can’t bring yourself to find it anything but good. From the corner of your eyes, you take a lingering look at his face, and notice a dimple on his cheek you hadn’t before. The gun. Right.

“The metal things? I’m nervous,” You mutter, fingers adjusting and readjusting their position before realizing it’ll take a while to feel comfortable wielding such a weapon.

“The metal things, yep. Ain’t nothin’ t’be scared of, sweetheart. Y’got it?” Moving behind you, Satoru now has his strong chest pressed to your back, muscular arms wrapped around you, his hands covering yours just as he warned you he would to make up for the recoil of the shot.

“Mmmm.. mhm. Now fire?” Focused eyes line up the metal fin at the end of the barrel with the ‘O’ on the ‘No Trespassing’ sign posted in the grassy field at edge of your father’s property, all the while you’re mentally preparing yourself for the explosive force and deafening noise of your upcoming shot. The physical contact, so foreign to your previously untouchable body, doesn’t help your preparation in the least, proving infinitely more distracting than the tequila.

“Go ‘head, sweetheart. I gotcha.”

Deep breaths. All you have to do is put your finger on the trigger. Before you can move your index finger, Satoru gasps dramatically and grabs your sides, making you flinch and squeal in fear. You’re cowed down, hunched over with a hand slapped over your eyes and another still aiming the gun at the sign in fear when you not only hear, but also feel him start laughing. That bastard.

Ramming an elbow back and hitting him square in the ribs is all you can do in this position other than throwing him a scolding glare. “Don’t scare me when I’ve got a gun in my hands!”

“Sorry, sorry– Had t’do it.” Glare. “I ain’t gonna do it again, I promise!” Squint. “I swear I won’t.”

Resuming the position, chest pressed closely to your back, hands clasped tightly over yours, chin comfortably rested on your shoulder, Satoru hushes his laughter in favor of letting you gather your bearings. He watches the way you squint one eye as you realign the iron sight, and the way you stick the tip of your tongue out of the side of your mouth to focus, and the way you visibly go through a mental checklist before you put your finger back on the trigger, and he’d be eternally damned if he said it wasn’t the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Something so common to him was so foreign to you, and that sentiment could be held for more than guns.

When the gun fires, you squeeze both of your eyes shut, lean back into the solid body behind you, and the world goes silent. Your eyes only open when your ears start ringing, Satoru’s impressed whistle filtering through the muffled sound snapping you to attention.

“Well, I’ll be damned. ‘At was a damn good shot, sweetheart, almost ‘s good ‘s me,” he praises proudly, standing tall as he examines the bullet hole in the sign, almost emptying out the ‘O’ entirely. “Y’got five more bullets. Wanna try yer hand at five more shots?”

The next five shots take over an hour to fire, and the last two leave no trace other than a knick in the side of the otherwise swiss-cheese sign. Each shot was sandwiched between mouthfuls of tequila from the bottle and drunken fits of laughter, both overshadowing your target practice in the end, leaving the decorative glass and revolver empty.

Raising your wobbly frame up onto your tiptoes, you snatch the black cowboy hat off of Satoru’s oddly compliant head and place it gently atop yours. It’s a little big, and it’s hot, and it smells like campfire smoke, but you wear it all the same. With the hat settled on your head, you clumsily spin his pearl-grip six shooter around your finger and strike a pose. “Who’s Six Eyes Satoru Gojo now, hm?”

For the first time tonight, Satoru says nothing. Instead, he’s just looking at you, strong arms crossed over his strong chest, expression unreadable if not for the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well, how do I look?”

“Real pretty, sweetheart… real, real pretty. Y’wanna know what they say ‘bout takin’ a cowboy’s hat? Puttin’ it on like y’got mine on ‘at pretty little head’a yours?” Satoru drawls, his low voice dripping a sweet, dangerous kind of venom that sounds like the gospel to your drunk ears. Slow, sauntering steps kill the distance between you, till he’s so close you can feel the body heat radiating off of him. Eyes growing wide as you tip your head back to look up at him, your hand holding the cowboy hat on your head so it doesn’t fall off, you finally decipher why he looked like he caught you earlier. When he answers his own question, he drops his voice to a smug, deadly whisper. “Y’wear the hat, y’ride the cowboy.”

Sober, it would be hard enough to gather yourself to say anything at all, much less something so on par with Satoru’s energy, but drunk? That liquid courage, drank by the messy mouthful, is aptly named, coursing through your veins stronger than the deep-rooted conventions of the world around you. With scanning, studying eyes, you further analyze the look etched into Satoru’s suntanned face, and you figure that this is why you haven’t left the thought of him alone since you first saw him. You don’t cower away from his blue haze, not this time. This time, your eyes meet his, locked on them in a manner akin to a standoff.

“Ride the cowboy, huh? Do they say that?” You whisper back, slipping the six shooter in the black leather belt hanging off of Satoru’s hips, letting your hand drag against the holster one second too long. It makes him shift, his baby blue shirt barely concealing the hints of moving muscle beneath.

“Mmmmmhm. Don’t tell me ‘s yer first rodeo, sweetheart,” he teases, his euphemism enough to make you blush if not for your already flush-drunk cheeks.

“I bet ya wish it was, Satoru. It ain't my first rodeo.” Oh, but it is. And if he were talking about kissing you, it’d still be your first rodeo, save for the sweet cheek-kisses you’d given a boy when you were six years old. However, you’re no longer in the realm of backing down, and you won’t give him the benefit of knowing he’s deflowering you.

“Oh?” Satoru doesn’t believe that for a single second— not when you were tripping over yourself about all the trouble you’d be in if anyone found out about you doing so much as riding alongside him. That devilish set of dimples dip so deep as he grins down at you that you’re sure it’s hurting him. “Y’not ev’n a little scared t’get bucked off?”

“I ain't scared at all,” You muse, initiating your first touch of the night by placing a flat palm against his clothed stomach. Satoru’s heavyweight cotton shirt offers little padding between your hand and his skin; he might as well be shirtless, because you can feel every contour of his impressive abdominal muscles.

Something shifts in the air when you touch him, as if that single action changed the charted course of your world in an instant. The change is palpable, it’s audible, it’s visible, it’s so refreshingly different from all you’ve known and you’re going to chase it, even if it kills you, and it very well might should your father find out. Screaming cicadas and chirping crickets, trickling water and whistling breeze, all of which buzz around you in the night air seem to drown in the noise of Six Eyes Satoru Gojo.

“Yeah? Call my bluff, then. Prove it.”

It’s a dare, an invitation to dance with the blue eyed devil himself, and you’re taking it without a second thought. In the blink of an eye you take hold of his shirt collar, yanking him down to crash your inexperienced lips into his, and the world around you as you know it comes down crashing and burning with him. Satoru uncrosses his arms and plants two firm, rope-worn, calloused hands on your waist, pulling your eager frame flush against his.

The kiss is rushed, open mouthed and sloppy, and if not for your plush lips it might hurt. Each passing second against your lips is chock full of proof that you have no clue where to start or where to stop, proof that you’re running on nothing but instinct to both satiate yourself and call Satoru’s bluff. Headstrong and obstinate as ever, you urge him backwards, back, back, back in sloppy, tripping steps till there’s enough of a rise in the terrain to stop him from moving without taking a step up.

Satoru takes the reins from your imperious hold to ease the two of you to the ground, bending and hinging one joint at a time till you’re both close enough to fall to your knees in the dry grass. He’s still got one hand on your waist, traveling until it finds purchase on your hip, while the other flings the bulletless gun from the right holster away with reckless abandon. The other revolver lays aside within arm’s reach, just in case, but Satoru’s more focused on getting as far as you’ll let him go. Without the possibility of being poked, prodded, or shot, he shifts from his knees to sit flat, hauling you into his lap with a single arm wrapped around your waist.

By the time you’re in his lap, you’ve pried his shirt off, but there’s not much of the night left to waste for you to sit and admire him as you’d like to, the two of you instead working overtime at getting you undressed. You’re breathless, he’s panting between each kiss of your lips, so soft, so sweet against his that he has to fight the urge to rip off the remaining clothes you’ve got on, consisting of nothing more than your linen chemise and cotton underwear. It’s only now, almost exposed under the silver moonlight in this cowboy’s lap, that your nerves start to get the better of you; it’s not that you want to stop, because you’d rather die than stop him from just touching you, but it’s all so fast that your head is spinning and you’re shaking like a leaf.

Beneath you, where your hips sit atop his, you can feel how hard he is through the thick, rough canvas of his pants. It’s not smart to take them off— not outside, anyway— but there’s a part of you that craves to have your bare skin against his. Maybe that’s naive, but tequila doesn’t care about naivety.

After all the teasing and taunting he’s put you through tonight, Satoru won’t make you say it. He won’t make you admit that this is your first time, nor will he ignore the fact. Instead, Satoru’s strong hands slide up the sides of your thighs, under that thin, white underdress, settling on your hips with a soft squeeze before pulling you down to grind against him. The friction, the drag against that wet, sensitive, aching place between your legs makes your breath hitch in your throat and cling to him, arms thrown around his neck.

His black cowboy hat is back on his head where it belongs, tipped back enough to let you see his face, and those blue eyes you’ve come to know seem to glow up at you. They’re lidded, heavy in a way you’ve never seen before from anyone else, and now that he’s looking at you like this you’re not sure you’d want anyone else to. Another roll of his narrow hips and you’re whimpering, nothing more than putty in his hands for him to mold and shape however he’d like.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Satoru whispers, placing a searing kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder, scattering goosebumps across your sensitive skin. You can feel his cock twitch from its confinement beneath you, and although your ability to gauge his size is obscured, he’s big. He’s a big man, with big hands and big shoulders, but you didn’t expect all of him to be so big. “Feels like yer shakin’ ‘n I ain’t ev’n done anythin’ yet.”

The right words seem impossible to find, much less to say, all of them so vulgar and explicit that they make your face burn with such a vibrant shade of red it’s visible even in the low light of the moonbeams. He grins against your skin at your inability to speak, knowing such phrases have never left your pretty plush lips, relishing in the fact that your headstrong nature has been reduced to nothing by his touch. In a bashful whisper, you manage to whimper out your incomplete request. “I… um, I want you to…”

More tempting words than those have never graced his ears in all his born days.

“Yeah? Y’want me t’do somethin’, baby?” Satoru murmurs, continuing to chip away at your resolve with his open mouthed kisses to your neck, his low voice rumbling against your skin, each action setting you aflame with every precious, passing second. You moan when he calls you baby, and again when his lips reach that place just under your jaw, and you want so badly to claw at his back but your hands feel so weak.

“Do y’want me t’touch you? Right…” As he trails off, so does his bruised, nicked, calloused hand from your hip, stopping when his palm is pressed smooth against your lower stomach. Barely, feather-light, his thumb grazes your clothed clit. “… Here?”

“Yes— yes, please,” You plead, your hips pushing into his touch, your eyes squeezing shut to splay your lashes over your cheeks, your body tensing at the touch; it’s so foreign, so forbidden, but you’d trade your spot in heaven for more of it.

Satoru doesn’t make you beg, no, but he stops touching you to hang his fingertips on the waistband of your offensive underwear and slide them down your legs. Only after they’re discarded in the dry grass does he offer his merciful touch again, spreading your soaked folds to gather your slick on the pad of his thumb before slowly circling your clit. Each circled swipe over that shiveringly sensitive bud pulls a shaky, breathy moan from your throat, a sound so rewarding that all he wants to do is flip the two of you over and take you right there.

“Relax, sweetheart. Feels good?” He asks, hungry eyes dropping to watch the way your teeth sink into your lower lip, then lower to watch the way you chase his touch with your hips, and then lower to watch you toy with the buttons of his pants, your hands just brushing against his solid cock. It’s not on purpose, but it feels like teasing nonetheless, making his cock jump against the thick canvas restraining it. It’s starting to ache.

The strength to speak is so hard to gather, even more so when one slick, thick finger dips past your entrance, slowly sinking into you one sweet centimeter at a time. Your pride, your ego, your purity, all the aspects of your mind that have been built up like walls to protect you come crumbling down instantaneously, rendering you defenseless against Satoru’s masterful touch as he curls that finger inside of you. Pure electric bliss radiates through your shaking body from the gentle pressure against that newfound spongy spot, and again when you feel him slip second finger into you, the new addition offering a slight stretching sensation to the pleasure. Something in the pit of your stomach feels like it’s coiling up, warm, tense, tight, and you’re unsure whether you should run to it or from it.

Each curl of his fingers pulls winds that coil up further, pulls you closer to that feeling, and overtakes your control, leaving you feeling close to tears and on the brink of something unknown. All of your pride has been stripped away, finding yourself no longer above begging and taking.

“Satoru, please,” You gasp, in an attempt to fill your pleading lungs with air as he just keeps on pulling you apart. Desperate, shaking fingers start grasping at the buttons keeping you from what you want, clumsily popping them open till you can dip your hand past them and free his cock in one swift motion. It’s thick, so hot to the touch, tip red and weeping from watching you fall to pieces in his hands. “I-I want more, please, I really want it ‘n I feel so… s-so good, please.”

With no clue what to do, you just do what feels right, swiping at the mess of precum gathered at the tip of his cock with the pad of your thumb before letting your grip drag slowly down his length. Satoru swears under his breath, words so vulgar you’d only heard them once or twice before, but from his mouth they sound like the damn gospel. His head drops back in awe of the relief your soft, soft touch offers, only snapping back up to watch your hands slow strokes up and down his aching cock. The glorious sight is enough to violently rip the thought of enjoying this from his head and kick him into a higher gear.

“I’ll give y’whatever ya want, sweetheart, y’don’t hafta beg me,” Satoru says, his voice low, breathy, laden with lust and hymnal in your ears. Slowly, he slips his digits from your cunt, his palm and fingers coated with your slick and shining in the silver light. There’s no time to waste, not when you just begged him for more, not when nights don’t last forever, but he wants to taste you so bad that he brings his soaked fingers to his lips and licks them clean, savoring the sweet, sweet flavor of you. Watching him lick his fingers clean of you is enough to make you whimper.

In no time he’s pushing up your chemise to rest on your hips, reaching around to find purchase of a handful of your ass to steady you as he pulls you higher on your knees. You’re hovering over his hips now, the tip of his cock nestling against your slick-coated folds, your shaking hands resting on his broad shoulders, and you are so completely overcome with anticipation that it hurts.

“Promise‘ll be gentle, sweetheart. Y’ain’t gots t’worry over ‘at, I swear,” He whispers against your lips, pulling your body flush against his own. Mumbling pleads for him to hurry, you want him, you want this, you beg him to make his move, and Satoru can’t deny such a pretty girl asking him so nicely. Mercifully, he lines himself up with your weeping entrance, and allows you to take control.

With shaking legs, you lower yourself down just until the tip of his cock is snug inside of you, suddenly halting. It hurts… but it feels so, so, so good. You lift yourself up to try again entirely, staring down to where the two of you meet, and lower yourself again. This time, you don’t stop for that burn, that intrusion, that stretch, wincing while sinking down so slowly that you can feel every single inch of Satoru’s hot, fat cock drag against your walls until you’re so full you can’t go down any further. Once you’re still, you’re panting, whimpering, and clawing at the lifestyle-built muscles of Satoru’s expansive shoulders.

Below you, Satoru’s in awe, his grip on the flesh of your ass so tight that his knuckles are white, his breath tortured, ragged, desperate. If he could manage to focus on something other than maintaining his self-control he’d let every nasty, vulgar, explicit thought of his at the sight of you pour from his lips, but he can’t. Inside of you, you can feel him twitch, a non-verbal, involuntary request to move from your position flush against his hips, but now that you’re so full of him you’re not sure you can. Whimpering, you open your hazy, pleasure-stricken eyes and meet his, finding them busy drinking every inch of you in his lap.

That’s all he needs to take the reins, he knows what you’re saying with nothing more than the way you look down at him: you want him to move, you want him to help you. On the brink of losing all composure, he pays no mind at all to the snarky little comments he could be making about so much for the rules being “you ride the cowboy.” Satoru wraps an arm all the way around your waist, one hand holding your side and the other still holding a handful of your ass, and he pulls you to rest against his chest so he can take care of you. It’s a small change in position, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, eyes batting shut once again and jaw falling slack around a pretty little whimper. With you tucked so sweetly against him, head between his jaw and shoulder, Satoru slowly draws himself out of you and so shallowly pushes back in.

“‘S ‘at alright, sweetheart?” The outlaw murmurs, your whine of a response swiftly hushing his concern and care and making him go that much more crazy. Another gentle drag of his cock out, another slow thrust of it in, the bliss of the disappearing burn making way for the delicious stretch seeping into your muscles. Then, as Satoru finds a nice, shallow, beginner-friendly pace, the tip of his cock catches on that wonderful spongy spot decorating your walls and you moan, loud and involuntary, his name leaving your lips like some sort of praise. You can’t help the sound spilling from your mouth when he finds it again, and you want to beg, plead, cry, anything to chase that feeling, anything to get Satoru to fuck you like he means it; you’re so stripped of your defenses and your self-control that you don’t realize that you are begging, pleading, crying for him to go deeper, harder, more more more.

Such filthy words leaving lips as precious as yours should be a punishable offense, he thinks, especially when they sound so good that the sweet nothings he’s whispering into your hair are cracking off at the end into broken, wanton whines. Satoru’s grip on you grows impossibly tighter, entranced by your words, your warmth, the otherworldly grip your cunt’s got around him, and if he focuses, the soft squelch of how sopping wet you are each time he pushes up into you. He keeps his pace despite your pleas, he doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t want to push you too far, because although he’s a grimy, sorry sleazebag of a cowboy, and you’re a hotheaded, ornery brat, you feel like a china doll in his arms. Breakable.

“Please, for th'love of God, Satoru, just— just fuck me, already!” You cry out, desperation kicking your respectability out the door, almost reduced to tears as you cling to him like you’re going to fall off the face of the earth if you don’t. Where was the bastard who grabbed you by the bow? The outlaw with a pistol on each hip, a cigarette in his mouth, blood splatter on his shirt? Six Eyes Satoru Gojo? That’s who you wanted now, that’s who you needed, and you appreciate the sweetness, the care, but by God it wasn’t sweet anymore. It was torture.

“Y’want me to fuck you, huh? ‘At’s what y’want, sweetheart?” God, there he was. Compared to those sweet nothings he was whispering, it sounds like a threat, his low growl of a voice rumbling through his chest while you babble yesyesyesyespleaseyesyes. Satoru almost pulls out of you entirely, leaving only the tip to nudge into your messy cunt before snapping his hips up, burying his cock inside of you in one fell swoop, slamming into you so deep that it feels like he’s trying to bruise your insides. It hurts, it elevates the drool worthy stretch of your cunt around his cock, it makes you sob his name in a way that Satoru’s sure will burn into his brain and haunt him forever. “All ‘at talk earlier, now look at ya. Beggin’ me t’fuck you,” He tuts, but his near-scolding words are draped in adoration. “‘M gon’ fuck you s’good ya won’t want ‘nyone else to.”

Not the second time, or the third, but on the fourth vicious ram of his cock into you, you find yourself trying to match his pace, rocking yourself up when he drags himself out, sinking yourself down when he slams himself in, all with shaking legs and pitifully weak knees. The sound of skin hitting skin, the gushing sound of how wet your pussy was for him, the pleasured, guttural swears moaned from the man beneath you, all of it in tandem with the way his impossibly thick cock abused each and every tender spot inside you was addictive. Everything he offered, you took, and you took more, and he watched as your manners, your upbringing, and your conditioning flew out of the window with reckless abandon, entranced by the way he’s unraveled you to reveal a woman of pure need.

Both of Satoru’s hands are settled on your ass, now, his white-knuckle grip sure to leave it’s mark when this is all over, but you don’t care. You’re too busy pushing yourself off of him, planting both hands on his strong chest, riding his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do in this world. It’s sinful, he thinks, the way your hips meet his in the middle, the way you cry out his name, the way your jaw has fallen slack around each of your filthy babbles of how good you feel.

“Atta fuckin’ girl, sweetheart! Look at ya,” He praises, something primal, something venomous, something paradoxically needy coating his gruff voice. Inside you, that coil from before is wound so tight that you’ve got tears in your eyes, but you want it, you want whatever feeling comes after so bad that you’re begging for it. Satoru’s praises only serve to urge you on, his ragged, tortured moans only pulling you closer, and closer, and his fat cock slams into you one more time and you’re done. “Let go, sweetheart, y’can do it, jus’ let go, alright? Atta girl.”

Your orgasm tears through you like bullets; hot, forceful, sudden, and searing, those tears falling down your cheeks as you cry out, desperately grinding your hips down into him so you can chase the pleasure radiating from that sweet spot inside of you. Satoru tips you forward to crash his lips into yours, swallowing your beautiful cries of bliss, still fucking into you so brutally through your orgasm in pursuit of his own fast-approaching climax. The gush of your cunt around him, the way you clench down so tight, so rhythmically, god, it’s too much, and he’s swearing as he pulls out of you swiftly at the very last minute, his hand flying to his freed cock to catch the cum spilling from the tip before it can stain your linen underdress.

As the two of you still, panting against each other’s lips, a pile of sweaty, strengthless bodies, the sounds of the night around you fill the world again. Your sense has yet to return, because you should be gathering yourself and your clothes, but instead you rest atop the outlaw’s heaving chest.

Satoru takes care of getting you back home, despite a nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him he doesn’t do this, it’s not smart, it’s something a sap would do, not a travelin’ man. But you’re tired, and he’s tired, and all he wants is a nice, warm bed to lay his head down for the night. By the time the two of you lay down between your linen sheets, your dress and all its fixings are laid over the chair in the corner of your room, his grimy ones are thrown on the floor in another, and his boots are hidden beneath your bed. One strong arm is trapped beneath your head, and your sleepy, mumbled half-protests are met with one thing before your lights are out:

“Cain’t leave ya out here by’n yer lonesome, I’ll stay till yer Daddy gets back.”

And he does.

The next day starts wrapped up in each other in the golden, pink-painted morning light, a sobering repeat of the love made a few hours before out in the grassy field. Any thoughts of your daddy, what he’d say, or what he’d think are nowhere to be seen when you’re in the presence of Satoru, the bastard cowboy who’s taken your affections hostage. You wash his filthy clothes and yours, hang them out to dry, and stow Blackjack in the luxury of the barn next to Ace till Satoru needs him. You sweep away the dirty footprints his boots left on the porch. You rinse his smoke-soaked cowboy hat till it smells new again.

Satoru feeds the horses, the chickens, and the cows, all of which were your chores to do while your daddy was gone to drive cattle. He helps heave you up onto Blackjack’s back, the black stallion far taller than your own horse, and he lets you sit in front of him to take the reins. None without the fair amount of teasing, which didn’t seem like a fair amount to you; at several points in the day, you’d hop off Blackjack’s back and try to storm back to the house, but somehow the outlaw always reeled you back to ease you up into the saddle again.

When the sun starts to hang heavy in the west side of the sky, you draw him a bath, to which he doesn’t protest. Nice baths are hard to come by when you don’t stay in one place for very long, and when you spend most of your time on the run, in places so wild, so untouched as the West, they’re a godsend. Warm water and soap washes him clean, soothes his sore muscles, and makes him new again, but he doesn’t want to leave the bliss of the tub so soon. As he soaks in the suds, you enter the bathroom in your dressing robe to sit on the lip of the tub, simultaneously admiring him and admonishing him as the two of you bicker back and forth.

“I think your clothes’re dry, bastard,” You tease, head resting on your shoulder as you balance yourself to sit on the edge of the tub. It’s a little urge for him to get out, because you feel you’re just as filthy as he was and you need to bathe. Satoru keeps your eyes with his, sinking lower in the tub till his shoulders are submerged and knees are poking out over the suds, reaching a wet hand to the string keeping your dressing robe shut. He draws it slowly, eyes still locked on yours, till the knot comes loose and each side falls open to expose your bare body beneath. It makes you fluster, wanting to slouch and hide yourself, but he grabs your hand as if to say don’t. You huff. “Come on, you’re hoggin’ it. I’m filthy.”

“Get in,” Is all he says at first. Before you can protest, he speaks again. “C’mon. Get in.”

You hesitate, but stand nonetheless, slowly letting the robe slip off of your shoulders and into a heap on the floor. Not once does he stop staring at you, not even when you can’t meet his eyes, not even when you’re stepping into the tub. All he does is grab your arm and yank you to rest against his chest, back to front, not caring about the water splashing over the sides as a result of his forceful repositioning. If not for the way he settles his strong arms around you, you’d scold him for wetting your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to get onto him.

“When’s yer daddy meant t’be back, sweetheart?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Alright.”

The two of you sit in that water so long that it’s ice cold by the time you step out.

You find yourself wishing the sun would stay still in the sky, but it doesn’t; it just keeps on moving westward, like the unusually quiet outlaw dressed in a pair of your daddy’s nightclothes at the end of your bed. As the last few hours of daylight passed over the plains, Satoru became gentler, quieter, more tender than his usual dastardly manner. It struck you normally, if not pleasantly, knowing that such a wild, sharp-tongued man spoke to you so softly, so sweetly. It wasn’t lost on you that this would be your last night in his arms for a while, but you let yourself daydream that he’d be back in another month, and maybe he’d even knock on your window in the dead of night to make love to you again.

At the end of the bed, dressed in your oblivious daddy’s nightclothes, Satoru finds himself unpleasantly surprised at how bad he feels. Feeling bad wasn’t something he felt often, having seen so much death, violence, crime, and corruption, not to mention having committed those acts with his own hands. It was a rotten feeling, knowing that he’d been your first, that he’d taken you in a field, in your bed, in your kitchen, and in your bathroom, and it was a rotten feeling, knowing that he was about to shatter any semblance of faith you placed in him. Your obstinacy, your petulance, your temperament, none of these things about you changed the fact that you were too naive to realize the fact of the matter, which was that you were just another girl to him, and he would be gone before you knew it.

The guilt was unsettling. It was eating at him. It was blooming under the soft touch of your warm hand on his arm, urging him to come up to lay beside you in your stark white nightdress. Satoru looks back at you with a halfhearted grin, traversing the soft expanse of your bed until his head meets the pillows and he can slip under your covers, tangled up in you again. Your soft laugh, your hair on the pillows, your keen eyes; all of you will be different soon, so he drinks it in while he can. Maybe it’s a fucked up thing to think, but you have been one of his favorites.

“Will y'wake me up in the mornin’? Before you go?” You whisper, sleepy and warm from where you lay your head on his chest. The outlaw has you gathered in his arms, pulled halfway over his body, holding you so comfortably while you fight the tiredness that threatens to lull you into sleep. If he wasn’t preparing himself to go, he’d notice how you fit against his side like two pieces of a puzzle, a perfect fit. His voice rumbles through his chest when he replies.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Satoru whispers back.

“You’d better, you bastard. ‘M gonna be cross ‘f you don’t…”

As sleep takes over, you trail off, the blow of your threat softened by your rhythmic breaths. Through your window shines the silvery light of the moon, creating a soft glow around your peaceful, sleeping form, and Satoru looks away.

It’s four awake, dragging, guilty hours before he moves you off of his chest. He’d stay all night if he didn’t get a move on now, when you’re sleeping so deeply that you don’t react to the loss of warmth or his weight shifting the bed as he stands up. Satoru shimmies out of your father’s nightclothes and folds them as best he can, laying them on the surface of the mahogany nightstand beside your bed before dressing himself in his washed, pressed, clean clothes. Grabbing his spurred boots from beneath your bed, his leather belt holster, and his pitch black cowboy hat, he quietly makes his way out of your bedroom, but he stops in the middle of the doorway.

One last look. That’s all he lets himself have.

One last look at your sleeping face that he kissed countless times in the past two days, that he blew smoke at, that he admired when you didn’t look and even when you did. Your sleeping body that he viewed, touched, held. Your hair, your hands, your breathing… Soon enough, it’ll hopefully all melt into the sea of women he can’t remember the names or faces of. It’ll be a while before he sees you again, and he plans to forget you before he does. You still hadn’t told him your name. Maybe that will help.

Satoru slips out of the front door silently, slipping on his hat, boots, and belt, but before he makes it to the stables he realizes he’s only got one gun holstered on his hip. He’s not one to misplace his guns of all things, not when they’re the driving force of his survival given the path he’s chosen, so he books it to the stables and tries to retrace his steps.

“Bar… No, definitely had’m then… not th’ride out here’n either. Had’m both in th’pasture…” Ding ding ding. Satoru purses his lips, and Blackjack huffs beneath him. Of course, now he remembers throwing the revolver into the grass, far too busy with you all pretty and pliant in his lap to take care of his own belongings. Sighing, he gives his horse a gentle spur to get him on the move.

Once he’s far enough from your house to know you won’t hear him, even though you’re curled up dead asleep, he picks up to a gallop till he reaches that fated field of grass. The spot where Satoru had taken you was flat, but other than that there was little differentiating where he would have thrown the damn thing. Moonbeams would shine off of the smooth metal surface if the grass was shorter, but it’s no dice trying to find it that way. He finds it his next best course of action to hop down off of Blackjack’s back and search for it that way, but all he finds in the hour he takes is the empty bottle of tequila and that pretty, baby blue ribbon you had been so protective of. They don’t call him Six Eyes for nothing, so the fact that he can’t find the goddamned-piece-a-shit-good-fer-nothin’ revolver, mounted on top of the disgusting feeling of guilt eating at his insides, has his temper a building to a height he can’t control.

Satoru shoves the ribbon in his saddle bag and launches the bottle at the “No Trespassing” sign you used as target practice. Milky white and blue glass shatters against the wooden sign, falling in a heap of shards beneath it, the broken, jagged pieces shining like diamonds in the light of the big, white moon. The clatter of the impact makes him curse, it’s too loud, it cuts through the peaceful sounds of the night, and it’s not as cathartic as he thought it’d be. Not at all.

Nights don’t last forever, though, and the way a soft blue decorates the eastern horizon lets him know it’s time to go whether he’s got two guns, one, or none. Defeated, pissed, and swimming in guilt, Satoru hops back into the saddle and gives three gentle pats to Blackjack’s neck before spurring him on again. It’s shorter to cut through the endless acres of your father’s property, but he wants to take one last look at your house. One last look at the house you’re sleeping so peacefully in. One last look.

One last look until he rides off and doesn’t come back, not until you’re nothing more than a fuzzy memory.

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teasemates · 3 months ago

Text

Case: Robin

Steve sat on the sofa with his laptop. He finally had time to take a look at the Onlyfans account stuff he hadn't had the opportunity to look through because being busy at work, having to do double shifts because both of the other baristas at the cafe were sick.

His eyes grew large when he opened the request listing. There were over 40 new ones.

He started to go through the requests and the further he got, the wider his eyes opened. He felt his cheeks heating—something he'd experienced during these last few weeks way more times than he'd ever had—as he read them. Of course he'd known the followers would ask for plain porn but he hadn't expected all this. It didn't mean he wasn't ready to try all of them at some point, he was just surprised.

But not as surprised as he was when he saw the number of tips they'd gotten so far: $3,080

“Uhm…Billy? Come see this. I think…I think we've created a monster.”

Billy was sitting on the couch, gripping his Playstation controller as he played a video game - something about the wild west and a dead sheriff escaping Hell. He’d heard some kids at the pool talk about it and he’d gotten curious. With the few tips they’ve already made from the Onlyfans account he could afford to splurge on a new game.

He hadn’t expected there to be so many people engaging with the profile right from the start so it was becoming a little overwhelming - it was work, chores, Onlyfans profile stuff… Where did his free time go?— But at least they were making money. And a lot easier than finding a second job. Just the thought of it made Billy feel like he could die.

Billy was shooting at some enemies when Steve called to him. “What—” He glanced at him for a second, and in that split second he got shot. He could barely manage to bring out the menu to pause the game, before he ended up dying. “What is it?” he asked, leaving the controller on the table as he scooted closer to Steve, peeking into his opened laptop. “We didn’t get banned or something, right?”

After reading through all the requests, having Billy sitting next to him so close felt awkward all of a sudden. Not in a bad way but in a whole another way. Some of the requests were asking them two engaging in sexual activities and Steve wasn't exactly sure if he was yet ready for that. He was barely acknowledging that he had feelings towards Billy and not at all sure if those would ever be reciprocated.

He swallowed and tried to chase those thoughts away from his mind. He turned the laptop for Billy to see better. “No, I think this is on the contrary.” He pointed at the amount of tips, then at the requests. “We're getting serious money with this.” He couldn't help blush creeping on his face, knowing that Billy would look at the requests as well. He tried to direct Billy's attention away from them. “And it seems that we also need to invest on some accessories.”

Billy noticed Steve shifting in his place awkwardly but he paid it no mind. Since starting this account, both of them had been realizing things weren’t as simple as just taking a picture. Billy was finding himself thinking about Steve more often, in more sexual ways… and he couldn’t allow himself to entertain these thoughts when there were face to face. He knew that there would come a time when they would do some of these stuff together and he needed to be cool, think of this like being in the locker room - don’t stare for more than 2 seconds and mind your own business. He even felt more pressure to act cool with it since he’d seen Steve had been getting shy and embarrassed. Furthermore, he’d noticed that he’d also stopped making eye contact often, kept his distance a bit more and Billy was getting scared if this account was pushing them away rather than closer…

Billy stared at disbelief at the wall of requests on the screen. He scrolled and they just kept going. “What the—” he mumbled, eyes scanning over the lines. Flush started to creep up his neck as his eyes landed on one particularly descriptive one. “How—what— how much money is this?” he tripped over his words, fighting with himself about starting the conversation of what they actually wanted to do. Would they decline some? Would they try to do them all? Would they—

Billy’s face was completely red when he turned the laptop back to Steve.

“You know— we don’t have to do them all.” Billy hurried to say, worried that if Steve was starting to pull away before, this would be enough to scare him completely. “If you’re not comfortable with it…”

Seeing that Billy was clearly as flustered about the prompts felt comforting. It wasn't like they'd known that this was what it all was about, but it had still clearly surprised them both. “We're now at over 3000 dollars. Just in a few weeks.”

He grimaced and tried to take a calming breath. Even though he might've not felt ready, the thought of doing all those things with Billy was exciting, he couldn't deny it. And it wasn't like he hadn't ever watched porn. Seeing these things live in front of him, doing them to and with Billy, though… Even if it would never lead to anything else it would be all the porn he'd ever need for the rest of his life.

This had been Billy's idea. He could've said no, but he'd agreed to it. It wasn't like he would be backing out now when it was time to walk the walk.

He bit his lip, shaking his head. “No, the requests ar–are, um…they'r–they're fine,” he stammered. He felt himself burning all the way up to the tips of his ears. He willed himself to glance at Billy. “People paid for us to do them. It's not like we can ignore them.”

Billy's eyes almost fell out when he heard 3000. He broke his back working like a dog for half of that and they got it now just sitting around at home.

Money was a good thing but… He pushed himself to put it aside for now. It was an astronomical sum of money, but he didn't want to put money above his relationship with Steve.

"Listen, I'm serious, forget about the money." he reached out and nudged his arm with his hand. He really missed Steve looking at him when they talked, missed sitting close… Maybe Steve didn't noticed he was shying away from it now, but Billy did. "If there is anything you really don't want to do, don't force yourself just because people paid for it. We were managing without that money so far, we won't die without it. We can just refund it."

It was soothing to know that Billy didn't want to push it with whatever price. But Steve also realised that Billy was not going to let him off the hook until he assured that…

Everyone thought he was a vanilla guy, wanting it in one position throughout his life, preferably in the dark and with a woman. He wasn't, he just hadn't had anyone willing to try them with. Well, not before now. And he'd always thought that the person he'd try these things with would be someone he had an established relationship with before trying.

“It's not that I don't want to do them.” He looked at Billy. “Alright? I really am fine with them. Or at least most of them. There's stuff, you know… I've wanted to try.” He was sure he was beet red by now. He'd kept his feelings a secret and this whole Onlyfans thing had forced him to process them. Maybe it wasn't that bad if he'd say something about them, at first at least. To see how Billy would react. He took a deep breath. “Just didn't expect it to be you I'd be trying them with, and…” he said quietly. A smile tucked the corner of his mouth and he nudged Billy's leg with his knee. “I'm fine with that too. It's just new, okay?”

Billy swallowed hard, flush deep on his face. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to do those things with Steve - hell, he wanted to run to his bedroom and jerk off just imagining some of those. But… it was scary. He’d never done some of these things before, and it was nerve wracking thinking about doing them in front of a camera too.

“I guess… um… I don't know if I'm ready to do anything too big yet.” he admitted, redness going up to his ears. “I know what I said, but…” he glanced at Steve, before looking away quickly. “There are some… really heavy requests and I… I'm sorry Steve.” he covered his face with his palms. “I'm the one who talked you into this, and now I'm chickening out— I’m not chickening out!” he corrected himself, pulling his hands off his face. “I’m still down to do the stuff–I’m just– It’s new for me too.”

Steve let out a nervous laugh. “It's okay. We can do the heavier ones when we feel ready. We don't have to rush to it. And because, uh…doing stuff in front of the camera…I mean, I could take pics of myself like that, I guess, but some of those require two hands and, uh… yeah. Lot's of things to get used to.”

He tried to keep his eyes on his laptop. He knew he had this stupid, wide grin on his totally flustered face and he couldn't reel it in. He hadn't felt this close to Billy maybe ever. They were doing something special together and not only that but something that maybe would bring them even closer. Or so Steve at least hoped.

He decided to change the subject. “Anyway, I was thinking…we're getting more and more requests all the time and some of them require all these props and then there's handling the money. Since we're busy with the requests and then we have to work too and you know that I suck with money, what would you think if we asked Robin to help a little? Like, she could be like an assistant or something. Get the props and manage the money for us, maybe help if we need to get new equipment like camera and lights too.”

“Yeah…” Billy chuckled, heat still on his cheeks as he lifted his eyes to Steve’s face. Billy wanted to do all of them, especially with Steve, just… maybe it was going to be best to not rush with the more heavy ones. Just go with what feels comfortable and have fun. They’d seen each other naked before, they’d never been shy to touch each other. Never like that, but just in general. So he wouldn’t overthink it.

He smiled at Steve, less shy and nervous and more cheeky and playful, like it always had been between them.

“You’re right.” Billy pressed his head backwards on the couch with a groan. “I can’t keep track of it all anymore. I didn’t think it would get so complicated so fast!” he stretched his arms back. “Would be great to have some help. Do you think she’d go for it?”

Steve looked at Billy and shrugged. “I did show her some of the pics we’ve already shared and she was…surprised. Not in a bad way, just maybe she didn’t quite expect us being willing to do the stuff we’ve already done,” he said. “Like the cow and lamb costume thing. But she’s definitely not ready for these numbers.” He paused, amused. “Nor for the accessories she needs to buy for us.” He leaned his head against the backrest and looked at Billy, grinning. “I’ll give her a call and we’ll see. If my hunch is right she’s not entirely unfamiliar with all that stuff.”

___

This is Billy's and Steve's Onlyfans RP account. Billy and Steve are "running" the account, the team behind it is Aggressiveviking & Suometar. Feel free to play into or out of the rp in any way you like, all interactions are welcome 💕💕

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #rp account

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aylish91 · 4 months ago

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Lonesome West at an Outlaws Request

@venesins Lonesome West artwork has reminded me of a story my grandpa once told me about Billy the Kid. It has also, inevitably, inspired me to write a little~

My grandpa had relatives, (I can't remember for sure if it was an aunt or great aunt, or what her name was exactly...) who had a homestead in which Billy and his gang showed up at. They dropped off one of his crew who were injured along with one other, telling her and her husband to help nurse them back to health. He threatened them and said he would be coming back for them. The coming spring, he did return, paying her family handsomely as a reward. Her family used the funds to open a general store.

This story's beginning was inspired by these things~

~~~

You were weeding the garden when you heard the far-off shots, only glancing for a moment before turning back to pulling the intrusive plants. It wasn’t uncommon to hear such things out by your quaint little homestead. There was plenty of game over the hills near the river, but there were also the tracks that ran through there. You couldn’t count the number of times passengers from the nearby town took shots from the passing train. It was more of an annoyance than anything these days.

However, at the sounds of far-off hooves, you stopped and stood to look over the sunbaked field of grass past your grove of trees.

It was alarming to see a small group of riders barreling over the ridge, one draped over the back of his companion. Several riderless horses followed behind, ladened with saddlebags and gear.

You hoped the group would continue to the road leading into town or turn toward the desert wilds. Your soul dropped when, with a flourish of blackened gloves, the rider at the head instead turned the steeds towards your little heaven.

You were alone. There would be no help should you need it this far from town. Balling your hands into the folds of your dress, you braced for whatever was to come.

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theresattrpgforthat · 4 months ago

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Got any games about being a little creature out to cause chaos?

THEME: Chaos Gremlins.

Hello friend! I sure do!

Space Gerbils, by Penguin King Games

You are the galaxy's most famous bounty hunter, but nobody knows your real name, or what your real voice sounds like. In fact, you've never taken your helmet off in public, at least as far as anybody knows!

The interstellar tabloids have accused any number of public figures of secretly being you. They are, of course, all wrong. The real reason you never remove your helmet is that you're actually a bunch of space gerbils operating a human-size mech suit.

You're very keen on not letting this get out.

Space Gerbils is definitely the longest game on this list, with over 100 pages in the current iteration of the playtest. This is a game about teamwork, and the mech creation is the first indicator of that, as you’ll have to collaboratively create the robot the gerbils pilot in order to keep their identities a secret.

Play involves a series of phases (setup, operations, fallout, end) and a grid where your gerbils will strategically move in order to operate their bounty hunter effectively. While the premise of Space Gerbils is cute and funny, it has the potential for both humorous and dramatic scenes, you’ll likely find that your play table will approach the strategy of the game with dedication and the desire to succeed. As a result, I think Space Gerbils is going to produce a high amount of group investment.

Mutant Possum Cowboys, by It’s Eric! Games.

Mutant Possum Cowboys is a quick-play RPG where ya take the roll of talkin' possums who have taken it upon themselves ta help tha' townsfolk of tha' Wild West.

Yer a Mutant Possum Cowboy. Yer posse is part of tha' Order of tha' Gun, dedicated ta wanderin’ from Town ta Town in “Roadkill County,” tha' Mutated Deserts of tha' Wild West, offerin’ help where needed against mutated critters and all sorts of Ne'er-Do-Wells.

This game involves distributing points among three stats to indicate what your lil’ cowboy is good at. Your character also gets a special treasure in addition to their regular gear that gives them a little bit of kick - such as “Tha Rallyin’ Jaw Harp” which sounds like an instrument that can call for aid from miles away, or “Gold Lightnin’”, a famous double-barrelled revolver. The game feels like it draws a lot of inspiration from games such as Lasers and Feelings - particularly the roll tables provided to the GM to help them quickly generate a problem situation that the possums will have to wrangle with.

Sockgoblins, by poorstudents

You are a Sockgoblin! One of many loyal to the Great And All Powerful And Really Important Queen, living in the secret underground goblin city. Your Queen demands all sorts of items from the surface world; coffee, really big hats, the occasional hubcap. But what she craves most are Socks.

Every year, the Queen demands a sock tithe, which is where you, little sockgoblin, come in! Every other Sockgoblin has already got their Socks, but you have been slacking! You will need to venture up into the giant world of the humans and steal the last Socks! But the humans are ready. They have prepared their traps, trained their guard animals, and hired the dreaded Sockgoblin exterminator.

You and your crew of Sockgoblins venture into the world finding adventure, danger, and most importantly, Socks! No one knows where the Socks are now but you’re confident you know where they will end up; at the feet of your Great And All Powerful And Really Important Queen!

Sockgoblins is a Forged-in-the-Dark game inspired by media such as The Boxtrolls, Over the Garden Wall, and Home Alone, and provides adventures as little goblins stealing socks for the Goblin Queen. The danger of the each thing you try to do escalates in correlation to how many socks you’ll get out of it - and you can actually play using socks because they’re part of your inventory!

Sockgoblins can work as ether a one-shot or as an episodic campaign, so it’s great if you want to try out a game of it to see if your group wants to keep coming back to it.

Hotdog Princess, by jesthehuman

You are on a rookie team of Hotdog Hopefuls, wanting to join the ranks of HOTDOG: Hyper Optic Team DOG. There are a limited number of spots on the team, but one way to impress the Top Dog is by being crowned the Hotdog Princess at the local puppy pageant. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate the Puppy Pageant and WIN. Alliances should be formed. Knowing when to break them is key.

Hotdog Princess is full of puns and nods to various kinds of ‘dogs, with “Chili Dog”, “Veggie Dog” and “Danger Dog’ just a few of the dog options underneath the roll table that determines your character type. Players have two tracks: “hot” and “dog’, which you’ll fill out hangman-style whenever you fail a roll. Filling either one of the tracks prompts an end for your dog in some way. Your stats are, of course, “hot” and “dog”, with “hot” representing your charm, while your “dog” represents your jokes and pranks.

If you want a goofy game with an even goofier premise, you want Hotdog Princess.

Partners in Grime, by Michael Low

Partnerz in Grime is a story game in which the players take on the role of a crew of goblins: awesomely awful, magical critters hiding out on the edges of hooman society getting into all sorts of trouble.

The bones of this game is the Stories RPG, which is a one-page game that details some simple rules about how to use d6 dice pools to overcome obstacles or move the story forward. Partnerz in Grime is not just a story to run through with the base engine - it also comes with worldubuilding prompts, drama clocks, ways to power up your character, and a mechanic that improves’ players’ math as they play. The authorial voice is incredibly specific, sinking you into the goofiness of the game from the start, and character creation involves fill-in-the-blank prompts that fill out the character’s story.

If you want a game that is great for kids or that is really open about the kind of chaos you can unleash, you might want to check out Partnerz in Grime.

Heckhounds, by TheOtherTracy

Yours is a legacy of brimstone, fire, and damnation. You're a hunter of hell, sent to Earth to bring escaped damned souls back to the Eternal Fire.

You're also a good boy! Who's a good boy? You are!

Heckhounds is game of hellfire and tail wags. You and your littermates were sent to Earth to hunt an escaped damned soul. Business as usual, right? Except this time you got the bodies of mortal, Earth puppies rather than the hellhound bodies you'd normally get. The nature of the puppy in you is strong, and you've got to keep from blowing your cover while you hunt down your target!

This game feels directly inspired by the dog given to Adam in Good Omens, and I love the idea of it already. The three stats in Heckhounds are Hell, Hound, and Ineffability, with Hell relating to your infernal demon-dog strength, Hound relating to your puppy charms and virtues, and Ineffability relating to what the game calls “the odd surety of the unknowable.” The game is inspired by Honey Heist, which means that your stats will fluctuate in value and you are always at the risk of pushing a stat too high and triggering some kind of end-game state. If you want a game that sparks fun times by merging great cosmic power into an itty bitty life-form, then you want Heckhounds.

Games I’ve Recommended in the Past…

Cryptid TV,by yanahn.

Something Is Wrong With The Chickens, by Elliot Davis.

Geese At The Beach, by Justin Joyce.

I’ll Be Taking That, by porchlightdusk.

Mouse Cult, by Mint-Rabbit (that’s me!)

#gremlins #chaos #tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg

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sykesandskittles · 4 months ago

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CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER ONE

Harlow

Sometimes I feel cursed.

Okay, well, not cursed exactly. But I’ve had my share of challenges in the nineteen years I’ve been on this planet. Well-meaning people—usually adults—have always told me to be thankful for my hardships. It makes you stronger. More capable. Independent.

I wish all that were true. Really, the events that have shaped my life just settle like silt inside me, tainting every thought, every action. Until I’m convinced misfortune has been braided into my DNA.

Generational trauma, isn’t that what they call it?

I dig my toes into the wet sand and look out at the Pacific Ocean. It’s hard to feel cursed here, though. Malibu is a magical place, soaked in sunshine, with a surprising small-town feel. But its best quality is how far it is from Fresno. From home. From the events of last year.

The sharp wind whips through my hair and stings my cheeks. My best friend, Talia, and I wandered down to the beach hours ago after we’d unpacked our boxes and set up our dorm rooms.

Talia called me crazy when I waded into the frigid water, dunking my head under the salty waves like some kind of baptism. Maybe it was a type of cleansing. The ghosts of my past washing away with the tide.

If only forgetting were so easy.

“Hey, look what I found!”

I turn to see Talia walk up to me with something cradled in her palm. It’s a piece of green sea glass. “It was probably a beer bottle or something originally.”

Picking it up, I angle it toward the fading sunlight, looking at it from different angles, admiring its beauty. The power of the ocean is wild—transforming an ordinary beer bottle into something so beautiful. I wonder if it has the power to transform me, too. “What are you going to do with it?”

Talia shrugs. “Turn it into a necklace or something, maybe.”

Another gust of ocean Taliaze whips through me, and my teeth start chattering. “It’s almost sunset. We should head back to the residence hall.”

Exeter University West—one of the West Coast's most prestigious colleges—is right on the beach. When Talia and I applied last year, it was a long shot. A pipe dream. We both have decent grades, but nothing spectacular. So, months later, when we were both accepted, it felt like a miracle. Then when I scored a full scholarship, I finally started to believe my luck was changing.

Exeter is the escape I’ve been desperate for. A fresh start.

I look down the length of the beach and see a huge Victorian mansion perched on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I noticed it when we first got to campus a couple of days ago. It’s hard to miss. The giant Gothic structure is painted a dark, crimson red with navy blue trim, and ornate woodwork that makes it look out of place on a modern college campus. I was probably here first, though, and the university just encroached gradually until the house and grounds were consumed by the sprawling campus.

It’s a creepy-looking house, though. No lie.

“Our residence hall is right on the other side of that weird house,” I say.

“Okay, let’s go,” Talia says, her bottom lip quivering. “I’m turning into a brine-flavored popsicle.”

The sharp wind continues to cut through us as we walk along the sand, getting dark quickly, and we’re two girls walking alone, so I’m on full alert—glancing behind us, my hand resting on the small stun gun tucked into my front pocket.

But the beach is empty—which is surprising, considering the amount of students on campus. It rained a little earlier, and it’s freezing, so maybe that’s why no one is here. But cold or not, there would still be a couple of people out here, at least, right?

“Slow down,” Talia pouts. “Your legs are longer than mine.”

I pause so she can catch up. “Have you noticed there’s no one else out here? That’s weird, right? I mean, it’s cold, but it’s not that cold.”

“There are people out here,” she says, pointing ahead. I squint, and sure enough, there’s a fire burning about half a mile in the distance, on the beach directly below the creepy house. I don’t know how I missed that, but to be fair, the beach isn’t straight—there’s a shrub-capped berm in the way, and the fire is partially hidden behind that.

“Oh, yeah, huh.”

Talia shakes her head and continues walking. “You are so blind. I keep telling you to go to the eye doctor.”

“I’m not blind.”

“Oh, really?” she says. “So when you walked up to that girl back in high school and started telling her off because you thought she was Veronica?”

I frown, trudging after Talia in the sand. Now it’s me trying to keep up with her. “Okay, but in my defense, they could be twins. I’d like to see the DNA report on those two.”

Talia stops and rolls her eyes at me. “The girl you accosted was three inches shorter than Veronica, and has glasses—which you also need.”

I blow out a breath. “Details. Whatever.”

With a scoff, Talia turns back around and we both keep walking. The beach narrows as we approach the fire, so we have to climb over the berm to get to the other side. It’s rough, and the shrubs are spiny, but we manage to make it down the other side.

“I’m remembering why we didn’t come this way originally,” Talia says. “The sidewalk was a lot easier.”

The sidewalk also dips between several university buildings, and in the dark, there’s no way I’m taking that route. I don’t want to say that, though, so I just shrug. “This way is shorter.”

Talia just pushes out a frustrated breath.

The closer we get to the fire, though, it becomes clear that something is sketchy. There are several people, all wearing robes with hoods, gathered in a half-circle around the fire, facing the ocean, chanting something.

Chanting.

What the…?

I reach out and grab Talia, pulling her back into a crouching position. We had to walk up and over, so we’re somewhat concealed by the random tufts of brush, but not entirely. And we’re only about thirty feet away, but thankfully, I don’t think we’ve been seen.

“Holy shit,” Talia whispers.

I blink rapidly to try and see through the murky twilight. There’s one guy, drenched, and completely naked, cupping his family jewels, shivering in front of the cloaked group.

“What are they doing?” I ask my tone low.

“It could be a frat, but the robes are weird. I think this is the Society of the Burning Crown,” Talia says with a note of awe in her voice.

I swallow. “What is that? Please tell me it’s a chess club or something.”

“Does this look like a chess club?” Talia hisses. She grabs my hand and pulls me forward, but I dig my heels into the sand. “Come on, we need to get closer.”

Closer? Is she insane? “Oh, fuck, no. Whatever this is, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

She manages to drag me several feet forward, but only because fighting her could draw attention to us. So far, we’ve managed to go unnoticed, and I’d like to keep it that way.

We crouch down again, and I try to quiet my breathing. It’s not likely they can hear anything over the roaring ocean, or their weird chanting, but I’m not taking any chances. If I could stop breathing altogether, I would.

Someone from the half-circle approaches the fire. I can’t see their faces, but I’m guessing by the person’s size, and broad shoulders, it’s a guy—and he’s probably the leader. He has a long, metal-looking rod in his hand that he shoves into the fire.

“Okay, we’ve seen enough,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”

Talia just waves me off, her gaze fixed on the odd ritual in front of us. Whatever this is, I get the distinct idea that Talia and I aren’t supposed to be witnessing it. And I would love to honor that.

The chanting continues for a couple of minutes, then Lead Guy approaches Naked Guy and says something to him that I can’t hear. Whatever he says is swallowed by the sound of the roaring ocean.

In response to what was said, Naked Guy nods once, then turns to face the ocean, and falls to his knees. His shoulders curl forward, exposing the length of his spine, and I watch as his thin frame vibrates violently against the cold.

Lead Guy takes another step forward, his hand jutting out like a surgeon silently requesting his scalpel. Someone from the circle removes the rod from the fire and places it in Lead Guy’s outstretched hand.

My breath is held, my gaze cemented to the scene as I watch Lead Guy pull his arm back—almost like he’s doing it in slow motion. Is he going to hit the other guy with that rod? Is this actually happening right in front of me?

As Lead Guy’s arm juts forward, and the tip of the rod makes contact, Naked Guy screams out in pain, the sound echoing off the cliffs surrounding us. He’s being branded. The barbaric act is so shocking and so unexpected, that a scream is ripped from my own throat, and I lurch forward.

“Shit, Harlow!” Talia hisses, pulling me back.

I shove my hand over my mouth to silence the whimper that bubbles up from my throat. It’s too late. They see us. Every hooded figure is turned toward Talia and me, and their leader—God help us—is already crossing the sand, closing the distance between us…

HIS EYES ARE A COLD, Dark Brown. That’s the first thing I notice as the leader of this group stalks toward us, shadows from the moon playing across his masked face, half-hidden under the hood of his robe.

Intensity radiates off this guy, his large body moving with confidence across the sand. When he stops right in front of us, I gulp. He looks like a bouncer, ready to toss us out of a club.

Talia and I are standing side-by-side, but when he speaks, he looks directly at me. “Leave. Now.” His voice is muffled by the mask, but it's deep and harsh, and sends a shiver of fear down my spine. “Go back the way you came.”

I’m already half-turned, opening my mouth to tell him, “Yup, no problem, we’re already gone,” when Talia grabs my wrist, stopping me.

“Hold on,” Talia says, looking over his shoulder at the other robed figures. “What are you guys doing out here?”

The guy’s jaw clenches tightly as he drags his gaze away from me and settles on Talia. Behind the mask, his eyes narrow, and if we needed evidence that we don’t belong here, there it is. Right there. That deadly stare.

“Talia,” I say, practically pleading. “Let’s go.”

She doesn’t hear me, or she’s deliberately ignoring me. Either way, she steps up to Lead Guy. “If you don’t want people watching you, then you shouldn’t be doing this—” She waves wildly at the scene in front of us. “–out in public.”

“This is a private beach,” he answers through gritted teeth. “And you aren’t welcome here.”

I grab Talia's elbow firmly and dare a glance at Lead Guy. “We’re leaving.”

I don’t love the idea of taking the sidewalk all the way back to our residence hall, but it’s either that or walk straight through this creepy-ass ritual. Mmm, no thanks. Hard pass.

Talia struggles against me, but I manage to keep my grip. “You can’t tell us what to do!” she practically yells at the guy. “We’re just walking along the beach. You’re the ones doing sketchy shit.”

Oh, damn. He inadvertently triggered Talia's defiance. I’ve known her since middle school, and she’s always been strong-willed, even to her own detriment. Tell her not to jump off the bridge, and she’s going to do it just to prove she can.

Right now, though, my job is to make sure we don’t end up as the topic of a true crime episode.

“Talia,” I say firmly, yanking her in the direction we just came. She digs her heels in, but I manage to move her a little—enough to encourage me to keep pulling. “Let’s leave the nice Jedis alone.”

I hear the stranger grunt as we walk away, and I feel the weight of his gaze pressing on me until Talia and I reach the top of the berm. I release Talia and quickly make my way down the other side of the small hill, then head up the beach, toward the sidewalk. It’s a steep climb, but I make it in record time, Talia trailing behind me.

“Slow down,” she says, annoyed.

I shake my head and pick up my pace. “We shouldn’t have seen that,” I say.

“Oh, who cares, Harlow? They shouldn’t have been out in the open if whatever they’re doing is such a secret.”

I stop abruptly and turn to face her. “The beach is empty.”

I’d noticed that earlier, but I’d assumed it had something to do with the rain. Now, I wonder if people had gotten the memo that something was going down tonight, and had deliberately stayed off the beach.

Lord.

We stumbled onto something we weren’t supposed to see, and I can't help but wonder what the repercussions of that might be. None, I hope. We left, and hopefully, that’s the end of it.

But ever since the incident last year, my mind has been stuck in survival mode. It feels like everything and everyone is a potential threat. So I doubt I’ll stop worrying about this whole thing anytime soon.

It’s taken a mountain of therapy just to get me to this point–willing to leave my hometown and start over somewhere new. And, honestly, if it weren’t for Talia, that never would have happened. In my darkest moments, she was there, guiding me and encouraging me. She’s the one person in my life I can rely on.

But her impulsivity can get her into trouble, and I feel like I’m always trying to rein her in. Even when we were kids, I was saving her from herself. Trying to get her to think before she tumbled right off that proverbial bridge.

“You have to admit, that was amazing!” Talia says, clapping her hands excitedly. “Shit. I never thought we’d get to see something like that.”

I keep walking. The faster we get to the residence hall and off this dark sidewalk, the better. “A guy was getting branded. What’s amazing about that?”

“I’m pretty sure we just witnessed the initiation ceremony for the Society of the Burning Crown.” She’s walking behind me, and I don’t need to see her face to know she has a smile stretched across her face. I can hear it in her voice. “No one gets to see that. Unless you’re a member, obviously.”

I stop and turn around to face her. “That—what we just saw—was super shady. Branding, violence, anything like that is strictly against the university’s policy.”

She looks lost. “Okay, and? What does that have to do with us?”

“Are they going to be worried we’ll tell someone about it?”

Talia snorts. “You’re afraid they’re going to come after us? They aren’t the mafia, Harlow. They don’t give a shit about us.”

Secret societies are like cults in my mind—and cults can do some pretty crazy shit to keep their secrets hidden. I should know—my mom has been in a cult for the last eight years. She joined when I was eleven—just skipped right over to Florida, leaving me to live with my grandmother. That’s the kind of power these types of groups wield.

Talia grabs me. “Harlow, you’ve got to stop worrying so much.” I sigh. “I’m trying, but it’s not easy.”

Her expression softens. “I know, but everything is going to be fine. How were we supposed to know, right? We were just—” She motions casually “–walking along the beach.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

But as we walk back to the residence hall, an uneasy feeling gathers in my stomach. The whole idea behind coming to ExU was to blend in. Start over. Stay away from drama. Classes haven’t even started yet, and trouble has already rooted me out.

We get to the building fine—thank God—and I swipe my key card. I’m on the second floor, and Talia is on the third, so we part ways on the second-floor landing.

“See you tomorrow!” Talia calls out, walking up that last set of stairs to her floor. “And stop worrying!”

I just roll my eyes and open the door that leads to my floor. It’s going to be tough to fall asleep tonight—but not because I’m worrying. I know the second I lay my head down to sleep, all I’m going to see in my mind’s eye are a pair of electric brown eyes…

The next morning, I’m barely awake when my roommate, Emily, taps me on the shoulder. “Um, Harlow. Are you awake?”

My eyes are practically sealed shut—how could I be awake? Moaning, I roll over onto my side and face the wall. “No,” I say, pushing my voice through the gravel in my throat.

Last night, just as I predicted, I got zero sleep. As I lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, last night’s events were on repeat inside my head.

Was there something I could have done differently? Inside the safety of my thoughts, I’m always braver than I was out there on the sand—and I say something snarky and clever back to Lead Guy. It’s different every time, but he’s always taken aback by my clever response.

I finally fell asleep around five, just as sunlight started bleeding into the night sky.

But my roomie is an early riser—or so she told me yesterday. And that obviously still holds, even though classes don’t officially start for another two days.

“Okay, well, there’s a note or something here for you. I’ll just put it on your nightstand.”

A note?

I wonder if it’s from Talia. Usually, she’d just text me, but if I’m not answering then she might resort to a handwritten note.

The door clicks shut as Emily leaves, and I flip over onto my back, stretching until I feel a pleasant sting spread across my shoulders. Then I blink and pick up my phone. It’s only eight in the morning. My God. Where on earth could Emily possibly be going this early?

Sitting up, I yawn and glance at the note she left on my nightstand. It’s a black envelope with my name scrawled on the back in all caps—not Talia’s swoopy cursive. I open the envelope and pull out a piece of black cardstock. There’s a symbol on the front. It’s a crown, embossed in gold, flames erupting from the tips

Oh, shit.

Didn’t Talia say the society we encountered last night was called the Society of the Burning Crown?

I flip the card over.

Preference Ceremony

Ten O’Clock

Rush House

Uh.

I immediately text Talia with a photo of the invite, followed by a full screen of question marks.

Talia is in my room within fifteen minutes, sitting on my bed, cross-legged, looking at the invite from every possible angle. “Well, it looks legit,” she says, scratching the gold embossing.

“What’s a Preference Ceremony?” I ask.

Before arriving on campus, Talia did a ton of research about the university—history, culture, clubs, party scene…any information she could get her hands on. Maybe she ran across a website that mentioned it.

“Never heard of it,” she says, tossing the invite onto the bed next to her. She picks up her phone, types something in, then starts scrolling. “There might be something online about it.”

I do my own search on my laptop, but there’s nothing. All I can find on the Burning Crown is general information that’s been posted on a random forum dedicated to secret societies.

“Listen to this,” I say. “The Society of the Burning Crown is a secret society, founded in 1890, on the campus that is known today as Exeter University West. Rush House is the society’s headquarters and sits on the edge of the university’s 124 acres.” I turn my computer, so she can see the photo that’s been inserted between the paragraphs. It’s that creepy Victorian house on the cliff. I pull my computer back and continue reading out loud, “Little is known about the inner workings of the society, but the rumored structure is a larger membership known as the Circle, and a smaller, ruling class, known as the Omen boys. The Omens are the direct descendants of the four founding members.”

Talia scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, thinking. “Hm. Does it say anything about what a Preference Ceremony is?”

“Nope.”

She lifts her hands, slapping them back down on her knees. “Welp, I suppose we’ll just have to find out then!”

I shake my head. “No way.”

Talia frowns at me, her delicate features scrunched up and contorted. She never really looks ugly, though. She has a pert little nose, high cheekbones, and long, dark eyelashes that are 1000% real. The girls in high school always hated her for that.

She shoves her bottom lip out in a pout. “Oh, come on, why not? It’ll be an adventure.”

“Yesterday, that guy was pissed that we’d stumbled on their…whatever that was. Then this morning, they slid an invite under my door?” I press my lips together. “If that’s not weird, then I don’t know what is.”

“Maybe they just want to make amends,” Talia offers. “You said yourself that they might be afraid we’ll tell someone. So maybe this is their way of, I don’t know, smoothing things over.”

I pick up the envelope that the note came in, reading my name over and over, almost as if I stare at it long enough, it’ll give up its author’s secrets. It just makes me more uneasy, though, if anything.

“How do they even know my name? And why just give me an invite?”

My tone is rising, and Talia must sense how tense I’m getting. She knows the year I’ve had, and how desperately I just want to have a normal freshman experience. Quiet. Boring. No drama.

She reaches over and places a hand on my arm. “Harlow, it’s okay. Societies like this have their hand in everything, and if someone steps foot on their campus, they usually know about it. It’s not personal to you.” She shrugs. “And you probably got the invite because you’re closer to the building entrance. Why bother sending two invites when they know we’re together?”

It’s a paper-thin theory and doesn’t even make sense, but I cling to it because believing there’s a deeper meaning would seriously threaten my mental health. And the whole idea behind starting over is not over-analyzing every little thing. Or so my therapist, Dr. Cunningham, says.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. Doesn’t matter anyway, because we’re not going.” I snatch the invite up off the bed and rip it in two.

Talia lunges at me, her green eyes wide with horror. “Harlow, what the fuck?” She grabs the two pieces from my hands and tries to fit them back together. “We have to go. No one gets invited to these things. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

I lean back against my pillows. “You know how I feel about cults, Talia. Don’t ask me to do this.”

“It’s not a cult. It’s a secret society. There’s a big difference.”

I push out a sigh. “That’s disputable.”

I know her, though. If Talia wants to do something, she’ll do it, no matter what I say. And I can’t let her go to something like that alone—it’s way too sketchy.

“Maybe they want to apologize for last night? And if we don’t go, then they might see that as an insult.”

I make a face. “Apologize? The guy from last night didn’t look sorry. He looked pissed.”

“Okay, let’s compromise. We’ll go, see what they want, and if there’s anything shady happening, then we’ll leave. Easy. No stress.”

No stress. I practically snort at that. I’m already stressed.

I think about it for a second, then take the invite from her hands, shoving both pieces into the black envelope. “Fine, we’ll go under two conditions.”

“Okay, shoot,” she says, and I can already see she wants to squeal with excitement.

“One: we find out what they want, then leave.” I hold a finger in the air before she can respond. “Two: if they even hint at trying to recruit us, we bail right then and there.” Talia opens her mouth to argue, but I stop her. “Ah! We leave immediately.”

She deflates a little, but I think she knows this is the only way I’ll do it. And the envelope has my name on it, which gives me a little leverage. She could try to go without me, but there’s a chance they’d turn her away at the door.

Talia leans back. “Fine. Deal.”

I nod, satisfied. But deep down, I have a sinking feeling there’s more to all of this than a simple apology. Something much darker…

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian smut #jolly karlsson #nick ruffilo #noah x reader #bad omens smut #nick folio #nick folio smut

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sinsinsininning · 10 months ago

Text

A little bit Softer

Chapter 3.

Eustass Kid x crew mate!fem!reader

TW: Smut at the end (female masturbation and fantasizing), talks of weapons, no y/n use, talks of DV and murder ofc

~~~~~

It didn’t take much to convince Killer to reset a course for the West Blue, Kid just said he had a vendetta to settle and that was that. Killer put the puzzle pieces together after a minute.

“You think she’ll like you more after killing her ex?” He asked the captain as they poured over the maps, his head jerked up.

“THEY NEVER DATED!” His head dropped back to the maps before popping up again. “AND YES SHE WILL!”

“Really?”

“Of course! Chicks dig revenge and murder.” Kid said with a confident smile.

“Of course.” Killer adjusted the compass. “But perhaps you should also try… more traditional means of courting.” Kid’s face scrunched up so he amended. “Flirting?” Kid was still making a face but shrugged.

“You mean like flowers and shit. Where the fuck am I gonna get flowers?”

“Not flowers necessarily-“

“We’re in the middle of the fucking ocean!”

“No I meant-“

“You don’t even know if she likes flowers.”

“It doesn’t-“

“Or even the kind of flowers she’d -“

“Enough about goddamn flowers!!” Killer yelled, earning them a few looks from crew across the deck, Kid shouting was normal, Killer shouting was wild.

“Keep it down, will ya?” Kid was deadpan. “You’re the one who brought up flowers man.”

“I’m fucking done.” Killer shot off, leaving his dumbfounded captain behind.

“So dramatic.” He grouched. In his place Killer sent Wire to assist with navigations and planning where and when to stop for supplies.

“So why’re we veering so off course? This will add several weeks to our trip.”

Kid paused. Should he tell Wire this is to murder your ex captain and make you feel safe around him? Nah.

“There’s a captain I wanna take out. I don’t know much about him but he’s in the West Blue.” Kid said cautiously. “Wanna kill him before we get into the Grand Line.”

“Oh? Well you know our newest rookie? The sniper?” Wire lit up talking about you, Kid felt a small pit in his stomach. “She’s from the West Blue, I wonder if she could help chart our journey. I can run and find her.”

“NO!” Kid shouted, now some of the crew were looking again. A few even inched closer to eavesdrop. “I’m not having a rookie chart a map, you can do it yourself. Don’t be fucking lazy.” Wire shrugged good-naturedly and continued with his protractor.

“So why exactly do you want this guy dead?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.” Kid grumbled, Wire again shrugged and the pair worked in silence as the sun set.

The deck cleared slowly as night approached and Killer sent you to fetch the two men for dinner. Your steps were quiet as you approached, Kid wouldn’t have know you were there if it weren’t for the metal on your belt. He could feel your eyes on him, sharp in the dark, as you watched for a moment quietly. With his back mostly to you, he doubted you knew that he knew you were there.

The familiar desire to show off bubbled up in his chest, so he made a show of clapping Wire on the shoulder.

“That’s a good stopping point,” He said, tone much happier than normal. “After dinner help me finish this and we should be done in no time.” That was high praise from the hot headed captain and Wire’s face brighten considerably.

“Sure captain!” His smiled slipped only a little when he stood up straight and saw you on the stairs. The gears in his head turned and he grinned wider. It was cute seeing how the captain turned so mushy around you, if he didn’t value his life he may have pushed it.

But the moment passed as you finished ascending the stairs, steps heavy to announce your presence.

“Killer said dinners ready.” You said plainly, tone flat and face neutral. Kid deflated a little, but Wire was quick to step in.

“Thank you! Your timing is as wonderful as always.” Wire tried gently baiting you into some casual teasing, but since your last conversation with the captain you’d been very subdued around him. “Will you be joking me and Hip or are you planning to abandon us yet again?” The ‘for the captain’ was implied, but you and Kid still felt it, both faces blushing.

Kid busies himself with putting the navigation tools away, while you glare at Wire.

“I’m actually not eating dinner with anyone,” You said, voice strained. “Try not to cry yourself to sleep tonight.” Despite your awkwardness around the captain, you still had to get your dig in.

“What? Why not?” Kid asked before Wire could, whipping his head around to glare at your glare. You turn and started walking back down, Wire close behind you.

“I’m working on weapon repairs,” You offer, after a pause you continue. “The soldering iron smells awful. Makes me sick. So I’m not eating until I’m finished and don’t have to worry about throwing up.” Kid catches up with you, but it’s Wire that asks.

“Darling you shouldn’t skip meals. When was the last time you ate?” His voice is soft with concern.

“I had breakfast, it’s fine, I’m not even hungry. I’ll be finished before midnight.” At the door to the mess you pause to let Wire go through first. “Killer is gonna save me a plate.”

Kid felt dizzy with anger. He barely got to see you at all and the one time he can reliably count on being near you was gone? Yeah he complained about the force contact, but so what! And sure logically, he knows it’s only one night, but fuck off he doesn’t want to be logical.

He can’t be mad at you of course, you didn’t do anything wrong but still. He wanted to grab you by your shirt and sit you down beside him and make you eat. Since he couldn’t do that, he decided to skulk into the mess hall, snatch his plate and stomp back to the deck to eat by the maps. All eyes on him.

You watched his display, surprised by him, Wire gave you a dreary smile and sat down. Killer didn’t even turn his head from the stove, calling out to you.

“Make sure he doesn’t spill food on anything important.” He orders, you wish you could pretend you hadn’t heard but he’d just chase you down.

“Why me?” You shout, not moving from the open doors. “I got shit to finish.”

“Do it before I put you on barnacle duty.” He points behind him. You groan and stomp off to find your pissy captain who you were still scared of but now it was primarily anger. Worse yet, everyone was watching with big grins, you wanted to scream.

You make your steps quiet as you return to the deck, unsure of where exactly he went. His grumbling reaches your ears and you follow it up to the second tier. He was hunched over the desk, maps thankfully put aside, practically chewing his fork. His eyes glance at you then away then double take.

For the first time you’re able to see the shift in him that the crew keeps seeing. The harsh lines of his face smooth away as the anger shifts to surprise and wariness. His eyes stay on you, soft and alert, as you stand awkwardly by the mast. He watches you watch him, his face and body language so open compared to usual.

Finally the intensity becomes too much for you and you turn your head to look over the sea. From the corner of your eye you can see him still watch you, but his shoulders are stiff. You inhale deeply once, the salty air comforting.

“Killer said not to get food on anything important.” You say bluntly, shifting from one foot to another as you glance at him again. His face shifts to annoyance.

“Oh fuck him, it was one time!” He grumbles again and tucks back into his food.

You almost leave at that. You’d done what Killer had ordered. You can go now right?

Instead you lean against the railings, he’s watching you again. You contemplate what you’re about to do, his chewing slows down, taking his time with each bite.

“What did you get food on?” You ask and he nearly chokes on his fork. You never initiate conversations anymore, beyond the respectful ‘what do you need sir?’ He coughs once and you turn to watch him, a little concerned.

“It was nothing,” He finally chokes out. “Well I mean, it was our first bounty posters. Killer wanted to keep them, you know, for posterity or some shit. But I got marinara sauce on them and he got so pissy!” You laugh and he freezes mid story.

“Were you in the kitchen?” You ask through giggles.

“Nah, the medic room,” He smiled, face a little red again.

“Why the fuck were you eating marinara sauce in the medic room?”

“It wasn’t just a straight bowl of marinara sauce you freak! It was spaghetti, but I didn’t spill the pasta.” He huffed, but his grin told you he wasn’t actually mad. “Anyways I’d feel bad but he got a copy of those posters like the next day with the newspaper. He’s just a baby.”

“He’s sentimental, it’s sweet.” You laugh again at your own words. “He’s the-“ you pause to laugh harder at your next sentence. “He’s the Kill-“ You can barely breathe.

“Spit it out, freak!” He cackles at you. Finally you gather yourself enough to say.

“He’s the Killer with a heart of gold.” You burst out laughing, Kid stares at you for a moment before joining.

“That’s what you were dying to say?” His laughter finally putters out along with yours. “That’s the shiftiest joke I’ve ever heard. Fuck me that’s not even a joke.” You whip your head to face him, shock and hurt across your features, his breath catches in his throat. Your hand pressed to your chest in a pitiable display.

“You really know how to hurt a gal’s feelings.” Your grin is the only clue that you weren’t actually hurt. He glares at you again.

“Oh fuck you! Go finish your repairs before I make you hand scrape all the barnacles!”

You laugh as you make your way to the stairs, calling out behind you.

“Killer already threatened me with that.” You wave.

“Who the fuck does Killer think he is threatening you!” His breath catches again after his outburst. You just laugh again and walk down the steps.

You’re too busy chuckling to notice the doors to the inside shifted just as you reached the final step. As you pass the galley, you don’t peek your head in to acknowledge the crew. If you did, you’d notice not a single plate of food is finished. Everyone scarfing down their portions to make up for their eavesdropping.

You continue on to the crew workshop, smile on your face.

~~~~~~

It’s past midnight when you finally finished repairing all the weapons that were damaged over the last few weeks. Most were simple, clearing up gunpowder from barrels, realigning sights, sharpening blades. But some required actual welding and blacksmithing, a skill you had… exaggerated on your ‘resume.’

It wasn’t that you didn’t know how to do it. It’s just been so long since you did. On your old crew it wasn’t your job and you weren’t allowed to do it. So the last time you’d actually repaired weapons or did any blacksmithing was on your home island years ago.

So you’d let some weapons pile up as you relearned how to properly reshape a lock on a shotgun or how to file out the muzzle so the shots could be straight again. And as a result you’d had a lot of projects to catch up on, it didn’t help that you felt so frazzled by the size of the list that you took extra time to avoid fatal mistakes.

Now here you were, covered in grease, sweat, and oxidized iron. Despite your hunger, your nose was still too full of the foul scent to even think about eating. Normally you weren’t so sensitive but it was really affecting you tonight (day?). So you decided a shower is next on the list, glancing at the clock you almost wanted to just plop down in bed right now, dreading the early wake up time you had.

But you knew if you showed up for chores tomorrow stinking and your plate still in the galley, it’d be a day full of lectures from Killer, Wire, Hip, Reck, UK…. Basically everyone, including your captain based on his little fit when you skipped dinner. You were tempted to ask Killer about that, but figured it’d only encourage the blond in the end.

The showers on the ship were, much like the bunks, divided. There were two main bathrooms with multi shower units and one large bath tub in each one. Both Kid and Killer had private rooms and ensuites with single showers, so if they wanted a bath it’d have to be in the communal ones. The easiest way to divide it was by gender presentation, masculine people in the larger one and feminine people in the smaller one since there were fewer femmes on board.

The bunks were sorta divided by vibes, at the start you and the male rookie you’d started with shared a bunk with some senior members. Probably to sus out any bad habits or behavior early. Then Killer allowed you to either stay in the bunk with Reck, Wire, and Gig or ask around if another bunk would let you join. It was kinda fun, interviewing for different spots, ultimately you decided on Hip, Emma, Hop, and House. The group was the most calm comparatively, especially with Dive, Pomp, and Quincy sharing a room- the most energetic crew mates all in one space.

You kept most everything you need in the shower cubbies, including some spare PJs, to avoid waking your bunk mates up at night, so you didn’t have to take a detour to grab anything. You strip down and turn the water on, praying there’s at least a little hot water left. As you wait for it to, hopefully, heat up, you take some baby oil from the communal cubby and begin to apply it generously all over yourself.

Usually the oil was used after someone shaved or needed extra moisture, but you knew from experience that nothing got rid of grease and gunpowder like oil. As you rubbed to break up the caked on grime, your mind wandered a little, this was the first time you’d had alone in ages. Normally the showers had at least one other person, or someone right outside the door. It was rare to be alone anywhere on this ship for more than a few moments.

It was kinda thrilling, you thought, hands slowing down a little to really rub your muscles. You let out a small groan as you press on your shoulder, rotating your neck a slowly to really grind that muscle. The privacy was making you feel warm.

You checked the water and, miraculously, it was heating up. The water washed away most of the grime with little resistance, but a few spots you had to help along. You lather up your wash cloth with your favorite strawberry soap, normally reserved for special occasion, but you felt like tonight was special enough to warrant it. You took your time, resuming your massage from earlier, while your mind wandered.

At this point you’d already decided you’d masturbate, you deserved it obviously, but it’s been so long since you’d had the chance. You struggled to think of erotic scenarios to help you along, not able to rely on physical touch alone. You rinsed off the soap and remaining grime then quickly washed your face. Your hair was next and when you finally had it conditioned and pinned up to sit, you were still struggling. But the urge was so prominent you decided to start anyways and hope you mind could conjure something up.

Your hands were experts despite the long break, one hand grasping your own breast, the other rubbing along your outer lips. You pinched your nipple as you finally slid a finger over your clit, a gasp leaving your lips. With a shiver and more pressure you rubbed again, slick arousal spilling out.

Your mind couldn’t conjure anything, your last sexual encounter was before your first crew and you didn’t want to think about them. A blush spread across your face, embarrassed even in your own mind, that you were about to picture members of your own crew. It felt so forbidden, despite the lack of restrictions on relationships between crew, you’d never let the thought linger.

Now you tried to picture some members, it was hard though, even though you had some hot crew mates. It felt… awkward to imagine them like this. Still as your fingers kept pressing, moans leaving your mouth barely concealed, you scrolled through the list.

Wire and Heat were handsome, but not your kinda handsome, Hip was out despite her beauty as well as your other bunk mates, Quincy and Pomp were also a no, not your vibes. You paused on Killer, the mask helped evade the awkwardness, but after a moment picturing him you felt like he’d know what you’d done the second you saw him tomorrow.

You shivered and whined, frustrated that you had such a mental block. You tried again with some crew members you knew a little less, but still nothing.

‘Could try Kid.’ You nearly slapped yourself at the thought, you couldn’t help it.

At the start of your journey with the crew you admired him so much and maybe would’ve found him attractive…possibly. But now you were so nervous around him….. but he was acting different now, he wasn’t shouting or throwing things. He’d smelled like warm musk and metal when he’d crowded you the other day in the med bay, pleasant and masculine, surprisingly mellow.

Your fingers dipped into yourself, so you kept thinking of him. What his hair would feel like. What his back would look like with your scratch down it. What his dick would look-

Ok, too much, you gasped and whined again, curling your fingers. You panted as you increased the pace of your fingers and thoughts.

Would he eat you out?

Would he fuck you slow or fast?

What about positions? Doggy? Missionary? Would he let you ride him or would he never relinquish control?

You hunched over as you thought about his eyes when you’d spoke about you ex captain. Angry and possessive, why? You were new.

‘But you’re his, remember?’ You thought, head dizzy as you reached down with your other hand to rub your clit. ‘You’re his now and he takes care of his own.’ Your mind was depraved as you wondered if he was going out of his way to murder that man, to impress you.

Fuck, you were so close.

You pictured him and you fucking after a battle, he seemed like the type. He’d be covered in cuts and blood, mostly his enemies, huffing in your ear little praises. Maybe this was after he killed Badger, a little celebratory fuck before returning to the helm. A reward, for him or you, you’re unsure.

You picture him crushing you close to him, legs around his waist, hands in his hair. You picture him, still thrusting, leaning down to kiss you. The image of a gentle kiss during a rough fucking brings you over the edge.

Most of your moans were muffled as you bite your lip, rubbing yourself through your high, but you know if anyone was awake right now they’d know what you were doing. The thought makes your thighs clench and you finally rinse your hair, the water now cool against your heated skin.

You wrap your hair up and get dressed, skipping the lotions and skin care so you could hustle and grab your plate. As you make your way to the galley, you pass by Kid’ personal workshop, you can hear him working and moving things around. Your face heats up as you remember your shower thoughts, so you soften your steps and hurry by.

After scarfing down your meal, you pass his workshop again, it’s quiet now. Feeling dread that he may catch you up so late, you rushed back to your bunk. You were out the moment your eyes closed.

#one piece #one piece smut #eustass kid #eustass x reader #kid x reader #one piece kid

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ur-mom-did-69 · 4 months ago

Text

Hey y’all! This is my first time writing so please bear with me. Let me know what y’all think though!

Bull rider x Nika Mühl

(Yes ik a bull rider is weird I was just think about it today💀)

Nothing kills you slower than letting someone go

In the heart of a small Texas town, the lights of the local bar flickered like fireflies, inviting weary travelers and spirited locals. It was a raucous celebration, the air thick with laughter, camaraderie, and the scent of barbeque. The night was alive with the sound of clinking glasses and country music wailing from the jukebox. Among the crowd, Alex, a vibrant bull rider, stood out—not just for her victorious grin, but for her unmistakable Texan charm.

With a cowboy hat perched atop her sun-kissed curls and a worn pearl-snap button-up shirt clinging to her muscular frame, Alex was a walking Southern stereotype. Her jeans were perfectly fitted, revealing her strong legs honed from years in the saddle, and her boots were scuffed from countless rodeos. As she settled onto a barstool, she couldn't help but beam at the crowd, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of a successful ride.

Today, however, was special; it wasn’t just her victory that fueled her energy; it was the celebration itself. Spying a group of tall women nestled in the corner, Alex recognized them immediately—the UConn women's basketball team, in town for a break. Without hesitating, she flagged down the bartender and ordered them a round of drinks. Her deep Southern drawl broke through the chatter as she introduced herself, her smile infectious.

With a confident stride, Alex approached the lively table. “Howdy, y’all! Is this a winning celebration I’m intruding on?” she grinned, her Southern drawl wrapping around every word like a comforting embrace.

“Not at all! I’m Nika,” one of the players replied, her dark eyes sparkling as she extended a hand. “Thanks for the drinks, by the way.”

“Alex!” she said, shaking Nika’s hand firmly. “Glad to meet some champions! I’ve been tellin’ everyone in this town that the only sport that matters is bull riding, but maybe y’all could convince me otherwise,” she chuckled, her accent lending an extra layer of warmth to her charm.

Nika felt a quickening in her heart as she studied Alex: strong but gentle, a prominent presence yet grounded. “I’ve always wanted to ride a bull. What’s it like?”

“Like dancing with a tornado. You either get twirled around or sent flyin’. Makes you feel alive!” Alex said with a twinkle in her eye. They continued to talk, the energy around them buzzing as the night wore on, laughter mingling with stories of triumph and trials.

The two women lost themselves in conversation, sharing stories of their lives—Alex’s wild west adventures and Nika’s basketball powerhouse experiences. Each laugh and exchange sent little sparks between them. With every word, they discovered more that connected them despite their different worlds. That evening, under the dim lights, Alex worked up the courage to ask for Nika's number, and when Nika easily obliged, a thrill shot through her.

“Let’s make this a date then,” Alex suggested, her Southern charm radiating. Nika nodded, excitement bubbling up within her.

Their first outing was unexpected. Alex took Nika to a nearby rodeo, and as they settled into the bleachers, Alex turned to her, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. “So, how’d you feel about seeing me get thrown off a bull tonight?”

“You’re competing?” Nika asked, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of nervousness.

“Sure am! Just a little amateur rodeo,” Alex shrugged, trying to play it cool, but Nika could see the pride in her eyes. As the night wore on, Nika cheered louder than any of the rowdy spectators, her heart pounding in rhythm with the pulse of the event.

When she watched Alex flawlessly ride a bull, she couldn’t help but admire the tenacity and skill of this spirited Texan. Afterward, the connection deepened, and for the next two weeks, they spent every moment they could together, especially at night, tangled between the sheets, whispering sweet nothings and sharing dreams.

But a looming reality soon hit. The time came for Nika to return to Connecticut, and the distance stretched before them like an insurmountable wall. Their message exchanges grew sparse as they struggled to maintain their connection. The longing turned to frustration, culminating in an argument that lingered over their heads like a thundercloud before it finally burst. Days passed without a word, leaving Alex feeling empty and alone, and Nika wrestling with a sense of loss.

Then came the day when fate intervened, and Alex found herself on the wrong side of a bull's fury. The ride ended in calamity, and the pain was sharp and immediate. When Nika received the call about Alex’s accident, panic and worry surged through her. Without a second thought, she hopped on the next flight to Texas, her heart racing with fear and determination.

Arriving at the hospital, Nika rushed to Alex’s side, the sight of her bruised and bandaged partner shattering her heart. Tears spilled over as they locked eyes; finally, the dam broke, and both began to cry. They had fought so hard to stay connected, but it took this moment of vulnerability for them to truly understand the depth of their love.

“You scared the shit out of me, Alex I thought I almost lost you,” Nika whispered, holding Alex's hand tightly as the tears streamed down.

Upon her arrival, she found Alex bandaged and bruised but still strong. “Hey, don’t look so worried. I’m tougher than I look,” Alex joked, but Nika saw through the mask of bravado. Alex’s face turned from a small smile, into a pained expression. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I don’t want to lose you either though,” Alex replied, her voice shaky. They poured their hearts out, sharing their fears and desires, vowing to fight for what they had built together.

As Alex healed, she began to reevaluate her future. The idea of riding bulls, once a thrill, felt more like shackles. She realized that the life she longed for was not rooted in the arena but in moments shared with Nika. The decision came swiftly. With each passing day, recovery transformed into purpose, and soon after, Alex packed her bags and moved to Connecticut, embracing a new chapter with Nika.

But life in Connecticut felt overwhelming. Alex struggled against the quietness of country life compared to the excitement she had left behind. As days turned into weeks, an unshakeable tension hung in the air. Nika’s once-warm smile grew cold and distant, and Alex’s pleas felt like whispers lost in the wind.

Alex recognized that things weren’t changing with Nika and finally had a sit-down conversation with her. “I feel like we’re in the same exact place that we were in a couple of months ago. I mean I’ve tried talking to you about it, which is rare these days because I feel like I don’t even see you anymore when we live in the same damn place for Christ’s sake!” Alex said, trying her hardest not to raise her voice.

Nika scoffed, “I never asked you to drop everything and come up here, Alex! You say that we don’t see each other, but one of us is actually doing something important with their lives. I mean, how far did you seriously think bullriding was going to get you? I’m working my ass off during practice and studying for my classes. What have you been doing the entire time you’ve been here?”

Alex’s face fell as she heard Nika talk about her career. “Wow. So that’s how you feel about everything? You didn’t have to ask me to drop everything for you because I would’ve done it regardless, Nika. Say what you want, but I was doing just fine with my career because I had enough to buy me a farm up here in Connecticut that I was going to surprise you with on our anniversary. That’s what I’ve been busy with the entire time that I’ve been here, but even then I still made time to try to spend with you, but you just kept brushing me off,” Alex said with a lump in her throat.

Nika’s expression suddenly changed from frustrated to regretful. “Alex, I’m so sorry. Please, I didn’t mean it.”, she said teary-eyed.

A moment of silence passed between them. “I don’t think we thought things out enough for us,” Alex spoke softly.

Alex stood up, putting on her boots and hat. “I think I should go. It’s clear that we want different things. I want you, and you want your career and studies, which I understand. Maybe I’ll see you around, Nika. I love you.”

Nika shot up from her seat. “No, Alex, please don’t go. Please, I’m sorry. I love you, I don’t want you to go.”, she said sobbing.

It was too late though, Alex had already gotten into her truck and drove off as Nika watched her from the window. Maybe they were too different to be compatible, or maybe this only made them realize just how deeply they impacted each other’s lives.

So… what do we think…? Part 2? Thank yall for reading hope you enjoyed it!

#uconn wbb #nika muhl #paige bueckers #uconn huskies #nika mühl #Spotify

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 year ago

Text

Hold On, Hold On

pairing: Cowboy!Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

summary: Your cowboy leaves for another bounty and you face how fragile a home can be

wc: 4.7k

warnings: 18+ only. MDNI, old west AU, semi established relationship, violence and town in peril, deep yearning, light angst but happy ending, heavy make-out session that gets a bit heated and spicy at the end

a/n: this is based off the season 3 episode ‘the pirate’ except with bandits lol, the title of this is from another neko case song of the same name (no surprise) I have a whole little collection of Cowboy Din pieces but this works as a good stand alone! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy & biggest thank you to my cowgal forever @skeletoncowboys this is for you I love ya

The wilderness calls to your bounty hunting cowboy once again.

“Don’t know how long this one is going to take. So I’m having the kid come with me.” Din tells you, his black bandana covering his face.

As much as you understand, an ache swells through your chest fast.

Would this be the last time you saw him? Saw either of your boys that have become beautiful fixtures in your life?

Something as dangerous as a storm rips through your mind. This all is temporary and you knew that.

Nothing is sure or set in stone with a man who chases after demons in the desert.

Din’s occupation as a bounty hunter meant he jumped around from town to town, never settling in a place for too long. Even with a ward in his care, you understood there was no need for him to grow roots in a particular community.

The only reason why he often brought his bounties here was because the mayor of your town was a previous member of the same bounty hunting guild Din is in. You never even knew bounty hunters held guilds. But that is the life you are wading through now.

It’s the life that’s led you to this, to seeing Din and the baby off on their journey.

You kiss the kid goodbye. His sweet pudgy cheeks puff up so warmly when he smiles at you.

“Keep an eye on your dad, little bug,” you tell the baby as you poke his sweet little nose. He giggles and it’s a sound you will treasure.

“Alright kid, let’s go.” Din croaks low as he shifts the baby up into his arms.

You haven’t been able to look Din in the eyes since he announced his departure. You don’t even know why this particular trip is affecting you so much.

“I packed a few extra slices of bread.” You explain rapidly. “And I know you’re still upset that I’m having you take one of my quilts but trust me, I’d rather you two have it-“

He cuts off your rambling quietly with the soft whisper of your name. It strikes fast like lightning shot through your spine.

Now you can’t help but turn your gaze up to him.

The whispers around this man painted him to be an omen because you could never see his eyes.

That part is true. The shadow of Din’s hat casts a deep shadow heavily blocking any chance of getting a good look at him in the eye. Then his bandana completely hides him from the nose down. At times he truly exists as a faceless phantom, a wandering ghost that has now found residence in your heart’s chambers.

But right now, this phantom stares directly at you and you can clearly see the eyes of this righteous man.

You’ve seen his face, kissed his soft lips. But his eyes…

Those rich soil eyes hold so much emotion and now hold your entire soul captive in their gaze.

You say nothing, don’t even know what to tell him.

A goodbye feels too simple. A please come home safe doesn't sound true because was this really his home?

Would this ever be his home?

And could you ever house a man as wild as a tumbleweed?

“Thank you.” Din speaks first. However, that simple thank you is all he says.

Your arms ache to embrace him. Your lips wish you were brave enough to yank the cloth across his face down to kiss him with every inch of your love.

He suddenly nods at you and you only nod back.

Without another word Din jumps onto his horse. The animal, which you believe hates you, now lets you softly pet him. You wish you could appreciate this small step but heaviness clogs your heart too much for any other emotion to pass.

The baby makes a soft whimper and both you and Din snap your attention to him. With his chubby sweet little fingers, your little bug simply waves a sad soft thing at you. He’s so smart, the kid, and you swallow back hard as you wave back. Your eyes return to Din.

The shade of his hat now has you searching harder for his eyes.

This time you can’t find them.

Nothing else is said.

Din simply kicks his heels against his horse and then begins a slow ride away.

No breeze of the wind carries them. This time it is only the stillness of the desert. For some reason, as you watch them dwindle further and further away, the stillness scares you more.

Summer beats down an unforgiving heat.

The air gets thick with the dry dust and you’re thankful for the cool nights that settle in. The early evening breeze from the open window already feels refreshing as you finish buying a few provisions from the commissary.

The clerk, an older man whose wife you are fond of, gently says your name hesitantly. His eyes are even a bit nervous and you ready yourself for whatever he asks.

“What…whatever happened to that young babe you had with you?”

You had previously been in the store many times with the baby happily cuddled in your arms. You used to cover him with a small light quilt to keep him safe from any curious eyes. You didn’t want them recognizing him if they saw the baby with your bounty hunter. But of course, the sight of you suddenly with a new babe did spark a few curious conversations.

Now your lips twitch but out of a fondness soaked in an aching sadness.

You haven't seen your boys for three months.

It’s the longest they’ve ever been gone. Not even a letter has been sent your way. But then again, you don’t take Din as one to write letters. The panic, the sleepless nights worrying if they were alright, all those emotions bleed into a numbness now. You simply wade through it all like trying to find an exit out of a sandpit slowly sinking you.

Swallowing the canyon sized lump in your throat, you simply give a brave false smile to the clerk staring so worried now.

You remember once jokingly telling him you had grown the baby in your garden. After all, you had first found the little terror eating your carrots.

“The wind swept him away from me,” you reply and you even hear the hollowness you cannot hide in your tone.

The clerk curiously frowns confused but his eyes seem to read past your brave face. He comfortingly pats your hand still on the counter and wishes you a safe walk back to your cabin.

With a grateful small grin you move to head out of the store.

Then the air bursts with a violent and loud crack.

Bandits are not a new occurrence to you or to the town. Once in a blue moon, a couple of them would arrive, make a ruckus at the saloon or unfortunately leave the town with more than they came with.

But the bandits arriving now come in a wave, like a mass of locust swarming in so fast you didn’t have time to think. And you didn’t. The explosion comes and you and the clerk give each other a petrified look before dashing outside.

Smoke rises from the edge of town and your heart sinks horrified at the chaos quickly consuming. The raiders ride in fast. The sticks of dynamite in their hand speak of a sinister threat of what was to come if anyone tries to stop them.

You move fast, trying to help your dear clerk to his house to be with his wife. You try to keep low. But when you are up against a swarm, it’s hard to outrun their staggering numbers.

Anywhere you turn the raider’s sinisters faces laugh proud and wild from on top of their horses. Some of them even chase on foot like released devils. It’s a bedlam choking your throat in panic.

Leave. You have to leave, find shelter or at least hide in your home.

Thankfully a group of you, including Mayor Karga, band together and flee fast from the town out past the outskirts. You all make camp on a secluded hillside that overlooks the town.

In the dead of night, the town illuminates a destructive crimson that has your legs wanting to give out.

“Don’t worry everyone!” Karga with his steady leveled heads guidance calls out in the night to you and the others townsfolk. “Before we evacuated I sent a telegram to my best man! He will come!”

For some reason your mind immediately flashes to Din.

You almost want to laugh. Of course your love sick heart would clutch onto the idea of him during a perilous moment of turmoil. He was a known fighter, though you had never seen him in combat. But a sharp internal voice striking as sharp as a rattlesnake tells you not to put your faith in bounty hunters.

Not even Din.

You squeeze away the tears clouding up your eyes and try to sleep alone under the desert’s ever watchful eye.

Staring up at the clear beautiful sky, you watch as the stars twinkle down below.

There were children’s tales about wishing on stars, on how seeing one fly across the sky was the reminder of how quick and fast wishes come. You remember even telling that story to your favorite little carrot stealing bug.

Emotions clog your throat even more at the thought of the baby and his father.

Something in you whispers to make a wish. That maybe at this hour of feeling so lost, a wish is all you have.

But again, wishing on stars, wishing for bounty hunters to make a miraculous return from the horizon, is for children. And you are too old to hold onto wishes when your town faces a real chaos that wishes might not be able to maybe save.

A day passes among the hills.

The next day, talk bubbles among some of the townsfolk to try and take the county back. But even you know the ammunition would not withstand the sheer force of the bandits.

And the bandits are apparently a stubborn group.

Their leader, a terrifying man with a wild beard by the name of Gorian Shard, announces with a loud voice to Karga they will never leave.

“A fair retribution for you not serving my men and then discovering your precious bounty hunter killed more of my comrades!”

Your heart again jumps at the thought of it being Din.

But your mind races to the worst possibilities. Did he encounter these raiders and not make it out alive? What about the baby?

You refuse to let yourself dwindle on those thoughts. You can’t. You have to find a way to keep moving, find a way out of this situation.

The townsfolk grow restless and worried, more so than you.

“Now everyone please, just hold on. I know help is on the way!” Karga urges, a voice of reason and faith. It settles everyone enough as another night among the wilderness arrives.

This time clouds cluster in the skies above and hide the stars. You think it’s fitting as you go to sleep with tears in your eyes.

You think of Kargas words, the idea of holding onto faith. You suppose even now a part of you still greedily clutches onto a last bit of hope that you’ll see your cowboy again.

You glance up at the cloudy sky again.

Even though there are no stars out, your heart now sends out a whisper of a wish. It’s a simple one.

What else do you have to lose making a wish now?

So you wish for safety - for you, for the town, and for your two boys that you hope more than ever are alive.

Soft low mummering wakes you up. Above stretches a soft periwinkle blue morning sky. When you rise you find so many staring down towards the town.

When you go to see what has everyone in a commotion, your breath gets snatched right out of your chest.

Din is fast on his horse.

He moves rapidly between the buildings and among the shadows that you believe you might have just imagined him.

But then, he swiftly rides out from a sharp corner and shoots three bandits down.

The towns people cry in absolute cheer but your eyes are on the cowboy moving like a phantom. It really is him.

Din.

He’s not alone though. More riders move in to take down the bandits but everyone including yourself focus on the mystery rider.

“Isn’t that the man with no eyes!? The one with the face you can’t even see?” Someone whispers.

“No…can’t be.” Another voice argues.

Karga suddenly chuckles, warm and reassured. “Trust me, my friends. That is indeed the same bounty hunter. He’s ours.”

A sharp flash of possessiveness rises.

You want to correct the Mayor and say he’s yours. That bounty hunter is your bounty hunter, the one who’s son eats from your garden, the bounty hunter who’s favorite fruit is oranges, whose face you knew and existence is now carved a deep cavern in your heart.

Din.

Your bounty hunter.

He’s a wonder to watch in action. Smooth, swift, firing with precision and maneuvering with an almost grace.

Your throat goes dry thinking of how strong this cowboy is the same one who once got flustered when he told you he can’t dance.

The bandits are effortlessly taken down by Din and the reinforcements he brought. Peace returns with the warm dawn. A beautiful relieved joy bursts through the crowd as everyone starts the descent back to the town. Your legs barely carry you but you eventually find yourself there among your town.

Rubble lines the streets. A few shops including the cantina took the worst damage. A steady rebuild is already being discussed among the townsfolk but your attention rests entirely on the black bandana wearing man.

He’s alive.

The baby sits cozy in his arms, smiling as bright as a new sun. Your mind can’t even process the thought of Din riding into battle with the kid.

Then a woman walks towards him.

Her gait is steady, confident. When she removes her hat to wipe her face, striking auburn colored hair falls from under her hat. She is lovely and it dawns on you that she was with the reinforcements.

You can’t help but admire her for being a part of the group who help liberate and retrieve your home. But when she moves closer to talk to Din, even playfully smiles at the baby, your heart starts deflating.

Soon Karga walks forward to speak to the hunters and the townspeople.

The entire time he talks you stay hidden against the shadow of a building, watching. The woman stands next to Din the entire time and grins so fondly. That look only intensifies when she goes to stare at him. Her eyes are molten and when Din turns back to her, he nods.

You hate that you cannot see his eyes.

The wilderness is not a forgiving thing. It brings in many travelers that simply come and go and it seems Din might be one of them. Because of course he would be close with another, a true cowgirl who can handle the wilderness and his ever changing lifestyle.

He never mentioned another woman in his life, but you suppose you wouldn’t either if you were in his position.

You wonder now if your existence to him was a simple way to pass the time, if you were just a quiet pit stop not ever meant to hold him for long. You try not to let these acidic jealous thoughts poison you, but it’s too late.

Before Din can turn to look towards the crowd, you turn on your heels and walk away against the shadows of the building.

You go to help the clerk, his sweet wife clean up the shop as best as you can.

“I wonder if the bounty hunter we’ve seen around here with the black bandana is handsome?” The clerk’s wife offers trying to lighten the space and her husband chuckles.

You stay quiet while your heart whispers out that yes, that bounty hunter is quite handsome.

When exhaustion mixes too dangerously with the heartbreak still brimming in your body, you decide to slip home.

You don’t even realize how long this day has been until you step out of the shop and find the sun already making her way to bed over the horizon.

It's comforting in a strange way.

The sun will rise again tomorrow, a new day, and so will you. You will move on.

You walk forward, straight out of the town and to the outskirts to where your cabin sits. You want to cry seeing your home thankfully still standing. A few animals are gone. Some crops and even stored goods from the shed have been stolen. The inside of your house is a ransacked clutter.

In the stillness, among the settled destruction, quiet tears sting your eyes.

You don’t know if it’s from the exhaustion of these past few days or the ache knowing your bounty hunter might be taken away from you by something fiercer than the wilderness.

He’s alive, your heart whispers.

You got your wish.

And that is true, but heavens above the truth hurts a violent ache.

Footsteps against the porch outside make you jump and whip around to stare from inside your house. There against your open doorway stands a beautiful shadow.

“Din…” Your voice even sounds hollow saying his name.

He pulls his mask down. His stunning handsome face stares at you wide as if you’re the phantom. Then he moves with a blinding speed you witnessed against the bandits.

In quick steps he is suddenly before you and then, you are in his arms.

He smells of gunpowder, sweat and something faintly him. It’s intoxicating and you can’t even stop yourself. Your arms wrap around him tight.

He breathes your name out and you think it might even sound like a shaken watery prayer.

“I didn’t see you among the others and I thought…I thought the worst, honey.” Din speaks with a heavy tone as thick as a torn bush.

That sweet but cursed nickname ignites a tender warmth through your body.

“I did too, about you.” You reply back small and in a waterlogged voice. “Haven’t seen you in months and I thought…”

You can’t even utter the words.

You instead simply allow yourself this moment to hold him tight.

“I know.” Din answers low. “The job took a lot longer than I thought. I’m sorry.”

“But then Karga sent me that ‘gram.” His voice steels hard.

So, it was him that Karga was speaking about.

“And I had to come back.” Din breathes out and squeezes you in his arms. His face even burrows against the top of your head and your eyes go wide.

Quietly your mind conjures up the image of the beautiful woman with the sunset colored hair and your eyes go misty.

So many emotions swirl in you that you can’t even swim against their tides to steady yourself.

A soft coo comes from the door now and instantly you and Din pull away from each other. Waddling in with wide eyes is the baby.

Without hesitation you leave Din’s arms to rush to the kid who once he sees you lights up. Then his arms reach out wide and grabby towards you. So effortlessly you scoop the little critter in your arms and pepper kisses across his face.

His sweet little coos twinkle like the sweetest wind chime.

“You came back just to eat more of my veggies didn’t you, little bug?” You laugh watery as the baby giggles so bright.

For the rest of the evening the little babe stays cozy in your arms refusing to leave even as you and Din slowly start cleaning up the cabin.

It’s a slow, quiet process.

Neither of you ask how the other is, how the other has been these missing months. The tension in the air clouds with a thickness you don’t know how to navigate.

Eventually the baby falls asleep quickly and happily snuggled in the makeshift bed.

Exhausted and in a type of trance all you can do is plop yourself on the edge of your porch. Din with his boots echoing on the wood quietly moves to sit beside you.

“Are you alright?” Din surprisingly speaks first in a comforting and low tone.

“Yeah it’s just… it’s been a long day.” It’s been a long couple of days, a couple of months and now, your ghost is materialized beside you.

“I bet.” Din comforts you so gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this place back to the way it was, honey.”

We will.

He included himself in those plans.

“You don’t have to stay too long,” but you reply low into the early evening air. “I understand your work keeps you busy and…”

The words become barbed and cut your throat on the way out.

“I know you had to come back because Karga sent out that distress signal. But I know this isn’t your home.”

Bounty hunters don’t stay in one place for long. He’s teaching you that.

And besides, what home could you truly give him?

The one you have now needs major repairs from the damage done by the bandits. Even before then your life compared to his is a simple mundane quietness that he might grow bored of.

Among the wilderness, the mirage is a sea of deception. It distorts the landscape before your eyes and for some reason that has you thinking of the times Din has returned to you from other jobs. You suppose that is what happened with you and Din. You wandered too deep into an unbelievable daydream and got stuck in the mirage, in the illusion of building a life with this man.

Din is still so far away, just out of your reach shimmering in the distance and untouchable.

After all, your bounty hunter is considered a ghost.

“I…” Din’s voice catches on itself and when you turn to him, the look on his face breaks your soul. His deep soil eyes are glossy, soaked with tears. His mouth opens in a sad frown.

Din swallows hard. Then his gorgeous sun kissed features frown even as confusion flickers in his gaze.

“I did come back for Karga, yes. But I came back because my home was in danger. Because you were in danger.”

His voice is clouded with conviction but running through it is an undercurrent of hurt.

Tears start to stream down your cheeks as free as rivers while you stare at him.

“You had to come home.” You croak the words out and a wild adoration resonates through your body.

Din nods firm, resolved.

You don’t know who moves first, who strikes first, but it doesn’t matter. The two of you are clutching each other and Din’s mouth kisses yours with the same wild power he shows in combat. He’s unrelenting and desperate but you suppose so are you.

The nights were long alone with your hand and simply thinking of his broad back, his beautiful thick neck, the feeling of his strong hands against you. And now, he is real solid flesh and blood beneath your fingertips. His tongue licks into your mouth trying to taste and consume everything you have. Your hands run to his hair and softly his hat falls away leaving you the bare face bounty hunter who you love entirely.

You clutch onto his shoulders and suddenly pull him close not even caring where you are.

Your back hits against the wood of the porch as Din leans down above. Din groans loud when his lips kiss your neck tasting the salt of your skin. Your eyes close in bliss.

He kisses a fiery path down your neck to your shoulders.

“Can I remove this, honey?” His voice is a debauched croak as he tugs at your garment blouse. Those deep eyes of his peer up at you beautiful fathomless abyss you want to fade into. Once you nod quickly he slips your blouse down exposing your chest to the evening air.

You wonder if a wild spirit has possessed you to let Din do this on your front porch but you embrace it. Especially when his tongue begins circling your nipple. Your mouth presses tight to and not let a whine escape you.

He suddenly kisses your breast with tenderness. He’s soft and lets his tongue trace a mindless path against your skin. It makes your body melt. Then he wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks loudly.

Your body leans up trying to get closer to him, trying to grind against any part of him, to get relief.

Din becomes a man possessed himself, licking and sucking both of your breasts until saliva coats them both

You sigh his name to the wind.

He finally draws back to stare down at you. He has never looked more beautiful. His eyes are completely blown out like a moonless night staring at you with pure devotion.

You lean up kiss him not even caring at how cold the air is against your bare chest. You need to be near him, need to consume him as much as he’s already consuming you.

Then the crunch of footsteps on the gravel approaches.

The sound galvanizes you both in a frenzy.

You rapidly yank your blouse up. Din effortlessly leans across you fast, almost covering you, as he whips to face forward. You realize it’s a type of protective move that makes your heart swell.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” A woman’s voice arrives amused.

Now scrambling up, you gently move Din away. There standing a few feet away from the entrance to the porch is the woman with the sunset hair.

She grins a coy knowing thing and your heart drops.

You stare at her petrified. She simply grins warmer. Then she winks at you before turning her gaze to Din.

“I just wanted to let you know that myself and a few others are heading back to camp. Don’t want to keep my dear wife waiting too long after all.” She chuckles. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying here.”

Wait, wife? Confusion creeps in hearing her words.

“Yes.” Din replies with a curt nod.

“I figured.” The woman smiles and then flickers her attention back to you. With a poised warm expression she nods to you and you nod back, a bit stunned.

“Take care Din, enjoy your time back home. We’ll see you soon.” She says with a deep kindness and you don’t miss the way she phrases Din being back home.

“You as well Bo.” He bids her goodbye.

The woman, Bo, gives you a final warm grin and then walks to her horse you can spot faintly in the darkness.

“Who was that?” You have to ask.

“A good friend. She’s married to my people’s blacksmith. The two of them were the ones who rallied the reinforcements that helped me today.” Din explains simply.

Your eyes go wide. All the jealousy feels embarrassing now and you want to bring that woman back so you can both thank her and apologize.

“I’ll have to thank her and the others soon.” You mutter and Din hums a quiet agreeing noise.

“I would be honored to introduce you to them.” Din affirms.

The confusion you had quickly turns into a slight amusement tickling your lips and a small giggle even almost escapes you.

This day has been a whirlwind finally setting you down on your feet and now here you are, with your cowboy.

So you slide closer to him on the patio and curl your arms around his torso. Your body leans and curls against his back.

Closing your eyes, you burrow your face against Din’s strong solid frame. The fabric of his under shirt smells faintly of sunlight and something uniquely Din.

You kiss his back with the gentlest of pressure and Din draws your arms around him closer. He exhales a deep sigh you feel being so close against him.

A soft summer breeze of the desert breathes new life through the air.

“We’ll have to fix the fence tomorrow.” Din quietly notes and you hum in agreement.

There was much work to do. You even dread for a split moment thinking of all the work that has to be done in the heat tomorrow. But you also imagine the baby wandering around babbling so sweetly as he wears Din’s way too big hat…

And Din being by your side every step.

You squeeze him tighter, a silent apology for ever doubting this incredible force of a man.

“Welcome home.” You whisper to him.

Din’s hand squeezes yours.

“Yeah…M’home, honey.”

In your arms, you have caught a phantom of the wilderness and you plan to hold onto him as long as you can.

#I know everyone is on the spiderman Miguel train and I love and support y’all I just miss our space Cowboy that’s all #plus knowing that me and maybe two other babes might read this is enough to make my little heart say yeehaw 🤠#Din 🩶#cowboy din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin x reader #din djarin x you

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bigsnaff · 28 days ago

Text

The Old Way

The Commander and Rytlock go on a little trip. It doesn't quite go as planned. Set between IBS and EoD. 1.5k words. CWs: injury, alcohol, descriptions of blood

"You ever been hunting the old way?"

Rytlock throws his shot back, and the whiskey burns his throat just about as much as the setting sun does his eyes. He leans back on his stool and gives her a look.

"Sure, few times." Just about every charr had, at least once or twice. Usually something reserved for the youngsters. Get that pent up energy burnt in a way that no morning drill ever could. "Been about a decade." He scratches behind a horn. "Or two."

Strip off your plate armor and go running. Sink your fangs in. Bring back a fresh kill that your warband could fight over the best cuts of over a spit fire. Wasn't something he ever got too much into, really. Wasn't as much of a fan of gamey meat. But he knew Cyna was a different story.

She matches his position and leans back, her own drink long emptied, a look in her eyes. "Talked to a merchant yesterday. They made mention that some of the wild dolyak herds are finally migrating west of here. Wouldn't mind some help."

"Y'ever hunted dolyak?" Rytlock hums.

"No. You?"

"The wild ones? Big bastards. Meaner than the pack ones. Norn will take a whole party for just a couple of 'em. You aren't taking one down by yourself."

She grins, pointing between them. "No, but we can."

He has to laugh at that. "If you'd asked me ten years ago, maybe. But nah; I'm out for the count on crap like that anymore. Go ask Braham 'r something."

Braham was a sore spot, still. Rytlock wasn't even sure why he brought him up; the kid was still recovering. Physically. And mentally. They all were.

"I'm not asking Braham," Cyna says firmly, "I'm asking you."

He huffs. If one really needed the meat, then a gun or bow was just more efficient, plain and simple. But in this case, neither of them did. It wouldn't go to waste either way, sure, but Rytlock knew why she was ultimately asking. It was the same reason they were drinking together right now; more fun with company.

He swirls the contents of his fourth shot, looking down at the amber bubbles with a low, droning rumble in his chest. Not a good time to negotiate something like this. Mind addled.

He finally looks back up, catching Cyna's hard eyes. "And Reeva already said no?"

Her teeth grind a little as she looks away. Another sore spot. "Didn't ask. Won't ask."

"Right." He places a hand down on the table and leaves behind a few silver, sliding his remaining shot Cyna's way. She gives him a side-eye before her fingers wrap around it.

“So,” she brings the glass up to her lips, “what is it, Tribune?”

“Why the hell not.” Not like she hasn't pulled him into considerably worse. He'd even ask Crecia to come along if he knew she was so inclined. It was more of a warband activity, anyway. But he already knew what her answer would be, so he'd save it. “When were you planning on it?”

She flashes him a toothy smile. “Couple days from now. I can hold back longer if you need.”

“Nah, that sounds good. Was getting too stuffy here, anyhow.” He'd have to sharpen his claws. Maybe do some stretches; wasn't too fond of throwing his back out again.

But yeah, it was time to get out of Grothmar.

------------

She'd been kicked in the head. If she wasn't charr, she wouldn't be here anymore.

As it stood, charr had very hard skulls. Had to. Headbutting was practically a sport among them. But a kick from a yak was still a different story. Cyna looked like she'd been in something a little worse than just a fistfight. The red drained down her face and into her ashy fur, speckling the snow beneath. By the time Rytlock helped her shamble to their makeshift camp, the bleeding had only just started to wane.

“Taste copper…” she croons as she looks around aimlessly, like she didn't realize her nostrils were faucets for the blood. Rytlock takes her snout in a hand and looks her in the eyes. She just laughs and pats his arm. “Rytlock. Your fur.”

“Shut up.” A growl drones from his throat as he shoves her back — not harshly, but enough that she almost tips on her already unsteady feet. She has a concussion. He didn't really even need to look to figure that out. “You idiot. I told you to leave that one.”

Her lips slide back to reveal more red as she gives a wide grin. “Wuz the biggest meat.”

The adrenaline and bleariness would wear off soon and she'd be a real hydra to deal with, so he'd just take her ramblings for now and give her the lecture later. As if it would do much. She had an elaborate history of instances like this before they'd even met — back when Rytlock was given more than a few reports regarding a certain soldier under his command that had a penchant for ignoring orders and almost always suffering some sort of bloody consequence for it, in the most literal sense.

He thought it was a good riddance when she and the rest of her warband fled from Blood to Ash. Until Duke Barradin.

Cyna absently hums an old marching melody as her tail thrashes to the rhythm in the snow. Rytlock finds himself humming along as he grabs his pack and pulls out Sohothin, poking it into the embers of their nearly-spent campfire.

“No weapons, no nothing — just fangs and claws,” Cyna had insisted before their outing. That was just for the hunt. But Rytlock would sooner shave his fur than go this far into the Shiverpeaks without some kind of weapon. Not for the dolyaks, but anything else that lurked around the corner. Icebrood still haunted the territory, even if their puppetmaster was now nothing more than spikes of ice spraying across Anvil Rock.

Soon, the campfire crackled anew but still hungered for fuel. He sheathes Sohothin at his belt and sits back, looking over toward Cyna again, who had the wit about her to shovel some snow up to her snout — the chill evidently numbing some of whatever pain must be becoming more apparent. Her bloodshot eyes screw shut with the pressure of her hand and a quiet hiss weaves through her teeth. He lets a chuckle escape him. Just the small one that he won't feel too bad for, because he knows that this entire trip won't amount to much of a lesson anyway after they head back — at least until Dokks catches sight of the new crook in their commander's nose.

Rytlock sighs and pulls his pack to his feet. “Y’hungry?” he asks. She doesn't give any indication that she heard him as he rifles through his cargo and pulls out some jerky. His stomach growls, but only because his mind wanders back to the dolyak and whatever fresh meat they could've been roasting over the fire right now instead of the plain and dried strips he's chewing.

Maybe he'd try fishing instead.

He could count on one hand the amount of times he'd gone fishing in his life and actually caught anything. But it couldn't go any worse than this.

After adequately nursing her nose, Cyna soon turns to him. “Do you have any—”

“No.”

“The hell was I going to say?” she growls, though the noise sounds less intimidating through her injury. He continues chewing and doesn’t look at her gnarly features. Hopefully the snow will keep the swelling down enough for them to actually do something about it soon.

“I’m not giving you any damn booze.”

“So you did bring some.”

Rytlock gives her a plain look. “You gonna fight me for it?”

She huffs and whips her head away from him like a cub. The quick action must’ve smarted because she hisses again and her hand comes up to her temple. He actually would give her some alcohol to pacify the pain, but he wasn’t about to let her pair that with a concussion of all things. The snow would have to do for now. He takes another bite of jerky and tosses a piece to Cyna, who just gives a grunt of thanks in lieu of anything else.

It didn’t feel like it did when he was younger, when it was only ever for the rush. When your claws dig into the dirt and you put all your weight behind that leap. Your teeth sink in for the death strike and blood meets your tongue. He didn’t get as far as that last step but it didn’t really matter to him anyway — because maybe that’s what living at the helm of apocalyptic scenarios innumerable will do to you. It all tastes like ash.

Or maybe the remaining embers were all but spent at Anvil Rock.

With a groan Rytlock gets to his feet, feeling his age. He thinks he’d be content to laze here in front of the flickering flame for another hour listening to Cyna mope and complain, but the fire needs fuel.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #rytlock brimstone #my writing #my characters #cyna crystalclaw #omg it's almost painfully hilarious how slow I write. this is barely over 1k and I've been chipping away at it for MONTHS

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stitchdfox · 1 year ago

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Eddie is on tour pt 3

His eyes blur as he stares at his phone. The phone app open, taunting him with Steve’s contact info. His thumb hovers over the green call button. Hesitant.

“Come on, Munson. He told you to call him.” Eddie mumbles to himself.

“Joining us tonight?” Their drummer Gareth asks as he slaps Eddie on the shoulder.

“Ah. No. Gotta make a call.” Eddie holds his phone in the air.

“Who’s Steve?” Gareth asks.

Eddie blushes and locks his phone.

“Come on, Gar.” Jeff pulls him away as he flashes a knowing smile at Eddie.

Gods. He owed that man a shot of tequila and the best wingman award.

Eddie takes a breath. Finally tapping the call icon.

“Hey there.” Steve’s voice is groggy.

It only rang once. Was he waiting for him to call?

“Hey.” Eddie smirks. “It’s like 3 am in Indiana. What are you doing up so late?”

“Well, I’m actually in Chicago so it’s only 2 am. And I’m working on an essay for school. Deadline is coming fast.” There’s a rustle of papers being gathered. “May have accidentally dozed off…”

He’s so cute.

“Whatcha gonna be when you grow up, Stevie?” Eddie cringes at his awkwardness.

“Guidance councilor. Hopefully. Schools not the the easiest for me so, it’s been a lot of late nights.” Steve yawns. “How was the show?”

“Surreal.”

Steve hums.

“Honestly, I don’t think it’ll ever not be surreal.” Eddie stares up at the clear night sky above him. He’ll stay with the van outside the venue until the guys get back.

“I’ve loved music all my life. My uncle used to play the radio while we made breakfast. He shared his old records with me when I was old enough to understand how fragile they could be. From there I saved up for my first guitar, my baby, and I knew from the moment I first held her there was no turning back.”

“Wow.” Steve breathes low.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t be sorry, man. That’s so cool. What bands inspired you?” Steve asks, urging him on.

“There’s a few,” Eddie holds up his fingers as he names them. “Metallica- Master of Puppets was the first song I taught myself. Wild. You know how hard that song is to play? Worth it though. Then there’s Dio, Megadeath, Black Sabbath and Ozzy of course.”

“Of course.” Steve says.

“Do you even know who Ozzy is?”

“Yeah. I know who Ozzy is. He was on that reality show where they swore a lot.”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “No Steve—“

“Yes Eddie. He was on that show.”

“Okay, yes he was on the show but do you know his music?” Eddie can’t help the smile that grows on his lips.

“Guess I have some more homework.”

“Steve, you don’t have to listen to them. I’m sure they’re not your taste.” Eddie runs his fingers nervously through his hair.

“I want to. If you like them then they have be pretty good.” Steve says.

“Don’t give me too much credit here, sweetheart. I’m just the guitarist of a small metal band.” Eddie slumps his shoulders.

“Come on! You’re on tour, literally right now on tour, with a big name band that invited you to join them. That’s huge.” Steve’s voice is loud and excited. “Like, where are you guys right now?”

“Denver.” He says low.

“See. I’ve never been west of St. Louis.” He goes quiet. “Anyway, it’ll be nice change of pace from my Harry Styles kick.”

Eddie let’s out a guffaw. “I would be into a One Direction fan.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Shit.” Eddie says to himself as he squats down, wrapping his arm around his bent knees.

“You’re… into me?” Steve asks with an air to his voice.

“I… um…”

Silence again.

“The honest answer?” Eddie sighs.

“Mhmm.” Steve’s voice is soft.

“Alright. Here goes.” Eddie stands up, a little light headed from the action. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I called you by accident that night. I don’t even know what you look like and it wouldn’t matter at this point. There is something so… so…” he’s at a loss of words.

“So what, Eddie?” Steve’s voice is a whisper.

“Amazing. Wonderful. Heart stopping. I want to write songs about you. And now that I’ve put myself out there I don’t even know if you’re into guys, let alone a stranger and—“

“Eddie.”

“I’ve ruined this like I ruin everything.”

“Eds.”

“I’m such an idiot and—“

“Babe.”

Eddie stops pacing in a circle and let’s that word settle in.

“I know it was your turn to spiral this time but you’ve gotta breathe.” Steve waits for him to take a deep breath. “It is a bit crazy but I… I mean… Me too! I was being honest when I told you I drove my best friend crazy talking about calling you.”

They both laugh and Eddie sighs.

Steve speaks again. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie taps the back of his head against the van.

“I should let you go, sweetheart. I’m sure you have class tomorrow.”

“I do. I’ll text you when I get home and maybe we can talk again?” His voice is a bit shaky. Nervous maybe.

“I’d love that.” Eddie’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest right there in the venue parking lot.

“Sweet dreams, rockstar.” Steve teases.

“Good night, big boy.” Eddie hangs up the call before Steve can respond.

His muscle loosen as he leans against the side of the van. His phone vibrates once in his hand. He looks down to see a message from Steve.

“Hope your imagination didn’t oversell my good looks. 😉”

There’s no way the picture to follow is of a real human being.

Steve has a strong jawline, moles dotting his face and neck, his hair is auburn and a bit on the long side, not that he had anything on Eddie’s length.

His eyes were bright and hazel. His smile wide and perfect.

Eddie opened the van door to dig in his bag. He pulls out his head phones, flops on the middle bench, and searches Spotify.

If he pulls up the “this is Harry Styles” playlist it was nobody’s business but his own.

——

Part 1 here.

Part 2 here.

Part 4 to follow. I’m kind of in love with this AU rn.

If you’re interested I’m posting on my Twitter as well.

#Steddie #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #modern au #they’re already in love #fan fic #fan fic update

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random-gamer1942 · 2 months ago

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This morning I randomly remembered my first ever fanfic thingy that I made a few months ago, an sbg wild west au. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but I got some sudden inspiration, so I'm reposting it here and continuing it

Trainwreck Graveyard

(1/7) The train that was

The sun sat high in the sky, broiling the dry land below. Standing on this scorched earth was a silent figure. Twin flame-colored braids going down until her waist, just barely resting on the twin six-shooters holstered to her belt - like sticks of dynamite ready to blow after the wick's flames caught up to them. It'd be hard to tell just what she might do with those things if it wasn't for the star-shaped golden badge on her uniform

Though many others awaited the locomotive, none dared approuch her. Few ever did, and of those few, even fewer didn't end up regretting it. If her cold gaze didn't scare them away, the cold steel of a barrel between their eyebrows would. Sure, some would call it harsh, but if it scares away outlaws that's simply what must be done

Choo chooo, the approuching train broke the quiet atmosphere that usually seemed to follow her. As it came to a halt and it's doors opened, the crowd started pouring into the different cabins, with many taking the spots they had grown accustomed to

But when the woman with hair red as the morning sun found her usually mostly empty cabin, two strange faces sat there, almost waiting for her

One was a large man with dark hair, who attempted to avoid eye contact. The other however, adorned with hair light as the sands of the desert, looked straight at the figure approuching him. And when met with her cold gaze, he returned a warm smile

They're clearly travelers, she thought to herself. She decided to just sit down and hope that they wouldn't start a conversation. I mean, they surely wouldn't be foolish enough to-

"Howdy there Miss, pleased to meet ya. The name's Aiden, and this here's my cousin Benjamin. He don't speak much, but don't mind 'em. Say, what might I call you?"

He didn't seem like a bad guy per se, but that smile of his unsettled her

"Ashlyn, sheriff 'round these parts. I'd prefer if you didn't-"

"Sheriff? That could be interestin', oh I bet ya. Doncha think so, Ben?"

"..."

"Well, could be excitin', right? Wild chases, held at gunpoint. Might even get arrested!"

How casually he said these things, with that same smile on his face, were concerning. She had to get him to settle down before he did anything he'd regret

"You. I don't take kindly to strangers taking my seat, starting all sorts of chatter, 'n speaking over me. I suggest stayin' silent for the rest of the ride, if you value getting to see another mornin'."

"Ooh, curious indeed. Well, how're ya gon' make me?" He squinted his eyes and smiles just a bit more

"Well, lemme put it like this...", she drew the pistol out of her right holster, letting it spin around her finger once before placing the barrel in front of his forehead, "...whether you shut that trap of yours or not, you'll end up silent somehow."

He leaned forward slightly, his forehead now touching the suprisingly cool metal of the revolver. "Oh, will I now? In that case, please show me Miss, cuz I clearly ain't picking up what yer puttin' down."

She flinched when he moved closer. She'd seen many cowardly back off, and some stubbornly stand their ground, but get closer? Did he have a death wish or something? It didn't make any se-

BOOM

A loud explosion rang through the cart. The sheriff dropped her gun and clutched her ears, barely able to stand upright

"Oh, seems like our cue to go", the man said, with his red eyes glinting in the midday sun. "I did truly enjoy our little chat, sheriff. Hopefully I'll cya soon!"

He grabbed his cousin by the wrist and dashed to the back of the cart, which now had a giant hole in it.

The sheriff grasped for her other shooter, but by the time she was looking past the barrel, they had already jumped onto a set of horses and rode off

And it was then that our sheriff realized her quiet life just might get a bit more interesting...

(2/7) Ready to go

#Trainwreck Graveyard #random writing #sbg #sbg (webtoon)#fanfic

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happy-lemon · 8 months ago

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Gather 'round, friends. I have a weird story about Iara Machado.

You might remember that she married Gwen and they had a son named Leo, who is now a young adult. (He was just at Lola's Christmas party.) Well, not too long ago, via the magic of Neighborhood Stories, they had twins, Ana and Tomas.

While I've been playing Generation Lola, I kind of lost track a bit and I discovered recently that Gwen died. No idea why or how. So that was kind of sad.

Yesterday, while I was taking screenshots of Lola's wedding, I realized I didn't have a second wedding outfit without a bouquet in her hands. Which sucked because I knew as soon as I took her in CAS, everyone was going to break their poses and poof back home.

Friends, I had Lola in there for two minutes. Tops. And when I teleported Iara back, she was no longer Iara Machado. In those two minutes, not only did she marry Baako Jang, but they had/adopted (I'm not sure) two more babies. Neighborhood Stories is the wild west, man. Anything can happen.

Well, I did what any (in)sane simmer would do. I "adopted" those babies to a random couple who "moved away" forever. And because it was clear Iara was calling the shots about her relationship, I took Baako into CAS to update his funky style a little bit. While I was in there, I took a look at Iara's gender preferences and I gasped!

All this time, I thought Iara was a lesbian, but as it turns out she's sexually attracted to men and women, but romantically attracted to men only? Okay. So, all this time she was married to someone she really just wanted to bang. And after Gwen died, Iara decided to get herself some dick.

Anyway the TL;DR is that I think I accidentally fucked up Iara's entire life. Imagine if she'd been an only child and I'd let her be heterosexual. Just imagine.

Congratulations, you nutty kids! I hope your life together is happier than the expressions on your faces.

#story time #ts4 #sims 4 #iara machado

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tomatoswup · 2 years ago

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phone calls

summary: two old rotary phones begin the connection between two souls. One from the past and another from the future.

warnings: angst, literally angst, sad vash :(, hurt/comfort but its not the comfort you think it is. kinda more like an acceptance comfort

pairing:vash x reader

-inspired by the movie "The Lake House"

A/N: am i a fiend for writing angst? yes. do I like reading it? NOPE. wanted to get this out before I hustled on school work hehe. But fun fact this was originally longer but I rewrote and condensed it b/c I thought it was too long for just a one shot lost media typa beat. honestly i don't think i wrote this right but fuck it we ball. I recommend reading this with the saddest song you have bookmarked. Enjoy!~

"Hmmm...Well you got some personality to you.” You mumbled, staring at the old red vintage rotary phone sitting in front of you. How did you come to achieve this old relic of time? Well in short terms, you liked to think about it like an equation.

Old attic + mischievous white cat = you adventuring to go find said cat and to your dismay, said cat scares the living ever hell out of you making you lose balance and fall backwards into endless towers of boxes.

Fun times right?

Those bruises weren't gonna be….

But that was the least of your problems at the moment. As expected, the rotary phone suddenly started to ring, shaking and clicking in itself, making you sigh in disappointment. Grabbing the phone, you yanked it up to your ear “Hey, yeah I don’t think this is gonna work.” You deadpanned “Now we know that we're always gonna be connected, what is this? The 5th time?"

"Damn and I thought you hanging up would’ve solved the problem. I don't think we could connect with anyone else though! I asked the farmer about it and he had no idea!" Chirped the male on the other side of the line.

Of course! It sounded like a normal conversation between two individuals but even Einstein himself would've been baffled at these circumstances. Imagine this, you find an old phone and you had been playfully talking into it until a voice actually responds without it being connected. Strange right? And no, you were sure you hadn't been seeing any strange figures on the sides of your vision.

Now here you were, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on alongside the man who had introduced himself as Vash The Stampede.

"21st century my ass, Google isn't doing shit!"

"Wait hold on now, did you just say 21st?"

"Yeah? Something wrong?"

"Uh well.. It's just that its actually the 32nd century."

You blink a few times "No, it's not. My calender literally says it's the 21st century. It's general knowledge."

"No I'm pretty sure its the 32nd century!" Vash snapped back.

Silence filled the air on both sides.

"WAIT A MINUTE-"

And thats how the unknown man from the future and you hit it off.

After this discovery, the two of you talked on the phone for a while, sharing things about each of your own time periods. And you slowly found yourself enjoying the conversations you would have with Vash who you soon found out, was pretty goofy in his own way, but kind. And unknowingly, Vash felt the same way.

What was an accidental and odd situation turned into practically an everyday thing for the both of you now.

After work, you always looked forwards to that red phone on your nightstand until one day, you decided to decorate it with cute little stickers because why not?

After all, it was fasinating to hear things about the future. Sometimes you'd laugh at the way Vash described it, like something out of an old wild west movie.

"It's all just desert! Really!" He groaned out as you chuckled, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you put books and CD's away on your bookshelf "At least you can make some cool sandcastles or something!"

"With what water?"

"Your tears." Snorting, you listen on as he whined through the receiver. "Hey but just imagine me helping you build them! Makes it hurt less."

Vash let out a exaggerating sigh "But seriously, it's not always sunny were you live?" He asked curiously.

"Nope!" You smiled, slipping one of your favorite books into place "It changes every so often really. Depending on the season." You hummed out, looking out the window to your right to see the drenching rain down with its spring showers.

"Season?"

"Sometimes it rains and sometimes it gets super cold. Other days it just gets too hot and if we're lucky, we get days with perfect temperatures. Its never the same but I guess that's the beauty to it here. Every day is a new sight no one could really get tired of. "

Or a new headache.

Vash stayed quiet on the line, and you imagined how he looked like deep in thought. Eyebrows furrowed, his supposed pointy blonde hair messily spread out across his pillow, and eyes as blue as the sky looking up at the ceiling in concentration.

…Okayyy that’s enough out of you.

He didn't say the eye part himself but you liked to ponder on the idea.

"That sounds beautiful.."

And to that, you smiled. "Yeah, it kinda is."

But something in your head made you stop and look down at the book you had in hand, unsure if you wanted to say anything.

"Hey Vash.."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry that I'm the only person you could really reach with this thing. I know you really wanted to talk to your friends.."

"Why are you apologizing? It's not everyday I talk to someone from the past! From even before No Mans Land!”

You sigh and slip the final book away to which Vash adds in one more sentence. "And even if you weren't, I like talking to you."

You scoff in good humor "You're lying blonde."

"NO I"M NOT!" Vash gasps out dramatically "Oh how you hurt me so!"

"Hardy har har." You chuckled, shoving a box of things you wanted stored away in the corner of your room. "At least I know I'm speaking to someone as beautiful as the nightsky!" He huffed out trying to sound manlier.

“Yeah? Now how could you tell that?"

"Because I know a pretty and kind soul when I hear it."

E-Excuse me?

Your face flushes red "Alright cowboy are you trying to soften me up?"

"Pftttttt nooooooo~"

Your conversations never ceased to end, and when talking to Vash about practically everything, it felt...comforting. To know there was someone to listen to your struggles, and listen to his own. It felt so intimate.

Sharing about your life on Earth, the things you do and him speaking about his own life and travels around his home planet.

One day, Vash and you had been talking for the night and he mentioned something that gave you a sense of familiarity.

PROJECT SEEDS.

A large project that's been reported on the news for more than a few months now so of course you caught onto that. You've watched their segment on TV before. Something about bringing life to other planets?

You knew the Earth was dying, scientists had announced that someday in the nearing future, the very sun that shone down on you, would destroy you. But did that really matter to you anymore?

The project had been accepting registrations for boarding their new ship incase it happened. Your sister got to register in time but you had been too late. All the slots were filled.

That was a very odd day to say the least.

But that didn't stop you from speaking to Vash.

"Vash, do you ever think you'll see me in the future?" You pondered one night as you were cuddled up in your blankets, the cold being unbearable this winter season.

"Well, I hope so. Sometimes it gets tiring speaking into a thing of metal and plastic hehe.." You could practically hear him playfully grin through the receiver.

You gripped the handle of the phone tight as tears threatened to leave the corner of your eyes.

"I hope I get to see you one day Vash.."

He went quiet for a moment.

"I do too.."

That night, you slept with the phone held to your chest as the fluttering feeling in your stomach never ceased. And you didn't want it to.

Vash had made it a routine to call you every night at exactly midnight to check in on how you were since he couldn't really do it in person either way. And every time he called, it felt as if he heard your voice for the first time all over again. The warmth in his chest made him smile when you answered the phone with the nervous pitch in your voice.

"Vash?"

He found it theraputic to listen as you talked about your day, the normalicy and peace No Man's Land and that his own life had lacked.

Hanging out with friends, reading in libraries, and more.

How he loved it.. Hearing you speak so fondly, so excited, it felt refreshing to Vash.

You were full of life

And Vash wouldn’t trade it for anything.

With every time you spoke his name, he felt like melting into a puddle. He just wanted to hear you repeat his name over and over again, and no, he'll never get tired of it. He could spend an eternity laying in the dusty bed of the farmer’s home just listening to your voice. Listening to your worries, your hopes, and the momentary jokes you would tell him.

But as the days passed, after one full year and a half of the two of you speaking over the old rotary phone, you answered the phone one night with a change clear to Vash. You sounded so weak, so sickly and out of breath.

"Are you alright?" He asked, hearing loud shuffling and things falling on the other line.

"I-I'm fine!" You coughed out as Vash peeked out the old wooden window in the room he was staying in, spotting Wolfwood and the broadcasting girls waiting for him to join them.

"Are you sure?" He breathed out in honest concern, feeling his fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

"I'm fine Vash, seriously." Your voice weakly echoed through the receiver "Just a little sick, that's all.."

"Please make sure to get some rest okay? I'll ring you when I come back."

"Promise?"

"I promise lov-" Vash caught himself, quickly shutting his mouth.

"Hm?" You hummed out in question.

"Sorry a fly got caught in my throat! Hahaha!" He played off before sighing.

"Take care of yourself, for me okay?"

"I will, I will.." Before Vash put the phone back onto the base, you said one more thing.

"Love you." And with that, the familiar ding of the phone receiver on the other line rang through Vash's ear, signifiying the end of the call.

And Vash was left in utter silence and awe. Love. Love you said. Him?

A fond expression instinctively grew on his face, yet the churning feeling in his stomach wasn't one of butterflies, but one of dread. He couldn't help but leave with the gut feeling that something was wrong.

When Vash returned back to his room and picked up the phone at the same time the two of you would call each other at every day, there was no reponse.

He called your name and no sound came out of the other end. So he put the phone back down onto the base and lifted it back up again to his ear as the same dread slowly seeped into his chest. The room was starting to feel a bit more heavier than usual.

"Hello?" He breathed out nervously as he felt his forehead start to sweat.

"Come on.." He muttered to himself worriedly. Maybe you weren't home in time and had gone to the doctor. Yeah, maybe that's the reason. So Vash left the phone alone for the night for the first time but the prodding feeling in his chest didn't leave.

He tried the next night.

No response.

Maybe you had stayed over your parents' for the day.

He kept the phone by him whilst he napped, waiting for the ring of the phone to wake him up like an alarm, but that didn't come.

He tried the next night, the next night, and continued for the next 3 months until finally.

One night, Vash just stared at the old red phone that hadn’t rung since that day, anticipating at least one final call, one last goodbye from you. Sitting on the bed side, he kept his eyes on the phone until finally Vash couldn’t hold it anymore and cried. Clear waters falling down his cheeks as he tightly held the phone to his chest in desperation.

Did you forget about him?

Did you find the love of your life and decided not to bother with him anymore?

'Come back.'

'Dont leave me please.'

'I love you."

'Please speak to me.'

The string of desparate thoughts ran through his mind as the burning sensation grew in his chest. He can't breathe. He gasped for air as his quiet wails filled the night.

Don't go.

The morning after Vash permanently left the farmer's residence. Of course, he took the phone along too, incase you ever decided to ring back but to Vash's dismay, it never did.

And Vash thought back to you, from time to time, stil wondering if you remembered about the red phone that sat in your room and the idiot blonde on the other side of it.

2 years had passed since that night, and both Vash and the gang found themselves in the city of Augusta for their annual merchant gathering, an event in which all the merchants from around the planet come and trade their valuables or tools in a big, single event.

Crowds of people flooded the streets as the stands were all surrounded to the brim. Vash had been walking beside Wolfwood, who was talking about some bounty hunters causing trouble around when something red caught his eye from an stand that they had walked past, causing Vash to stop in his tracks. Eyes widening in realization, he rushed over to the stall, leaving Wolfwood in the dust.

"H-Hey where are you going!?!" Wolfwood called out but Vash ignored him. His leather clothed hands slammed down on the stall table, the young man who managed the stall yelping in surprise.

"H-HOW CAN I HELP YOU?!" The man nervously shouted out as Vash reached over and picked up a very familiar red rotary phone "Where did you get this!?" He exclaimed in urgency. "How'd you get this!?"

"I-I-" The young man quickly cleared his throat and regained his composure at the sudden burst from the tall blonde-spiked haired man.

"It's a very old device! Back during the old days according to my great-grandmother!"

Vash looked down at the red phone, very dusty but he was able to make out the sticker decorations and doodles that were scattered around on it. Inspecting it more, he turned it around to the back and saw something melancholic.

"12:00 PM Midnight" was written on the back of the base with black marker. The time the two of you would call each other every night those years ago.

"Sorry, is.. is there anyone I could talk to about this?" Vash apologized, giving the young man a somber smile as he held the phone to himself, as if someone were going to rip it away from his grasp.

The man observed Vash for a moment, before nodding and giving Vash directions to his great-grandmother's home, right outside the border of Augusta.

"There you are!" Wolfwoods' voice rang out angrily behind him "The hell did you see now?!"

Vash turned to Wolfwood and simply gave him a smile "We're gonna be paying a visit."

It didn't take long to reach the old worn down home and greet the owner of the property, a small old lady to which surprised Wolfwood that she hadn't kicked the bucket yet.

Vash, of course, elbowed him in the rib for that one.

Seeing the phone in Vash's arms, the lady let out a small smile "My, I haven't seen that phone since I was a child..." She quickly showed Vash and Wolfwood inside, explaining how the phone came to be here.

"According to my grandfather, our lineage began with two sibilngs who were born and raised on Earth. When Earth neared its end, the daughter of the family was able to escape whilst the other sibling unknowingly stayed behind on Earth."

The old lady snapped her fingers to Wolfwood and waved him over "Be a dear for me and put this on the table."

Watching Wolfwood put a very old and deteriorating box on the table, the lady continued.

"Well, the sibling died before the daughter left Earth, so in attempt to preserve her family's memories, the daughter took some of her siblings' things, something to remember them by."

The old lady points to the phone in Vash's arm "That was one of them. And here-" The lady patted on side of the box "-are the things she was able to take with her. Check them out yourself." She softly motioned Vash to come closer with her frail, wrinkled hand.

Hesitating for just a second, he took slow and steady steps towards the box, biting the inside of his cheek in attempt to not just cry.

Damn, he sure felt like a cry baby these days.

Putting the phone down besides the box, Vash reached into the box and pulled out various things. Old shirts, CDs, a wallet, wired headphones, books, and something he never thought he'd ever see in fine print that made his breath hitch.

A colored photo I.D and on the side of it, your full name printed in black.

It was you.

These were your things, these shirts you've worn, the CDs you've listened to, the wallet you used in your day-to-day life, but he kept his eyes on the I.D.

Vash stared at your photo, the features you've described to him once were in his hands, proof of your existence.

He couldn't hold it anymore, how could he? Silent tears ran down his face as the small giggles he let out, turned into full on laughter.

He laughed and laughed whilst holding the I.D close to his heart.

You didn't purposely leave him.

You hadn’t meant to.

The same gracious laughter morphed into sobs as he grabbed everything he had taken out of the box, and enveloped them tightly into his arms.

This was the first time he was able to physically feel you, even if you weren't there yourself. He wished the smell of the favorite perfume you had gotten one day had still lingered onto your shirts, he wished he could've shared and listened to your favorite music alongside you. And he wished you were beside him, looking through all these things with him. He wanted to hear you reminsce your past and your present again.

Oh he wished.

Vash spent hours at the old ladies' home, looking and observing every single one of your belongings. There were some he remembered you talking to him about, and others he didn't recognize.

But it was time for him to leave and Vash knew it.

Looking up at the sky outside, he softly smiled, caressing the small compartment he had your I.D pocketed in.

"C'mon needle-noggin. Time to get your ass moving!" Wolfwood shouted ahead of him.

Letting out a large exhale, Vash muttered out a few words before running to catch up with the priest "Wait up!"

Behind him, two objects were left behind in the sand, placed neatly besides a metal nameplate.

The two red cherry rotary phones glistened in the sun, one filled with stickers and the other covered in dirt and scuff marks as your name plate, that had been cleaned of any dirt or scratches, continued to sit in peace as the windy breeze passed on by.

"I'll live on. For the both of us."

#but its ok yall together in the next life :D #i made vash cry too much but he's such a sweetheart im sorry #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun imagines #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun angst #vash imagine #one shot #no sugarcoating straight angst half way through #trigun stampede x reader #was not physical comfort but instead acceptance comfort #was gonna write a bonus paragraph but my eyes burn i've reread this too many times #i have procrastinated on exactly 3 assignments that are due today #vash the stampede #trigun headcanons #i'll edit it later

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