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appalachiancowboy99 · 8 months ago

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After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air. Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else.

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

#Thank you for reading - from the bottom of my little Appalachian Heart <3 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan #rdr2 community #grumpy #fluff #arthur morgan rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #rdr #dutch van der linde #molly o'shea #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you

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wcters · 1 year ago

Text

CHRIS WITH A GIRLFRIEND WHO NAPS ALL THE TIME

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: chris with a girlfriend who is obsessed with naps/naps all the time

warnings/contents: none

author’s note: i love naps, my favourite thing !!!!!

- you love naps, you’re obsessed

- always down for one

- you can nap anytime, anywhere

- cars, planes, beds, couches, you name it

- you probably have an iron deficiency

- #hot girl shit

- you can and will fall asleep in the most uncomfortable positions and in any positions really: crisscross, curled up, head leaning on your knees, on your back, starfish, etc

- you could call yourself an expert 💅💅

- you look two ways when you’re sleeping: peaceful . . . or a victorian child dying on the plague

- that tiktok trend? that’s you, and you own it

- and chris had definitely posted you to that

- if not him, either nick or matt

- you also look like that polar bear waking from hibernation when you wake up

- or you went through a tornado

- dorothy from the wizard of oz who?

- so many pictures and clips of you alseep in the background of a video, tiktok, livestream, etc

- the triplets were filming a walk though of the tour bus and you’re just fast asleep in chris’s bunk wrapped in your blanket

- a lot of your friends bereals are you sleeping

- have a humidifier in your room at your house/apartment

- sleep with rain sounds on

- a shit ton of stuffed animals

- and that will be the same for chris’s bed

- they’ll take up most of the space on the bed and he will have a leg hanging off

- you refuse to take them off unless he begs

- you feel bad 😭😭 they’re you kids, you have to care for them

- spend a lot of money on stuffed animals, pillows, and blankets

- comfy fit 24/7

- uggs, sweatshirts, sweatpants, like a living and breathing fresh love ad

- everyone’s jealous

- chris loves you for it, but also dislikes it sometimes because it’s his clothes and he’ll want to wear them

- slippers 24/7

- naps with him!

- most cuddle sessions will end up as nap sessions

- or you alseep on top of him while chris is stuck sessions

- he says he hates it (he secretly loves it)

- a lot of the time even watching movies or hanging out will end up with you alseep in his lap because he likes to run his fingers through your hair (if it won’t mess it up and it’s not styled, scalp if he can) and your skin

- will carry you to bed

- you always wake up disoriented and covered in marks from the bedsheets pressing into you (signs of a good nap)

- you react to the word nap like a dog does to the word treat

- always excited for bed

- definition of snug as a bug in a rug

- you were an avid after school napper

- one of the only consistent things in your life

- you’re fighting a literal WAR between two and five pm to stay awake

- you fully expect (and deserve) a medal for staying awake 🏅🏅

- and you’re grumpy if you don’t have one. you were rude? you were acting like a bitch? didn’t have your nap.

- someone comments on how you sleep to much? immediately dislike

- like sis . . . what’s it to you?

- unless it’s a health concern, and even then, mouth. shut.

- if you’re sick, you’re napping/sleeping even more than you already do

- you’re the first one asleep at all nighters

- nick jokes that you might love sleeping more than you love chris

- . . . don’t tell him that.

- just kidding! . . .

- some of your favourite tiktoks are the ones where you get to choose where you’re sleeping

- you sleep talk sometimes (mostly gibberish) but not a lot, maybe like once or twice a month

- but you absolutely have had full on conversations with people and your answers make sense, and you will not remember them at all

- “hey, do you remember when i told you about that idea i had?” “no, when was this?” “last night.” “oh.”

- NAPS WITH TREVOR

- that dog lovesss you

- and loves taking naps with you

- will also nap with you in the car if you’re going on a road trip with chris and his family

- you love the feeling of his weight in your lap

- you’re a MENACE to wake up

- there have been times where chris just gives up and let’s you sleep if it’s not important because it’s taken him too long (he also gets lazy)

- a lot of the time it’s on their couch because you love their couch

- it’s so comfy, you’re favourite thing

- PISSED if you’re woken up by something stupid

- like one of the boys will make a loud noise and then they’ll all stand there like ‘oh shit’

- if you wake up and chris isn’t with you but he’s in the house, you’ll make a beeline to him and just hug him

- probably fall asleep in his arms standing up

#emma writes #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #x reader #x fem!reader #imagine #preferences #youtube preferences #youtube #youtuber

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pepshee · 2 months ago

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Jealousy, or Jealous Hee: Second First Dates

⋆˙ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Pairing - ex!heeseung x fem!reader Genre - smut, a bit of fluff, angst Synopsis - After you hooked up with you ex-boyfriend, Heeseung, who had broken up with you out of the blue you didn't know what would happen afterward. Will you finally get your answer as to why? Word Count - 5.4k Warnings - cursing, mentions of alcohol, a bit of angst towards the end, smut, reader is insecure, mentions of manipulation and peer pressure, heeseung is an asshole in the first half, some cringe (oops), mentions of Jake & other idols, mentions of possessive heeseung, heeseung is desperate and begs for forgiveness, a little fluff, cream pie, fingering, p in v, plot twist-ish?, lmk if I missed anything!! MDNI 18+ A/N: thank you guys for the love on the first part i really appreciate it 😭 i didn't expect ppl to actually like it but im really glad you did! also if you have c.ai, i make bots over there too! my invite code here! also.. please keep in mind this is only my second time ever writing a fanfic so if it's ass in your opinion then idk what to tell you... i hope you do enjoy tho thank you in advance for reading !! <3 (even if you didn't like it)

PART ONE HERE

Waking up in your own dorm after you had hooked up with your ex at a house party last night wasn't what you expected. You thought you'd be next to him, but of course, that was crushed. At least he was a gentleman and brought you home, right? There was one question that lingered in your mind, what happens now? It was disappointing not waking up next to him, but then again, what did you really expect?

You get up out of your bed seeing your roommate's bed is empty, but then the smell of bacon hits you, she must be cooking. After getting dressed you make your way to the kitchen, you are so glad your university was at least prestigious so they had bigger dorms than the average one. You had a raging headache, as expected from the alcohol. "Hey Giselle," your voice a bit scratchy due to having just woken up.

Giselle turns around, you can see the slight concern in her eyes but also a hint of a smirk. "Y/N, you're up," she says softly, however, you still had a ton of questions in your mind. "What happened last night?" You're a bit embarrassed at the fact you had to even ask that question.

"Well.. After we went to the party we all split up and I assume you went to drink alcohol, cause the next thing we knew you were being brought out of the party by Heeseung. You were completely asleep, nothing woke you up," your face heats up a bit at the memory of getting drunk and hooking up with your ex-boyfriend who fucked you over. "Right.. and did he tell you any details about anything..” You hoped that he didn’t because it would be even more embarrassing for your friends to know you had sex with your ex who fucked you over.

Those hopes are immediately crushed by Giselle’s reply, “Y/N you were so drunk you had sex with Heeseung, your fucking ex and you don’t even remember it,” she chuckles at the end of her sentence.

Damn.. Well, now your friends know you hooked up with your ex-boyfriend.

“It was an accident..”

“Y/N it’s okay to want him back, but..” she paused for a moment emphasizing the word ‘but.’ “You shouldn’t let him get it so easily,” she continued.

Then an idea hit you, seduction.

“Giselle holy shit,” she perked up at your words while she plated the breakfast she just finished making for the two of you.

“What'd you think of girl?”

“I’m gonna post slightly revealing photos of myself on my Instagram story with little subtle jabs at him like he does to me, I’m gonna get back at him by showing him what he made himself lose,” you couldn't stop the grin that formed on your face.

“You mean you’re gonna ‘show him what he’s missing?' Isn’t that super cliché?” she might be right.. But he did it first.

“Well he’s been posting his new girls to make me jealous, so why don’t I try seducing him, and if he messages me I just play hard to get. Like you said, I shouldn’t let him get to me so easily,” you relayed your reasoning for the idea and you see Giselle think for a moment considering your words. “Okay you know what, maybe it is a good idea, after all, he fucked you over,” she almost started grinning.

After having eaten the breakfast Giselle cooked, you ran to your closet to pull over any sort of revealing clothes you had. You find a slightly-too-small black tank top, and grey shorts. You had originally planned on being comfy today since you were still hungover—you were wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, but you quickly change into the tank top and the shorts and then did your makeup.

You decided to take a selfie in bed, and so you lay down and grabbed your phone. You swiped right to open your camera, and you positioned it in a way where it would show your cleavage just enough so that it's not obvious.

It took you a bit to get the perfect one, but when you did, you open Instagram and thought of a caption to put.

'i miss you. missing you is hard, but i bet missing me makes you hard'

You knew it was definitely cringe, but it got your point across so you could live with the cringe right?

You'd clicked the 'Add to story' button almost too fast. You and Heeseung don't follow each other anymore but you know he stalks your account. He uses his friend's account to do it without it being suspicious, which you can't blame him because why else would you have Giselle's password if not to stalk your ex-boyfriend cause he stalks you?

After logging into Giselle's account you tapped on Heeseungs story to see what he had posted. You immediately regret your decision because you're met with a photo of him and his friends, with alcohol, snacks, and of course, Heeseung is with a girl. He even had the audacity to put 'this could've been you' god this asshole doesn't know when to stop does he?

He was just being nice to you last night after you hooked up, why does he keep doing this to you? Once again with the taunting...

You were so lucky not to have Saturday classes, it meant you could go anywhere you wanted to. Believe it or not, you were actually majoring in dance, and even though you didn't have to go to classes, you still at least wanted to go to the studio.

────୨ৎ────

Dancing was therapeutic to you, everyone told you not to do it as your major because it wouldn't take you anywhere they said to just leave it a hobby. However, before you even graduated college you had offers from Idol companies trying to scout you. Usually, you would have celebrated that with Heeseung but that obviously wasn't an option.

You had spent a few hours dancing and you were getting really hungry and tired so you sprayed some perfume and reapplied deodorant before grabbing your bag and leaving the studio.

You didn't want to go out to eat so you decided to settle on the on-campus cafeteria which thankfully makes decent food. It was just about lunch time so it was quite packed there. You walked up to one of the counters and looked at the menu, but you still couldn't quite see so you took a couple of steps back until you felt your back hit something... or was it, someone?

The hands that flew to your waist were a clear indicator of who it was without even needing to turn around, it was him.

Too petrified to turn around, you just stand there frozen, not knowing what to do.

"You think you're slick huh? I saw what you posted on Instagram, it's about me, isn't it? In that case, you may be right," It's like your whole body failed to react, it didn't know how to. "I will say, whatever you're trying to do, it's working," he leaned down to whisper that into your ear.

Before you can respond he lets go and walks away, finally turning around to watch him leave. What is his problem?

You ordered your food, which was tteokbokki and kimbap.

Throughout your lunch you keep thinking about what had happened with Heeseung, did he do it on purpose? There's no way he was just coincidentally there right?

Whatever his reasoning was, you didn't care, he was trying to get to you.

When you finished your lunch you didn't know what else to do today so instead you figured you'd at least hang out with your friends so you took out your phone.

────୨ৎ────

It didn't take long for you all to agree on the mall, and you're currently waiting for the others to arrive. You and Giselle had gone together since you're roommates so you were just waiting for Karina, Yujin, and Moka. Minnie wasn't able to make it since she had a test to study for.

A little while longer the other three finally arrived, the five of you walking through the mall and looking through various stores.

You decided to take this as an opportunity to buy more clothes to fuck with Heeseung. The clothes you were buying were either the slightest bit too small, making them tight so they cling to your curves, or showed some sort of skin, some a lot, some just enough that would make him crazy.

You see, one thing about Heeseung is while you two were dating he was such a sweetheart when you two were in public, but as soon as you got home is when his possessive side would show. He'd recount all the times a man looked at you a bit too much or too closely and he'd fuck your brains out.

That was one of your favorite things, how good he'd fuck you when you wore crop tops, skirts, shorts, or tank tops. He didn't control what you'd wear, he let you do whatever, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't wear revealing clothes in public on purpose cause you were horny for him to fuck you at home.

Any other time he was a sweetheart, he was perfect, he wouldn't hurt a fly but when you had sex that all went out the window.

Now, however, you're buying revealing clothes to piss him off, to make him break, to get revenge, to make him beg for mercy.

You felt as if this revenge plan was a bit bland, but you couldn't think of anything else but to just drive him insane.

You and the girls had a lot of fun, and got told to shut up a few times from laughing too loud... but at least you have had fun.

It was 8 PM by the time you and Giselle made it back to the dorms. You made it just in time for curfew so you wouldn't get in trouble. You'd always thought it was stupid for a university to give adults a curfew, but it was pretty influential so you guess the university just didn't want its reputation ruined by their students dropping out to take care of babies.

Curfew didn't do anything anyway, you just couldn't leave your specific dorm building after 8:30 PM, you didn't know what would happen if you did it anyway but you honestly didn't care enough to find out.

────୨ৎ────

That morning when you woke up you immediately thought about what to wear to make Heeseung jealous, to make him mad.

You reached over and grabbed your phone and opened Instagram in order to check Heeseungs story, of course, he has a new one. You tap on it and see a video, clearly taken by a friend of his and it's him, with a new girl—because of course it is who fucking else could it be—the video was Heeseung and his new girl, who you identified as Julie Han. She was in your dance group, and she was really good and she's really pretty. You've always admired her beauty, but also felt a bit insecure. You wanted to be like her so badly. Heeseung didn't know that, or maybe he did considering you two broke up before you even had the chance to meet your classmates.

Seeing this rubbed even more salt into the wound, the girl you'd admired, and wanted to be friends with, and that made you feel insecure. Obviously it wasn't her fault you were insecure, she was super nice to you, and she didn't say anything to make you insecure it was just all in your head.

Seeing the video of him with Julie, he had his arm around her, and they were clearly flirting. It made your blood boil, but at the same time made your eyes water. You didn't know if you should be angry, or if you should cry.

You didn't know if it was on purpose, or if he was just doing his usual girl-to-girl shit. If he did know then he was a complete asshole for using her against you.

The truth is, he did know.

Yesterday, when you were walking to the cafeteria for lunch, you were recording a voice message to send to your friends. You had run into Julie while leaving the studio. That reminded you that you hadn't even told your friends about her so that's why you were recording a voice message.

Heeseung was with you, well not with you, rather.. behind you. He was walking with his friends, and he hadn't even realized it was you until you started speaking. He couldn't stop himself from eavesdropping and when he heard what you said about Julie, he knew exactly what to do.

He wanted you back, desperately, he knew you wouldn't easily accept him back into your life so he decided to try and make you desperate, just as much as he is. He used Julie, he wanted to make you as jealous as possible so you crawl back to him. When he saw your first story with the subtle jab at him and the cleavage he knew you were trying to clap back at him, you were trying to give him a taste of his own medicine. He'd be a liar if he said it wasn't working because it was. He hated that you had posted that, that you were revealing yourself to others. He knew he fucked up, and he knew he needed you back.

After you had seen the story of Julie and Heeseung you knew you had to strike again. You got out of bed and went to your closet grabbing one of the bags of new clothes you'd gotten yesterday. After dumping the clothes on your bed you finally picked out an outfit you knew would rile him up. It was a pair of white shorts, with a dark blue top. The top was pretty much a bralette, it's not something you'd wear out, but you bought it for the purpose of making Heeseung jealous—also in case you decided to go to the bar or another party—you went to your bathroom to do your hair and makeup before taking the photo.

After you finished those you posed in front of your mirror with your phone in hand. You tried doing poses that would show off your ass or would maximize the amount of skin you show in the picture.

Finally, after about 5-10 minutes you got the perfect shot, and you went straight to Instagram to post it.

With a small filter added, all you had to do was add the caption, but what should you even put? You had no clue honestly, you weren't as witty as you had originally thought.

Maybe posting it without a witty caption would be better, making less noise will create more noise.

So that's exactly what you did. You uploaded the photo to your story and waited. Waited for Heeseung to see it., until he did.

Heeseung went onto Instagram after he hung out with his friends, plus Julie, and he saw that you had posted on your story. He clicked on it and what he saw was something he expected, but also didn't. He hated that you were posting shit like this. He couldn't take it anymore, he slid up and started typing out a reply to your story.

It was about three hours after you had posted it when you got a notification while you were scrolling through tik tok.

'heeseung.lhs69 replied to your story: Y/N can you knock this off?'

Seeing the notification shocked you, first off why does he have '69' in his username? Is he serious? Since when did he have 7th-grade boy humor? It was probably the fault of his dumbass friends.

You didn't really know how to reply to him, but what matters is your plan worked. He fell for your bait finally.

you: what're you talking abt ?

hee: you know what I'm talking abt y/n

you: no i don't think i do heeseung

hee: we should talk in person y/n

you: ykw fine when and where

hee: ice cream place where we had our first date, 6 pm, today

you: k i'll see you then ig

Although it didn't seem like it, you were really nervous. He seemed serious even if it was just over text. It was only 4:30, so you had about an hour and thirty minutes to get ready or contemplate your choices, probably both.

You started getting ready, you didn't know how to dress really. You went for simple baggy jeans, a grey tank top, and a zip-up sweater. It was now 5:30, and so you left your dorm and started walking to said ice cream place.

After entering you saw him.. he was sitting at a booth. He looked quite nervous actually which is a big contrast to how you've been seeing him for two and a half years.

You slid into the seat in front of him and he immediately looked up from the table to look at you. "Hey," his voice was soft and gentle. You looked into his eyes, his soft, big doe eyes.. Looking into his eyes was your favorite activity when you were together, they were so beautiful. "Hey," you replied, also in a soft and gentle tone.

"I think we have to talk Y/N, I just want to explain myself," you let out a sigh knowing that he's right, you do have to talk. How could he leave you like that? "Explain it to me Heeseung, explain to me why you left me like the way you did," he was immediately saddened when you raised your voice a little at him.

"Y/N, I'll explain.. Please just calm down. I don't have a good reason.. Jake, my roommate, well we were talking and he told me about all the girls he's been with, and he asked me about how many girls he and I told him we've been together for five years and he started laughing. He then told me he was gonna invite a couple of friends, which he did," you didn't interrupt him the whole time. You just listened as he continued to talk.

"When they came over, it was four of them, Jake told them what I said about you and then they all started going on about how I'm too young to be tied down like that, I should live a little. I originally shot it down but they started giving me alcohol. The more they talked about the benefits of being single, and the more they talked about all the fun they have I started to believe them. I felt as though I was tying you down, I was a burden, that you'd be better off without me," you didn't know if you should be pissed off or pity him, he was influenced by his 'friends.'

"I started to believe what they were telling me, and they were telling me I should just let you go because you're probably getting bored. I was scared of the future, I was scared you'd break it off cause you were bored, and so I broke up with you first. I started doing all the things they did, hookup, smoke, drink, party and I did it all to move on from you," his story was making sense, that's 100% something his friends would do but you were still pissed at him.

"That doesn't explain to me why you didn't just think to talk to me and express your feelings to me. We could've talked this out, but you didn't even bother to text me," he sighed knowing you were right, and he didn't even have an excuse.

"I don't have an excuse, I'm an idiot Y/N. I love you so much and I wasn't thinking, they manipulated me, and I believed it all.. It was selfish of me and I know what I did was wrong. I hurt you and I'm just realizing it. It took me this long to realize how much of an asshole I was, my actions weren't okay," he looked back down at the table like he was in shame.

"Why would you post girls in your story though? I know it was to make me jealous, your story makes sense but that part doesn't add up," honestly you believed his story. He's always been quite gullible and pliable. Obviously, you never used that as an advantage, you'd never take advantage of him.

"Well... I wanted you back but I didn't know how to contact you.. How to communicate it, how to get through to you. When you posted that on your story earlier I couldn't hold back. I know you've been using Giselle's account to view my story, and that's not exactly relevant, but I've been doing it cause I miss you, and I want you. My new persona, it's all fake. I don't like doing this stuff. I just wanted to fit in and forget about you, I was depressed and vulnerable when Jake started doing what he was doing. I love you, I miss you, I want you, and I don't have any good excuses."

He's right, his excuse isn't exactly good, he knows he fucked up, and did you wrong. He had no actual good excuse, he had no actual reason for the thing with the girls.

"You should've just talked to me Heeseung," you were disappointed in him, and you resented him. "I know Y/N, I'm an idiot, and I made a selfish, vulnerable mistake. Please, I want you to forgive me, I want to be with you again, I want to be with you forever," those last few words were kind of shocking to you. Did he mean that? You both had discussed marriage and the future briefly and that ended in a big argument so it was never brought up again.

"What are you even saying?"

"I'm saying I see a future with you, and I know we had a huge fight about the future which also led to our break up, but I'm serious. I want you back. Please," he didn't stutter, not one bit and that solidified his point. He was serious.

"Okay, but you still hurt me, you still did all these bad things that made you an asshole. I can't just forget what you did to me," he was so, so desperate for you, so desperate to get you back to him. "Please."

He kept repeating himself,

"Please Y/N,"

"Please,"

It was almost pathetic how he was begging, how he was so desperate, but at the same time, it was so sexy. You had never seen him beg you before, he'd always been the top. You looked into his eyes, and he was staring right back at you waiting for a response.

It was difficult, you didn't know if you should forgive him, after all, he happened to fall in with the wrong crowd, he was manipulated, he was molded.

"Heeseung, you still fucked me over, you still ruined me, and broke my heart. Don't you know how hard this is?" he nodded, he knew you'd be hesitant. He never expected you to give in immediately and he knew he would have to convince you. However, there was one detail he left out, one that would change everything.

"Y/N, there was a detail I left out, and it seems that you completely forgot that you also played a part in this. You're not completely innocent," you were confused, how could that even be?

"When Jake was giving me alcohol and convincing me of all these things, I texted you, I needed you, I needed your support in that moment, and I know you weren't busy either. You ignored me, ignored me when I needed you most. That, plus all the manipulation, it broke me, it made me send that text, made me spiral into who I am now," holy shit. He was right.

Nearly three years ago, two days before your first day as a college freshman, you were decorating your dorm. You and Giselle went shopping for decorations and you weren't busy at all that whole day which Heeseung knew.

You had seen the notifications coming in, you read them and you didn't reply. You remember the texts, you remember it all.

'y/n i need you rn'

'babe pls reply'

'i need you please im serious y/n pls respond'

You were so caught up in your dorm decorations, and shopping you ignored Heeseung when he needed you the most, when he needed you to save him.

You weren't busy, you just simply didn't reply.

It was partly your fault.

"Heeseung.." now it was your turn to beg, to ask for forgiveness, and it didn't feel very good. "I'm so sorry, it's my fault. I saw the texts and I just ignored them, and I don't know why. You needed me, you needed help, and I wasn't there.. Holy shit," you wanted to reach for his hand, to hold him, but you knew you didn't have the right to.

"Y/N, I needed you, I really did, and you weren't there. We both fucked up, we both contributed to the end of our relationship. What matters is that I realized what was happening, that I changed for the worst, and that I realized that they had manipulated me, and peer pressured me. We both messed it up, and I want to fix it, please," his words resonated with you and he was absolutely correct. You both fucked up.

"What do we do? Do you mean you want to get back together?" you were hoping he would say yes, you did want to get back with him, I mean that was literally the whole goal.

"Yes, I want you to be mine again, I still love you, I never stopped," you immediately nodded in response telling him you also wanted to be back together.

"I missed you, babe," the nickname had always made your heart flutter but hearing it after all these years that's not in the context of a one-night stand made your cheeks heat up.

It felt like your first date all over again, you're even in the same place, a second first date.

"Let's go back to my dorm, Jake isn't there, and he won't return till like the afternoon tomorrow," you nodded and got up. He grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the ice cream shop and back towards campus.

After you arrived at his dorm he couldn't hold himself back and immediately crashed his lips to yours. You instantly started kissing him back. It felt more real this time, it was filled with love, passion, and longing.

You felt your back hit the wall as his hands grabbed onto your hips, and your fingers got lost in his hair.

He broke away from the kiss before grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off of you. "You've been driving me insane, you know, with those revealing photos of yours. Especially the one of your cleavage. I missed your tits so bad baby," his hands grab your clothed tits. You can feel him reach behind your back and make quick work of the clasp he was clearly skilled.

When he got it off you could feel his mouth attach to one of your nipples. You let out a small moan which just egged him on. "Hee— please," he let go of your nipple and looked into your eyes, but that didn't last long because he immediately started kissing your neck, and biting it gently while he unbuttoned your jean shorts.

"Shit I missed this so fucking much Y/N," you clenched around nothing at his words, you could feel that your underwear was ruined, and how drenched they were, and so could he.

Once he got your shorts off he threw them somewhere in the room, it didn't even matter. You felt his hands trace your underwear and touched your clothed pussy. He let out a groan at the feeling of how wet you were, "holy shit Y/N, you're so fucking wet already," he took your hand dragging you to his bed. He debated doing it on Jake's bed for revenge, but he didn't want any more problems or misunderstandings, he just wanted you.

Now you were lying on his bed with him hovering above you. This time it felt more real, it felt more passionate rather than when you were drunk and stupid.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and pulled it off, and when he did you got shy and tried to close your legs but he wouldn't let you. He gripped your thighs and pulled them apart again giving him a view of your bare, dripping pussy. The look of pure hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

He ran one of his hands down your thigh, then to your inner thigh, and finally reached your core. He ran a finger through your folds teasing your entrance. You were so desperate you couldn't help but moan.

The wetness of your cunt made him groan, and his pants tighten. He stuck one finger in, and then a second. The intrusion made you moan and squirm, but that only made him smirk.

He thrusted his fingers in and out of you slightly curling them to hit that spot that makes you scream.

"Fuck— Right there Heeseung!" You moan out.

"Yeah? You like that baby?" He chuckled a little, and the smirk on his face grew.

He continued to move his fingers and started going even faster. You felt the familiar knot in your stomach start to tighten and you knew what was coming. "Heeseung.. Shit," he nodded slowly and spoke "Come on, cum on my fingers baby," his words made you clench around his fingers before you finally reached your limit with a moan loud enough you were sure the neighboring dorms could hear.

Both yours and his breathing were fast and heavy. He was still hovering above you while he looked at your face which was covered in a thin layer of sweat. "Can you take my cock, or are you completely spent?" He asked the question in a soft tone not wanting to hurt you or overwhelm you.

"I need your cock Heeseung," the softness in his eyes instantly left now replaced with a look of desire, and lust. "Then that's exactly what you're gonna get baby," he started removing his clothing starting with his shirt, then his belt, his pants, and finally his boxers.

When he took his boxers off you couldn't stop staring at his dick. The thick, long, veiny shaft was one you had missed in these past years. "I can see you staring my love," you couldn't even stop yourself and you just kept staring.

He gave himself a couple of pumps spreading the precum along his shaft. He then lined himself up with your entrance, he hesitated for a moment looking at you, "Do you want it rough, or slow?"

"Please give it to me rough," he didn't give you a second to think before he pushed inside of you quickly, and immediately bottomed out.

"Fuck!" You moaned out at the feeling of the stretch of your hole from his cock.

He grabbed your thighs tightly allowing him to thrust into you more efficiently. You felt him hit your G-spot every time he moved in and out. You felt your climax approaching and you bucked your hips as he groaned feeling you clench around him.

You finally went over the edge and came onto his cock, while you felt him release into you. His thrusts slowed to help you ride out your orgasm before he slowly pulled out, making you whine at the empty feeling.

He kissed your lips before lying down next to you. You turned to look at him and you stared into each other's eyes, a soft smile forming on his lips. "Goodnight my love, I missed you so much. I won't fuck this up."

You were going to respond but the exhaustion caught up to you and you fell asleep in his arms, for the first time in years as his girlfriend.

TAGLIST : @clandestineself @kittympirty @azzy02 @wemalyri @jayhoonvroom @hwangswife4

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miabebe · 9 months ago

Text

Reverse Trope Series - Accidently Kidnpping A Mafia Boss (Teaser)

Kidnapping the Yoon Jeonghan was not on your 2024 bingo but sometimes, shit happens right?

Pairing - Yoon Jeonghan x afab!reader

Word Count - Teaser is 1.3K, I'm not gonna promise a number for the full fic just yet

Genre - Strangers to something more than that I guess? Crack because there’s ‘dumb’, ‘dumber’, ‘dumbest’, and ‘dumbest of them all’ so you can imagine and also angst, just a small splash and smut. Loads of it (not here but in the full fic)

Warnings - none for the teaser, mentions of kidnapping and mafia. (But just to be clear, this is not like your usual mafia fics - it’s not dark, there’s no violence and things of that sort)

Estimated posting date - I have a shit ton on my plate right now so I don’t want to stress myself out with a deadline! If you want to be in the loop, please follow me or join the taglist by commenting, sending a message or an ask, thank you!

Thank you @taechwita613 for bearing my annoying self yet again 💕

"You're being a real pain in my ass right now."

"I don't see how it’s an issue since that’s not much of an ass."

Seokmin glared at Seungkwan.

"Just because some stupid college club awarded you a silly superlative-"

"-best bakery in town is not a ‘silly’ superlative-"

"-like once-"

"-twice. In a row-"

"-doesn't mean-"

"-absolutely does-"

"Will you two shut up?" You hissed under your breath looking around. "Are you trying to get us all caught?"

Seungkwan clicked his tongue annoyed. "You're acting like we're in the middle of a crime."

Your eyes flickered from Seokmin to Seungkwan before landing on the third guy between them, the one who was unconscious and being held up with his arms thrown over the shoulders of your friends.

"Last I checked, kidnapping is a crime." You pointed out.

Seokmin rolled his eyes. "Pranking your friend isn't."

"That is if Soonyoung decides he wants to save your sorry ass."

"Again, not much of an ass-"

"I swear to god Kwan-"

Groaning you covered your ears to shut out all the bickering.

That night when drunk Soonyoung had pushed your buttons, consequently leading to the events of tonight, you did not think it would be this hard.

The plan was simple - on Mondays Soonyoung was in charge of closing the BBQ shop where all 3 of your closest friends worked part time. His routine was fairly straightforward - first he clears and cleans all the tables, then he closes the kitchen, then changes out of his uniform and finally wraps it up by locking the main door.

That's where you would get him, right as he closed the doors. You were to take him by surprise from the back, cover his face with a black cloth bag then bring him to your apartment and tie him up leaving him immobile, blinded and helpless.

One might wonder why such cruelty when you called him a friend but you would argue that Soonyoung deserved it. After all that night, he hadn't stopped mentioning how you were boring and your life was so uninteresting and you didn't have a single exciting adventure while he had a shit ton of them. Well, today you were about to give yourself, and him, a story to tell.

Now things did go according to plan, for the most part. Seokmin and Seungkwan were first reluctant to be a part of this madness but that was until you brought up the prospect of Soonyoung being scared enough to hopefully piss in his pants. Intrigued by the idea, they joined and all three of you waited in the bushes, watching your friend's silhouette moving around the shop, putting things away, cleaning up. Just as he reappeared after changing, hurriedly trying to leave the shop, the three of you got to action, approaching him silently from the back, swiftly holding him by the hands and putting the bag over his face.

What you didn't take into account in this plan was just how much resistance Soonyoung would show, God knows why you didn't consider his adrenaline driven reaction, but man did he put up a fight. It was only natural you retaliate and so instinctively, you landed a smack on his head with the torch in your hand knocking him out, making him buckle into the pavement as the two other boys caught him, looking at you bewildered.

That was perhaps just the beginning of your problems because now you had to very unsuspiciously drag a very unconscious man to your apartment in the dead of the night. It would have helped if this neighbourhood was even a little sketchy but being a quiet, painfully uneventful suburb meant even the smallest of things was seen with high scrutiny.

So far, the three of you had somehow managed to make it from the restaurant to your building undetected but it was getting from the first floor to your house that was the real task since the building's resident old woman decided she wanted to feed the stray cats at 2 am.

"How much longer are we gonna have to do this?" Seungkwan groaned. "He's surprisingly not that heavy but my arm is starting to sleep."

"Yeah, this joke isn't as funny anymore-"

"Will you two just keep quiet?" You turned to them annoyed. "She'll be gone in a few minutes and then we can move. Didn't you guys say you wanted Soonyoung to shut up for a few days?”

Seokmin mumbled a yes under his breath while Seungkwan nodded hesitating. Hoping for some silence after this, you turned to watch the old woman stroking the cat softly as it slowly nibbled its food. Although your patience was really being tested, something told you if you didn't go through this plan, in another 40 years, you'd be exactly like that old lady - lonely, boring and feeding stray cats. Terrified by that thought, you held it together even though it took a whole 15 minutes for the scene to clear. As the three, no four of you, proceeded towards your apartment, the stray cat watched, licking its paw.

Seungkwan and Seokmin groaned in relief as they half threw Soonyoung onto the chair you pulled to the middle, rubbing their aching shoulders. Scouring the drawers, you pulled out a rope with a soft “aha” making them turn towards your unnaturally happy self. Soonyoung stirred in his chair.

“You're a little too excited about this-”

“Shhh!” You covered Seokmin's mouth with your hand, whispering. “If you talk, he'll know it's us, then it's not scary anymore.”

“Frankly, I think the kidnapping and knocking him out cold must have been scary enough already.”

“Not enough” You glared as Soonyoung let out a soft groan, letting you know he was coming around. “Quick, take my phone and open that AI app. We'll type what we want to say and use the bot voice - that way he'll have no idea.”

All three of you huddled, glancing at the phone as Seungkwan typed something quickly, pressing play to let the low toned automated voice echo through the room.

“I cannot wait to see Soonyoung shit his pants.”

Seokmin giggled as your lips curled into a pleased smile. Oh, he was surely going to shit his pants.

“And why would I do that?” Soonyoung's voice sounded confused.

“Because we-”

Seokmin looked up, freezing mid-sentence, noticing the voice did not come from the person before him.

All three of you exchanged looks realising the same before slowly turning around. Soonyoung was standing at the entrance like he just walked in, looking bewildered.

Before any of you could process the situation, he pointed over your shoulders, frowning.

“And who's that?”

Oh.

“And why is he wearing my clothes?”

Oh no.

You turned back to see the man in question, slowly pull the black bag from over his head, shaking his golden tresses away from his face. Oh lord was he gorgeous.

As he blinked his eyes open, wondering where the hell he was, you were busy running your eyes all over his pretty features and suddenly, in that short span of 20 seconds, you had memorised where every single mole on his face was.

Seokmin and Seungkwan held your arms on either side half hiding behind you which was stupid considering you were the biggest coward in the room.

But somehow, as the man before you looked at all of you with narrowed, accusing eyes and tried to stand up, you swung your arm and smacked him right on the head with the torch again. All three boys gawked at you as the man fell back into the chair again, head rolling to the side, unconscious.

“What the hell mate-”

“I'm sorry I panicked!”

“Will someone tell me what's happening? Why is he wearing my clothes-”

“Shut up Soonyoung.” Seungkwan turned to you looking terrified. “Do you have any idea what you've done?”

“Hey, this can't be just on me, we all thought it was Soonyoung-”

“Me???”

“-how is this my only fault-”

“Because!” Seungkwan raised his voice pointing a shaking finger. “The man you just knocked out again, that's…that's….”

“That's…” Seokmin's eyes widened in realisation. “That's the city’s most wanted criminal, Yoon Jeonghan.”

A/n -I have tagged all those on the current taglist in the comments, if you wanna be added to the taglist for the fic or for the series, please let me know by leaving a comment/sending an ask or a message!

#svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #jeonghan angst #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fic #jeonghan oneshot #seventeen fic #seventeen series #seventeen imagines #accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss #reverse trope

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endless-weightless · 8 months ago

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Ford Pines x GN!reader headcanons!

I'm surprised it took me this long to get into Gravity Falls. Anyways this has both SFW and NSFW so beware. There's also a brief mention of being AFAB as a possibility but other than that it's completely gender neutral (I'm 99% sure, I didn't proofread too well lol).

SFW

Right off the bat, I’m saying he’s autistic because so am I and I said so.

If you’re someone who needs reassurance or is generally anxious/paranoid about anything he’ll go into long (often scientific) explanations to ease your mind and also throw in some fun facts.

Both a listener and a yapper. He loves nothing more than the sound of your voice but also loves being able to spout all sorts of things about his research and interests while you stare at him lovingly.

Can’t sleep unless you’re next to him. You don’t even need to be cuddling, your presence is just the one thing he needs to fall asleep.

That being said, he will NEVER pass up an opportunity to cuddle. Watching a movie? Cuddling. Working at his desk in the lab? Cuddling on his lap. Cooking something in the kitchen? He’s got his arms wrapped around you as he presses loving kisses into your temple.

He rarely swears, but when he does it always makes you do a double-take (and maybe giggle because it sounds so odd coming from him).

Probably tried weed once or twice in the '70s and was somewhat part of the psychedelic rock scene. Stan has some old photos of him during that time somewhere but Ford is absolutely mortified by the idea of you seeing him in bell-bottom jeans.

It doesn’t matter how long you two have been together, every time he sees you he feels the same as he did the day you two met. Ford will never stop becoming flustered at the sight of you.

Post-Weirdmaggedon he became very anxious at the thought of you being out alone or not being near him. He feels like he needs to be on guard at all times so that he can protect you. He eventually calms down after some reassurance from you and a fuck ton of therapy.

While he lacks some emotional intelligence he’s actually very attentive and knows exactly what you need when you’re upfront about your feelings. As long as you’re not vague and communicate, he knows what to do to help you.

Adding onto that, I think he briefly studied psychology in college so he’d have a pretty good understanding of any mental health issues you might have.

Said “No more Mr Nice Guy” one time and hasn’t heard the end of it from anyone.

NSFW

Has to stop himself from cumming too quickly when you tell him how good he’s making you feel. Stroking his ego (and other things) is the best way to get him horny.

Will always ask you for consent no matter what it is. You could be mid-fuck and he’d still ask if he could put his hands on your hips.

This is just my personal headcanon but I believe while he didn’t really have too much experience before he got stuck on the other side of the portal (probably hooked up with Fiddleford once or twice tho), I fully believe that after a few years of dimension-hopping, he would’ve had a few one-night stands (mans gotta blow off some steam). So when he gets the chance to fuck you, a real human from his dimension, he’s more than ecstatic, especially since he’s picked up more than a few tricks over the past thirty years.

Knows how to use all twelve of his fingers.

Since Ford was sucked into the portal in the early ’80s and spent thirty years in there, he’s super confused when you mention shaving down there or being embarrassed about your body hair (if you do either) since the last time he was around everyone preferred going all natural.

This one’s less sexy but I’m putting it here anyways. He avoided taking off his shirt for ages since he didn’t want you to see all the scars he’d gotten over the years or any of the tattoos related to the things he did in the portal, especially the ones related to Bill. Surprisingly not as insecure about his “Flirty Gal” tramp stamp.

Doesn’t understand that he’s ridiculously hot.

You jokingly said “Yes sir” one time and he got hard so quickly.

Although he does rather enjoy you taking the lead.

Loves experimenting with cock warming and edging. Literally. He’ll time the both of you and have everything written down somewhere and draw a graph with extra info like if you’re someone with a menstrual cycle and how that affects the results.

#gravity falls #x reader #fanfiction #stanford pines #ford pines #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader #smut #headcanons

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prettyoddfever · 6 months ago

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the "Ryho" mindset is still happening

I didn’t like how part of the fandom treated Ryan during the pre-split years. This might end up being a lengthy explanation but bear with me because it’s relevant to the modern fandom.

So it was a well-known fact in 2006 that Ryan was straightedge/sober (Spencer was too, but he got less attention from the media). Being straightedge kind of became part of Ryan’s image (here’s a random example) and a lot of fans really connected with that. Then Ryan got drunk for the first time at the end of 2006, and we started seeing pictures of him partying with friends in early 2007 before the band even went to the cabin.

By summer 2007 Ryan was like a completely different person. I get that the drugs & alcohol probably helped him become more outgoing, but I also think he was just becoming way more confident & comfortable as he grew up. And SO many fans seriously hated the change. Fans still randomly criticized the other 3 guys, but that stuff seemed more like the regular small complaints that happen just for the sake of complaining when people are bored (ex: Jon’s beard existing or vanishing). The stuff about Ryan was very different in tone and there were some consistent themes throughout the last half of 2007: Ryan was too in love with Keltie, he dressed like a hippie now, and he partied a lot. Basically, he was changing. He was no longer the same person that he was during the Fever era.

It honestly seemed like many fans were angry at this new version of Ryan for taking the old version away from them, as though they had some sort of ownership. There was tons of drama over the fact that we were seeing lots of pictures of Ryan partying with various friends (some of whom posted detailed stories about their nights or how drunk everyone was). Some fans said Ryan was a hypocrite or a liar and tried to make him out to be an alcoholic, as though he’d personally betrayed them by destroying who he was "supposed" to be.

However, I think most of the complaints were actually rooted in something bigger: Ryan looked happy.

I felt like a lot of the younger fans had latched onto the idea of a shy, wounded guitarist who needed to be saved or *understood* or whatever… you know the cliche I mean?? That was the vibe that the media sometimes tried to give him during the Fever era, so even they knew it would sell! But now Ryan was partying a lot with a wide range of friends, was dating Keltie, had completely abandoned his Fever-era aesthetic, and seemed to be closest with Jon in 2007 instead of Brendon. He was “destroying” the static image of Ryan that fangirls had taped onto their bedroom walls.

I remember a decent amount of fans actually admitting that they wished Ryan would go back to being depressed. Like they literally wanted him to be unhappy & unsure of himself because they liked him better that way. Others accepted that Ryan was changing and were happy for him, but still thought his bitter lyrics were better. And then even if other people wouldn’t admit that they were clinging onto an old version of Ryan, their main criticism still seemed to revolve around the fact that Ryan was living his life, having fun, and being different than he was the previous year.

I saved one fan’s post because it summed up some of the complaints this year:

The nickname “Ryho” really took off in late 2007.

Obviously a ton of fans loved Ryan (and the kids who were bashing him still claimed to love him too). The petty criticism just became annoying to me. People slammed his new clothes, his new hairstyles, the way he carried himself or talked, his weight/body, his “creepy” fingers, and the “girly” things he told Kerrang he liked (pumpkin spice candles, vanilla milkshakes, his puppy, and Titanic). Even the kids who used to love Ryan’s mild arrogance were now holding it against him. A lot of the fans who were criticizing Ryan in the last half of 2007 jumped right back to being his “fans” once the Pretty. Odd. era got going and things were interesting again, but I guess it shouldn’t have been surprising that so many fans were able to easily switch to bashing Ryan once again in spring 2009 when he was changing yet again. It’s like they were so focused on what Ryan wasn’t doing that spring (ex: recording the third Panic album) that they couldn’t see or accept what he was doing: building a whole new life for himself in a completely different music scene with the new crew of friends he’d been hanging out with for a while (Alex Greenwald’s scene).

One of the things that stuck out to me in late spring & summer 2009 was how many fans felt rejected by Ryan (and Jon). Those fans had basically idolized prior versions of Ryan and were hurt to slowly watch him destroy all of that as they realized he didn’t want to be part of the machine of the music scene that the fandom still loved. That hurt translated to them lashing out in anger.

So you know how I mentioned that in 2006 part of the fandom liked the idea of a shy, wounded guitarist who wrote bitter lyrics and needed to be *understood * and saved? And they resented Ryan for destroying that concept in 2007 and taking away the Ryan that they loved? They wanted to view him as a static character and couldn’t accept that he’s a constantly-evolving human. This is still happening today. Some fans are still upset that the version of Ryan that they want was taken away (ex: Ryan left the Fever era behind, left Panic behind). Except now instead of resenting Ryan for the choices that he made, some modern fans have rewritten the past to blame external forces like Brendon instead. I've been trying so hard to wrap my mind around this for a while, so here's my take on it... keep in mind that this is just my own observation/guess. Ryan isn't very visible now, so people are free to project a lot onto him. I think that by blaming Brendon (who is the visible one left), people can still happily view Ryan as a helpless victim who needs saving, and never feel rejected or betrayed by his choices... then it's like Ryan didn’t actually want to leave them, and could still be the person that they need him to be. Idk I'm still trying to comprehend what happened to the recent fandom tbh.

I'm absolutely not saying that all of Ryan's current fans are like this!! It's just that some little bits I've seen are concerning because they essentially take away Ryan’s agency & erase him. Even on a smaller scale, I've still noticed how some modern fans focus heavily on stories that dramatize Ryan's pain & portray him as a passive victim, regardless of whether those stories conflict with reality. Like why exactly is that angle a priority? Some examples:

Camisado is for dancing

the "funeral picture" isn't real

Lollapalooza was a fun show

June and July are different months

Ryan participated in the stage gay

some of the Ryden stuff could probably qualify too

Keep in mind that I'm saying this as a fan of Ryan. I am genuinely happy to see that he has so many newer fans! But sometimes I'm a little concerned that patterns might be repeating and maybe some people are more focused on their own creation of a character/image than an actual musician who has had many many phases.

#she doesn't even go here

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artsymeeshee · 7 months ago

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Hello! I just found your laundry list of art last week, and I have to say…I LOVE IT! Love the instinct comics, Ford being cool never ceases to make me giggle, and I loved the autumn drawing. I’ll admit, that one had me in tears…made be believe in the what-if’s of my own family. What they…could be like someday. Or what I wish they were. Thanks for the tears, they were much needed.

Anyway! This is what I came to message you about! Although,…I am extremely sorry for the late message. I tend to check back into tumblr at…weird hours of the night. Heck, it’s almost the next day as I type this. I seriously need to sleep more. So! I had a few thoughts on Stan and Ford relationship, and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Just a disclaimer, I’m kinda basing this off my actual life as I find these characters mirror personal events very closely! I am also a writer and soon to be author! Might post some archive of our own content about these two soon. Also, and this is the most important, I have NOT read book of Bill yet. So plz…no spoilers. Anyway, long introduction aside, let’s begin!

In my personal head cannon of these two, which I don’t imagine is “too” different than how anyone else could see them, Stan and Ford have an extremely awkward and emotional conversation after Weirdmagedon. Why? B/c they’re both, to some degree, emotionally numb. In my opinion, why wouldn’t they? They haven’t spoken to each other in 40 years, properly, and they have repressed a ton of their emotions since then. It’s hard to bring that back up. (Speaking off of experience) I’d say even harder for Ford. Stan, thanks to the twins, has learned to loosen the locks on his heart while Ford kept running away from those emotions to defeat Bill. Just like his ambitions, that was the main priority, and everything else later. To me, this would explain why Ford never bothered to talk to Stan properly since coming back during the show. He wouldn’t know how to. If they were to talk, and this is where the writer in me comes out, I’d write Ford as the one that needs it most. He’s been traveling dimension for decades, running from the past that held him back…but he has no anchor now. Stan becomes that anchor, paralleling what he wasn’t when Ford was lost. And Ford…he just breaks. Like, completely breaks. And Stan is there with him, breaking like he is, but still there for him brother. Finally back after all those years apart. And as someone who has been on the side of neglect from one’s own brother…nothing would be me happier if we went to connect. Just like Stanley and Ford. And eventually, soon to be sailing on the seas to connect even more.

Phew…that was a lot. Sorry for the rambling. Told you I had some ideas! So, what do you think? Do you see Ford acting like this? If not…why? Genuinely, I’d like to know. Anyway, thanks for taking your time to read this. Again, sorry for the ramblings. Oh! One more thing, I know you aren’t taking art request right now, but would you be open to take them in the future? Say in 2 months time? Anyway, bye!

Well first off, thank you! I appreciate it! :D

And to answer your headcanon, I agree on it. Stan is definitely more open to talking, especially thanks to the kids. I mean there's still moments where it's hard and awkward for sure. And Ford would for sure have a harder time opening up, especially with the constant guilt and mistakes that replay over and over. And there's always that lingering feeling of "well, Stan has to hate me for what I've done" and it's always so surprising when Stan tells him differently and he never once hated Ford. Sure, was angry but never hated him. He had too much self-hatred to feel that way with Ford. And as many times as it needs to be said or repeated, it really makes all the difference when they tell each other how much they love and care for each other. As Alex said, "they're both so damaged, they desperately need each other."

As for the requests thing, most likely not. Only because I'm entering the busiest time of year for my work so it's gonna be a miracle if I even have enough energy or motivation for drawing if I'm not completely burnt out.

#ask #water-god19 #long post

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fangirlwriting-stories · 1 month ago

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Stanley Pines’ Quick and Easy Guide for how to Avert an Apocalypse

Summary: Stanley Pines is the last person to label himself as the guy to save the world. Especially because the world is so fucked at this point, no one can do it. He stopped believing it possible about half an hour after he witnessed a giant yellow triangle take a bite out of the planet— yeah, he has no idea either, thanks.

He plans for the maybe-week the world has left to stick to feasible goals, like “eat one last meal,” and “don’t die until you get to do it yourself.” But just as the second of those is about to fall through, he’s grabbed by a man with a weird tape measure, whisked off to another time, and told that none of this is supposed to have happened. And that they’re apparently trusting the fate of the world to… him?

They insist that he’s the guy for the job, apparently based on exactly how the triangle got the chance to end the world in the first place. It was, according to them, one idiotic schmuck who let himself get conned. They just need Stan to kill the guy before that happens.

And, sure. It’s not like Stan’s life could get any more insane than it already has. Who do they need him to kill exactly?

…Who do they need him to kill, exactly?

Author's Note: This is the story I tried so hard to avoid writing, but it would. not. stop. bugging me. So here you all go. I'm very glad to have written it and I had a ton of fun with it, which always ends up being the case. It's fully completed at this point, so I will post an update every other Saturday.

Additionally, all the credit to Rayish, who helped beta parts of this story and rubber duck with me when I was really stuck. Find her blog here!

Masterlist

...

The thing about the end of the world, is that it takes its time.

Stan’s known this for ages. Getting dumped by Carla wasn’t the end of the world. Watching her fall for some hippie loser was the end of the world. Damaging Ford’s perpetual motion machine wasn’t the end of the world. Him showing up the next night, furious and hating Stan, was the end of the world. Even getting kicked out wasn’t the end of the world. The slow spiraling realization that he wasn’t worth anything and would never get to go back was the end of the world.

And a giant triangle appearing out of nowhere to draw a smiley face across the North American continent and then taking a bite out of half the planet wasn’t the end of the world— although admittedly, it is a little more flashy than all of Stan’s previous examples.

No, the end of the world came in the days after.

The resulting natural disasters, from volcanic eruptions and horrendous earthquakes to the mantle of the earth starting to spill out onto the crust. The ensuing panic and desperation of all of the people unlucky enough to survive the original attack. Stan was one, because of course he was. The universe could never be so kind as to give him an easy death.

Ma and Pa might be alive too. He isn’t sure. New Jersey is far enough away from the original “bite zone” that they might have made it out, if they weren’t in the area crushed by the smiley face.

God, this is a weird apocalypse.

It’s also possible, however, that both of them are gone, because if they were visiting either of Stan’s brothers, they would be.

Shermie, in California.

Ford, in Oregon.

Neither of them stood a chance.

Not that it matters either way. Stan wouldn’t be able to get to New Jersey, for numerous reasons.

First of all, he’d starve to death before he’d get there, as all available resources vanished before most people could think about them, whether from natural causes or looting and hoarding. Any kind of official communication died around the same time, not that Stan would have listened to it anyway. The streets turned into a hellscape that matched up to the canyons left from whatever part of the smiley face hadn’t been bitten off. There were even more thugs and shady figures about than Stan was used to having to deal with.

And of course, there’s the fact that Filbrick Pines is absolutely stubborn enough to not have “the end of the world” on his list of reasons to let Stan back into the house.

No, Stan is on his own for however long his life lasts. Or, well, almost on his own. Because the apocalypse couldn’t seem to throw Stan a bone after killing almost every person he still gave a shit about.

Nope, the thing hadn’t even managed to take Rico off his plate. Despite the fact that most of his goons split as soon as they all watched the end of the world go down together, Stan is still running from the man himself. What on the half-earth that’s left Rico could possibly hope to get from Stan now is anyone’s guess. Before the apocalypse, he got it. He wanted the money Stan owed him. But there’s no use for money now, and there’ll be even less of one as time continues to run out. Any sensible person would lie down and die.

Except Rico isn’t a sensible person, and when it comes down to it, Stan isn’t either. He still ran, after all. He’s not sure he knows how to do anything else but try to survive. It’s all he’s known these past ten years. He can’t shut it off just because— god, what the hell had happened? No one had been able to explain it, and no one ever would at this rate. Because while Stan may not be a scientist like Ford, he sure does know how to bet on long odds, and given the current ones they’ve got, he gives the world a week and a half, tops.

So, with the long life expectancy of next Thursday to look forward to, everything else he could possibly value now meaning nothing, and zero chance to get past the smile-canyons and back to whatever might have been left of his family, Stan is doing the only thing he can think of to prolong his life. And that’s head right for the end of the earth.

Maybe if he gets close enough to the point where the planet drops off into the mantle, Rico will leave him alone. And then he’ll… fuck if he knows. Sit back and watch everything crumble until it takes him with it, probably.

The part of this plan that really sucks, however, is that Stan can’t drive a car all the way to the edge of the world. He’s known for a couple hundred miles now that his time with the Stanleymobile is limited, and when the sky catches fire, he’s finally forced to leave it at the side of the road.

Well, it’s not the sky’s fault, exactly, though the smoke doesn’t help with visibility. The main problem is the potholes. They’d been getting worse and worse for a while, and now he’s stopped just before a stretch of road with too many large holes and broken and crumbled sections that he can’t see a way to get through.

Stan lets the car shudder to a stop just in front of the first hole he can’t force his car over, then sighs and shuts off the ignition. He slips the keys in his pocket as a memento.

He starts to push open the car door, and immediately pauses to cough his way through the terrible quality of the air outside. It’s about the same as the air around Pa when he could afford cigars, except about a hundred times worse. Long-term, it’s probably not great to breathe in, but Stan isn’t too worried about lung cancer these days.

After he manages to adjust to the smoke, he pushes the car door the rest of the way open and steps out onto what’s left of the highway he’s been traveling down. He can see the ruined remains of a city ahead of him. Given how much of New Mexico was bitten off, and how close he’s actually able to get to the part that was, it’s probably Roswell. There are worse places to reach the end of the line.

California, for instance.

Or Oregon.

Stan turns back to the Stanleymobile, and pats her a couple of times on the steering wheel. “You did good,” he says, because he has to say something. It’s too monumentous of a moment to leave to silence. The Stanleymobile has been all he’s had for the past decade, he can’t just leave her without thanking her for all she’s done for him.

He reaches out to close the door, then hesitates for another moment. There’s not much in the car worth taking. He’s got his knuckle dusters in his pocket, and has had them there for long before the world ended. He stopped and grabbed that squirrel that had fallen on the windshield a couple dozen miles back, dead from either smoke inhalation or starvation. It’ll make for a good— well, it’ll make for a last meal. There’s bound to be a fire somewhere in the city for him to cook it with, even if it’s just an already-lit pile of rubble.

But that’s about it. Pretty much everything else in the car is trash that came from before the world ended, or products that are now even more useless. Everything except…

Stan pulls the driver’s side visor down. The photo of him and Ford boxing isn’t in very good shape. Not that it was in great shape before, but it was in “hasn’t been through an apocalypse” shape. If he takes it with him, it’ll probably get crushed or burnt or otherwise lost. It definitely won’t stay in this “good” of shape.

But the other option is to leave it in the Stanleymobile, to not carry it with him. Abandon Ford’s memory to a car on the side of the road.

Both of his brothers are dead, and he doesn’t have any photos of Shermie. This is the best he can do.

Stan reaches out and pulls the photo gently off the visor. He tucks the strips of tape that held it there around to the back of the photo rather than risk tearing it pulling them off. He puts the photo in his jacket next to his knuckle dusters, takes a deep breath, pauses to cough through the smoke, and then starts picking his way through the remains of the road in front of him.

Now that he’s not trying to peer through both smoke and a filthy windshield, it’s slightly easier to see. There’s a couple other cars abandoned on the crumbling road, but none of them are worth trying to hotwire. Either the car itself is too destroyed, or the road around it is. The city in front of him is a mess of crumbling and collapsing buildings. It doesn’t look like there were a ton of skyscrapers in the first place, but what is still there would hardly count anymore. The air smells strongly of smoke and fire, and the sky is bright red to match. There looks to be some burnt-out shells of trees just inside the city limits, to contrast with the desert Stan’s been driving through. The state of them ruins any hope of finding water here, but he had some yesterday, and this is going to be his final stop one way or another.

Stan picks his way around the cars as he tries to plan out his next move. He doesn’t expect to find many people alive in the city, except for Rico, if he doesn’t give up and finally leave Stan to his own devices. Stan doesn’t know how likely that is. Rico might not be a sensible person, but he’s always had goons to do most of his work for him. Stan’s not sure if he’s enough of a risk taker to keep following him here.

It’s probably safer to keep acting as If he is, though. And that means the first thing Stan needs to do is get rid of this squirrel.

The building rubble doesn’t seem too bad as Stan reaches the edge of the city, though he’d wager a bet it’s worse in the center of downtown. That’s also probably where he’s going to have to go to find a fire secluded enough that Rico won’t find it, though, so he starts to make his way around the rubble that’s there, which is easy enough for now. There’s some pieces he has to climb over, but most of the concrete he can walk around, and the holes aren’t deep enough that he has to climb down into them, just step.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize the real problem, however, that being that very quickly once he starts into the city he has to hold his sleeve over his mouth to prevent coughing from all of the smoke. There’s not a chance he’s going to be able to make it to the center of the city. He’ll have to find something on fire around here or find one of the tree husks and start one. And given that most of the smoke seems to be coming from closer to the center of the city, the second option is probably his best.

Lighting a fire might as well be lighting up a giant neon sign that says to Rico “Here I am!”, but if he does it fast enough he might be able to eat the squirrel and find a space to hide. And he really needs to eat the squirrel. He ran out of food in his car almost three days ago, he has to eat something soon.

Stan casts his gaze around until he finds a decently large tree sitting on the side of the road. It’s hollowed out and looks very dry, so he’ll have to be careful enough when starting the fire to leave himself an easy escape route, but it’ll serve his purposes just fine.

Stan pulls out his knuckle dusters as he walks over towards the tree, but then pauses for a second and sets them back in his pocket. He reaches up and yanks one of the still-intact branches down, long enough that he can cook the squirrel at a distance. He sets it down behind him, then grabs another to use as a piece of kindling. He pulls his knuckle dusters back out, then flicks one of them against the concrete below him a couple times until he gets sparks, aiming them for the second branch. After a couple tries, it catches, and he picks it up and sets it inside the tree husk. It doesn’t take long for the whole thing to catch, but it looks like it’s going to burn bright and fast, so Stan steps back just far enough to stick the squirrel onto the first branch he grabbed, then holds it out over the fire like he’s roasting a marshmallow.

He has no idea what a properly cooked squirrel looks like, but it’s not like he has to worry too much about long term effects. It just has to be edible.

The fire is burning up fast, however, so after a minute or so, Stan decides to cook the squirrel the way Ma likes to do marshmallows— catch it on fire.

The smell of cooking meat hits his nose as soon as the squirrel catches, and Stan takes as deep a breath as he dares with all the smoke around, savouring it for just a moment. It’s not going to take too before the squirrel will be tough and black if he doesn’t get rid of the fire. But he doubts blowing on it like a marshmallow is going to work in this case, so instead he waves the stick back and forth harshly until the fire goes out, then blows the final remaining embers onto the ground below him.

Alright then, food acquired. He should probably pick a new location to eat it, though.

He picks his knuckle dusters up from the ground and slips them back into his pocket, then walks past the fire, aiming for a good hiding spot that isn’t too close to the center of the city.

Finally, he finds a spot where he can lean against a building that looks stable enough to not fall down, and sits back against it. He pulls one of the legs of the squirrel and takes a bite. It’s small enough that his teeth hit the bone, and it certainly doesn’t taste like it was cooked at a five star restaurant, but it’s the first food he’s had in days, and the first cooked food he’s had in who knows how long. Stan can’t quite help a pleased groan at the taste, closing his eyes to savor it.

He should really know better than to do things like that.

“There you are, Hal.”

Stan’s eyes snap open, and he’s on his feet before he even knows where Rico is. A second later he spots him, standing at the entrance to the street, knife in hand. Honestly, come on. He can’t bring a knife to a knuckle dusters fight.

Stan’s not doubting his chances too much, however, because Rico has definitely looked better. The hand gripping the knife isn’t exactly holding it steady, and his legs look like they’re about to collapse out from under him. While the idea of seeing Rico like this would have made him laugh a couple weeks ago, Stan isn’t too surprised to see it now. He doubts Rico has had as much experience as him dealing with hunger, being the head of a formly-very-scary drug empire. Prison probably helped, but it’s been a while since then, and going three days without food isn’t a skill you can pick right back up. Stan’s been working on his skillset in that regard for over a decade, thank you very much.

The thought strikes him, a little incredible— he could beat Rico. He might be able to kill him, right here and now, and then enjoy his squirrel in peace. And man, is the idea tempting. Rico has put him through a lot. If the apocalypse hadn’t happened, he’d probably still be trying to run from him, panicking about a debt he has no hope of paying back, a debt that could not matter less now. Rico would still have hoards of goons at his disposal, most of whom Stan doesn’t know by name, all of whom would kill him without a second thought, either to impress Rico or to pay down debts of their own. Stan has a literal knife scar in his back from Rico. He has a set of poorly made dentures that work just as well as he needs them to and not any better. He has a slew of bad memories and nightmares that he doubts are ever going away. The idea of getting to pay Rico back for all of that is… well, shit.

It’s strangely disappointing.

What the hell would he get for it now? A week and a half of struggling through hell trying to find another malnourished squirrel to cook? Dammit, Rico. How do you manage to take the fun out of killing you?

“Rico, come on,” Stan says anyway, because if he’s not going to kill him he really doesn’t want to fight him. “What are you even going to get out of this?”

“How about that food you’re hoarding for yourself,” Rico growls, taking a shaky step forward.

Stan pulls off another leg and the tail and then leans the stick the rest of the squirrel is sitting on against the building next to him.

“Come share it with me,” he says, which feels patently insane, but he says it anyway.

Rico seems to think it’s insane too, judging by the slight hysteria that takes over his face. Stan takes a couple steps back away from the squirrel, so Rico knows he won’t try to jump him when he gets close. He puts his hands up, holding nothing but the parts of the squirrel he took for himself. He even left Rico the majority of the meat, which is just unfair, but Rico would definitely try to argue for more if he didn’t.

For a long moment, the two of them just look at each other. Rico’s always been good with evaluating people just like Stan is. Stan can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. Not much is going through his, except for how tired he is and how much he just wants to sit and eat the squirrel and how little he wants to fight about it.

“Come on,” Stan says. “You can stay over there, I’ll stay over here. Just— just sit with me.”

Rico watches him for another long pause. Finally, though he doesn’t lower the knife, he takes a small step towards the stick on the building. Stan doesn’t move or lower his hands until he reaches it, and picks it up. He peers at Stan suspiciously, then looks back at the squirrel.

“How did you guess,” Stan deadpans, because he knows what Rico is thinking. “I poisoned just the top of it in the seconds after I sat down, with my giant supply of poison that I’ve acquired during the apocalypse.” As if to prove his point, he takes another bite of the squirrel leg he’d been eating before.

Rico huffs, like he doesn’t want to acknowledge the good point Stan’s made. But finally, after another second, he sits down with the stick.

Stan feels the tension in his shoulders rush out of them, more than a little amazed that worked. He sits down right where he’s standing, and goes back to eating the squirrel leg, though he doesn’t close his eyes again this time.

It doesn’t take long before he realizes the other problem with this plan, however, that being that sitting across from Rico and trying to calmly eat a meal isn’t really something he can just do. Rico seems to all but attack the part of the squirrel he was given, not really seeming to want to savor it like Stan is with his, and watching him do that is both bizarre and unsettling. In the end, Stan keeps the majority of his gaze on his own meat and his peripheral view on Rico, and works his way through one squirrel leg, then the second.

Rico doesn’t say much, which is probably good, because Stan can’t think of much the two of them would have to talk about. What is he supposed to say to the guy who’s wanted him dead for ages? “Hey, how are you handling the apocalypse?” The answer is written in his shaking legs and the desperation in his eyes that Stan hasn’t seen since they were escaping prison together.

Maybe this is where Rico’s at too, though, because as Stan continues eating, the tension slowly seems to drain out of the air around them. When he casts a glance back up at Rico, he finds him eating his meat and not paying Stan much attention at all.

For a moment, the hysteria of the situation gets to him. He’s sitting surrounded by burning rubble, eating meat from a malnourished squirrel, with Rico of all people. A laugh bubbles up in Stan’s throat, and he just barely manages to swallow it down.

It’s after Stan finishes the second leg, however, that his luck takes another turn, one he probably should have seen coming. Rico stands up, and Stan does too before he even really processes what’s happening, gaze flicking to him. Rico’s got his knife back out.

“Give me the tail,” he says.

Yeah. Figures.

Stan looks down at the tail, trying to debate how little he wants to fight versus how hungry he still is. Apparently his second of debate is a second too long however, because Rico starts for him with the knife.

“Oh, come on, man,” Stan says, stepping backwards. But it doesn’t matter at this point. Rico’s either going to kill him and take the tail, or take the tail when Stan gives it to him, then go right back to killing him afterwards.

And, well. Stan’s hungry.

So he shoves the entire tail in his mouth, trying to chew past the less pleasant texture of the tail fur, and slips his hands into his pockets for his knuckle dusters.

Rico gives a cry of desperate rage, and sprints right at him.

Stan dives to the side just in time to avoid the knife and swallows the last bit of the squirrel. Running back the way he came isn’t going to do any good. At this point, it’s pretty clear Rico isn’t going to be outrun. Stan’s going to have to fight him, and see what happens.

He turns to face Rico as he runs back at him again, and ducks under the knife before bringing his left hook up against Rico’s jaw. The knuckle dusters clang against bone, and Rico cries out and stumbles back.

Stan aims another fist for the side of his head, but Rico manages to take a couple extra steps back with his stumble, leaving Stan’s fist to hit empty air.

Rico takes another swing with his knife, and Stan takes another step to the side. He aims again for Rico’s head, but Rico sees him coming this time.

He steps far enough away to leave Stan stumbling for a minute, which gives Rico time to make it behind him.

Stan feels a rough grab at his arm, and aims a blind elbow back behind him. He hits something, though he hears more of a muffled grunt instead of a cry of pain, and the arm doesn’t let go.

So instead, he switches gears and spins himself around, twisting his arm but allowing him to see where Rico is at least. Just in time, it seems, because Rico’s knife is coming straight for Stan’s head.

Stan manages to duck just far enough to avoid it, though his wrist starts to protest.

Stan aims his free hand upwards as the knife passes over his head, but Rico’s grip on it is too tight for his knuckle dusters to knock it away.

Rico’s arm now hovers unnaturally over Stan’s, which gives Stan just long enough to aim a right kick at Rico’s arm. Unfortunately, it doesn’t hit as hard as he’d like, and Rico has too much time to tighten his grip again.

Stan spins back around before Rico can yank him closer, which gets rid of his visual but untwists his arm, and aims another elbow behind him, this one higher and towards where he remembers the face.

He hits what feels like a nose with a loud crack, and Rico cries out in pain. But instead of letting go, he brings the knife back around from his other side, and Stan feels a large slice across the back of his elbow.

He bites down on his own cry and dodges the knife’s return blow for his face. It whistles as it passes over his nose.

He can all but see Rico swinging the knife back around towards his neck, but his attempt to knock it out of his hand didn’t go well, and his elbows to the face haven’t lessened the grip on his arm.

Stan throws his head back against Rico’s face, a final attempt to get him to let go if he hits his nose again. But Rico must lean his head back just far enough to avoid it, because all that happens is Stan’s neck snaps painfully.

Rico’s other hand grabs his hair and he’s yanked back into Rico’s chest, where he does not want to be, he’s not going to make it out of here like this.

He leans forward, preparing to try and snap his head back again, but the knife is coming too fast towards his throat, and Stan has just enough time to process that this might be it, he might be ducking out of the apocalypse a week and a half early, but instead something far more strange happens.

Out of nowhere, a muscular man in ugly black and gray armor with bright green gloves appears in front of both him and Rico.

Clearly neither of them were expecting it, because they both give twin noises of surprise, and Rico changes the direction of his knife. The man, however, does not seem at all interested in Rico, and instead reaches out and grabs Stan by his free arm.

Before Stan can even attempt to figure out how the hell to fight two guys when he was barely handling one, the man grabs something attached to his belt. It looks sort of like a gun, but far more futuristic looking than Stan’s ever seen.

He aims it at Rico’s arm and fires, and to Stan’s horror, the entire arm disintegrates and the knife clatters to the ground.

Rico shrieks, animalistic and pained, and doesn’t stop.

The man, however, doesn’t react except to grab Stan and yank him forward, away from Rico. All of Stan’s instincts start screaming run, despite how little that will likely matter in a couple seconds, but before he can even try, the man grabs something else from his belt. Is that a tape measure?

The man lets go of Stan momentarily, pulls the tape measure out almost as far as it seems to go, and then reaches forward to grab Stan’s arm again.

He hits something on top of the tape measure, and everything around them vanishes all at once.

…

Stan immediately tries to wrench his arm away, and is surprised to find no resistance as he does so. In fact, the man from before, still there, just lets him pull free and take a couple steps back, not seeming to object in the slightest.

“What— what the hell,” Stan snaps, hands going up in front of his face, as if they’re going to do anything against the futuristic laser gun whatever thing that just disintegrated Rico’s arm. “Who are you? Where am I? What’s—”

“Stanley, please, calm down,” comes a new voice. “We can explain everything.”

Stanley.

“No one’s supposed to know that name,” Stan snaps, though he doesn’t take his gaze off the first guy with the laser gun. “Rico doesn’t know that name. Who are you?”

“I’m happy to explain everything,” says the new voice. “Just please, lower your hands and talk with us for a bit.”

“Not until that gun gets put away,” Stan snaps, keeping his gaze firmly on the first guy. Now that he’s not running from a knife, he notices he’s wearing what looks like a name tag that says “Lolph,” which, what kind of name is that?

Either way, Lolph sighs, lowers his gun, and straps it back to his belt. Stan narrows his eyes slightly. He wasn’t expecting him to actually do that.

“Alright, there,” the new voice says, a note of attempted soothing in his voice that Stan isn’t particularly a fan of. “Guns are away. Can we talk now?”

Stan glares at Lolph for another couple seconds before finally casting his gaze around at the rest of where he’s ended up.

There’s not a ton of fun aspects to the room. It looks more like a holding cell, which, to be fair, could very well be where he is. The room is featureless and dark, with the only things there being three chairs to his right, himself and the two men in ugly armor, and a square table in between the chairs. Lolph stands opposing Stan, with his gun and tape measure both clipped to his belt, and some weird green eye piece that looks like suspiciously like a gun scope. He doesn’t look particularly happy to be there. On the other side of the chairs stands the other agent. His name tag reads “Dundgren.” He’s got dark skin, as opposed to Lolph’s pale variety. He’s got a green eye piece too, and a scar on his other eye. He’s got the same gun, tape measure, and muscles as Lolph, but he’s done all the talking so far, and he’s holding a third of those tape measure things, so Stan’s willing to bet he’s the one in charge.

Stan levels his gaze back at him, trying to gauge what his intentions are. “Where are we, and why did you bring me here?” he asks.

“Well, I would hope that latter answer would be fairly obvious,” Dundgren says, raising an eyebrow. “You were about to die.”

Stan scoffs and crosses his arms. “No I wasn’t,” he says, aiming for an “overconfident idiot” tone.

A lot of people have been about to die lately. Stan hasn’t heard of a sudden rise in guardian angels with teleporting tape measures.

Dundgren gives Stan an unamused look. “The man was aiming a knife at your neck. An injury like that in your time period is a death sentence.”

“Please, I almost had him.” In his time period?

Dundgren rolls his eyes, and a little bit of the tension in his shoulders vanishes. Good. Let your guard down.

“As for the first question,” Dundgren continues. “That’s a little more complicated.”

“Great,” Stan says, walking over towards one of the chairs— the one alone on its side of the square table, clearly meant for him. He plops down in it, then kicks his feet up on the table and folds his hands behind his head. “You don’t mind if I sit then, do you? I haven’t gotten a chance to relax in a while.”

“No, please,” Dundgren says, though Stan can hear the subtle disgust in his voice. Likely at the dirt Stan is now getting all over the table. On the other side of the room, Lolph makes less of an effort to hide his disapproval, and lets out an exasperated sigh.

After a second, however, both of them walk forward and take the two chairs on the opposite side of the table.

“Alright,” Dundgren says. “There isn’t really a way to ease into this. You’re not in your own time anymore.”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You’re telling me Lolphy here came and grabbed me and we time traveled, yeah?”

Both of them seem surprised.

“Well, yes,” Dundgren says. “Usually people are more shocked.”

“Don’t call me Lolphy,” Lolph mutters.

“Buddy, not too long ago a giant nacho chip took a bite out of the planet,” Stan says, ignoring Lolph’s comment. “At this point I’m leaving everything on the table.”

Both of them at least have the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Well, yes,” Dundgren says again. “You’re in what we call a time pocket, it’s a place time agents can go outside of the normal time stream if the period they’re trying to reach is unavailable for some reason. But to get back to the Bill Cipher incident—”

“Who?”

Dundgren grimaces. “The giant nacho chip,” he says, with some difficulty.

Stan snorts. “Yeah, I figured, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Dundgren gives him an unamused look.

“Come on, man, go easy on me,” Stan says. “I’ve been dealing with an apocalypse. What about the nacho chip?”

“None of that was supposed to happen,” Lolph says, sounding frustrated. “Can we get on with this explanation?”

Dundgren shoots him a look, and Stan pulls his hands out from behind his head, attention officially piqued.

“What do you mean ‘none of that was supposed to happen?’” he asks.

Dundgren sighs. “Well, suffice to say Lolph and I are from more than nine days into the future, which is how long your current timeline has left.”

Stan tries very hard not to show anything on his face. “Huh,” he says, “neat.”

Lolph does not seem particularly fond of that response. Stan does not particularly care. He doesn’t want to know how long he has left. He’d wanted to live in blissful ignorance while he tried to gather up the courage to take care of himself first. Thanks a lot, asshole future guys.

“How does that not bother you?” Lolph snaps. “Do you have any idea how much is riding on you?”

Stan plans to shoot back some kind of comment that he stopped being bothered after he’d finished hyperventilating the first time, the day after the apocalypse started. Instead, his attention is immediately drawn to Dundgren, who’s giving Lolph an extremely frustrated look.

So something important is riding on him, then.

Well, he could think of a couple better options they should have picked first.

“Why would I?” he says, putting his hands carelessly behind his head again. “Neither of you have actually bothered to explain anything.”

“We’re getting there,” Dundgren says, sounding significantly more tense. “The point is no, the apocalypse that you’ve been living through was not supposed to have happened. We were in a time pocket like this when the anomaly occurred, so we have a chance to fix it, even though the future we came from is technically gone. We are reaching out to you in an attempt to stop the apocalypse from occurring.”

Stan coughs out a surprised laugh. “Me?” he asks. “Interesting choice.”

“Are you saying you won’t do it?” Lolph snaps.

“Yeesh, calm down, Lolphy. Didn’t say anything of the sort.” Stan glances over at Dundgren and rolls his eyes, as if to say, “This guy, right?”

Dundgren does not seem amused.

“Look, I’m not saying I wouldn’t be willing to help, necessarily,” Stan says. “I get it. End of the world and all that. Generally bad. But what makes you think I can do anything? That Bill guy was so huge that I doubt he could even, you know, see me trying to stop him.”

“The apocalypse was not caused by Bill Cipher,” Dundgren says.

Stan blinks at him. “Uh. Did you guys, like, read the timeline screwup wrong? ‘Cause he’s the one who ate everything.”

Dundgren sighs, and looks back at Stan. The calculating he’s doing is obvious on his face.

“If left to his own devices,” he says slowly. “Bill would not have been able to invade this dimension at all.”

This dimension? Implying other dimensions? Stan would ask for a second to wrap his head around that one, but Dundgren is already continuing to talk. So, other dimensions. Sure, why not.

“The fact that he was able to was due entirely to the help of one man, who he tricked into building a gateway into this dimension.”

“That— wait,” Stan says. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You’re telling me the entire apocalypse was caused by one idiot who let himself get conned?”

“Yes,” Dundgren says plainly.

Stan opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. And this time, at least, Dundgren seems willing to let him process, which is good, because Stan needs to.

One person. A single individual ended the entire world. That’s… well, that’s just unfair on a number of levels.

It’s not like Stan doesn’t know how cons work. You can convince people to do some pretty stupid things. Hell, he’s convinced people to do some pretty stupid things before. But there’s usually a point, a line you have to be careful not to cross, or you give it all away. You have to learn how to walk that line of not coming off to a victim as too good to be true, or too obviously trying to screw them over. You have to make sure you sound believable.

And hey, call Stan crazy, but he would have thought most people’s lines stopped before “the end of the fucking world.”

Or at least, he would have thought that before now.

Stan pulls his feet off the table, and drops them onto the floor in front of him. He lowers his hands to his lap, and runs them along his legs.

“Well,” he says. “I guess a conveniently timed bus would have saved everyone a lot of grief, huh.”

“Funny you bring that up,” Lolph says, only to earn another ‘shut up’ look from Dundgren.

Stan narrows his eyes slightly. “What do you mean?”

Dundgren looks back at him, clearly searching for very specific words.

“We were hoping,” he says finally. “That you could help us create a conveniently timed bus situation.”

“You want me to kill the guy?” Stan asks, raising an eyebrow.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Stan narrows his eyes again. “What other manner of speaking is there? You want me to kill the guy.”

Dundgren sighs. “Yes. It is the easiest and most reliable way to prevent all of this.”

Stan looks from Dundgren to Lolph and back, but doesn’t find any more answers on either of their faces. “Why me?” he asks.

“Our options are… limited,” Dundgren says. Stan looks at him for a minute, but he doesn’t say anything else. He could easily be talking about the “end of the world” thing, but if that was the case, why not just say that? On that matter, why not grab Rico instead of him? He’d be much more willing to kill someone, especially if it benefitted him.

“You won’t even vanish from existence, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lolph says, drawing Stan’s gaze. “Not with the individualized merger in the time tape.”

“The who what now?”

“We’ve built an individualized timeline merger into the time tape,” Dundgren says, tone very clipped and irritable at this point.

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Okay…?”

Lolph sighs, as if Stan’s a particularly slow child. “When you go back, there would be two versions of you. But with the merger, you’ll both combine into one form as soon as you land in the set time. So that way you’ll be able to continue living after you’ve saved the world, even though your timeline technically doesn’t exist. It’ll even bring your car to you, just for ease of travel. So if you—”

All of the alarm bells that Stan’s been counting up quietly in his head start shrieking, and he holds up a hand. “Wait. Stop.”

Lolph stops.

“Why would you do that?” Stan asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Stan says, talking like they’re particularly slow children, “that I am going to be dead in a week, when the rest of the world finishes going up in flames. What do I care if I go back to save everything and then someone else lives on in my place? I won’t be around to see it either way. At this point, saving the world is just practical.”

Dundgren and Lolph exchange a glance. Dundgren’s face has an air of “I told you so” to it.

Stan raises himself as tall as he can, and crosses his arms. “Okay, that’s it. Why do you need me to do this so bad, what are you asking me to do, and why are you trying so hard to sweeten the deal?”

Both of them look back at Stan, and Dundgren sighs. “The person who caused the apocalypse,” he says.

“What about ‘em.”

The agent takes a breath, and Stan recognizes the look of a man who’s really not going to like what he has to say next.

“It’s your brother.”

#gravity falls #stan pines #ford pines #dundgren gravity falls #lolph gravity falls #bill cipher #rico gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #time travel #my fic

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fafodill · 7 days ago

Note

I'm glad you liked my (perfectly reasonable and canon compliant) ship suggestions to glacierberries. I also have a little additional bellambrige piece written in the reblogs, because evil wlw rules.

Want your opinion on those ones:

- Gilderoy Lockhart/Voldemort (narcissists, unite!)

- Severus Snape/Augusta Longbottom (Neville is hysterical)

- Lily Evans/Horace Slughorn (he talks of her SUSPICIOUSLY well)

- Sirius Black/Fenrir Greyback (if the fandom wants Sirius to bang a daddy werewolf – fine, but at least pick an actual daddy werewolf)

And our newest addition – ✨️kreagulus✨️

Regulus definitely was unhealthily obsessed with Kreacher. I mean, why else would he betray Voldemort, am I right? He just wanted to fuck him😔 #elfcelregulus

I shit you not I almost CRIED laughing as I read those. These are AMAZING!

✨Lockmort is a banger. They'd meet because Gilderoy would keep on stealing competent wizard's work, including undercover DE and leaving them with memory brain damage. Voldemort is pissed and demands to have the responsible captured. Once they finally meet (read: someone yeet Gilderoy in the room and he's on the ground at Voldy's feet), Gilderoy is absolutely shaking in fear like a newborn bird but then Voldemort (who's pretty disappointed already) gives him a compliment about his charm skills and cleverness in avoiding detection and Gilderoy gets on his feet and puff his chest in pride and they start talking. And to Voldemort's horror, the man is a HUGE moron but he's also strangely clever in his own way? (he's ravenclaw after all) Greet schemer, very good liar, very ambitious, totally narcissistic but if Voldy gives him attention and fame, then the guy might give him GREAT IDEAS to pull wool over important people's eyes and get a fuck-ton of money. Like, he's an expert con-artist! And also, he's a total whimpering sub in bed, especially when you make him look at himself in a mirror. 8.5/10, Voldy would use snakes as bondage ropes on him. 🐍

🐦‍⬛Snaugusta (I'm wheezing), I can see them bonding over Augusta coming to school one day and - as an involved guardian figure - ask to talk with the Potion Professor with whom her grandson is having so much trouble with. She's pretty pissed at first but find Severus's sternness very refreshing and totally agrees with him and his methods. They have similar old-school views about school and what is to be expected from a proper wizard. Also she finds him very attractive. Had she been 30 years younger she'd have asked him out. She won't tho, she's too well-educated to meddle with her grandson's professor. Also Severus would have said no for approximately 12 diff reasons. 6/10. IF she was to hit on him in a post-war AU and he's a bit drunk, I can see it happening. Why the fuck not, he's not even supposed to be alive and life makes no sense. It wouldn't last tho, she's way too bossy in bed.

🍷Slugvans, I mean you're right, he's clearly talking about her a bit too much and too fondly. But how could he approach her with James AND Severus ready to pounce on him if he made an inappropriate move? No, he'd have to meet her outside of school, after her graduation. He'd take her out on a lunch date on Diagon Alley and be totally prepared to be her daddy. I see him as an old gentleman, he's not lusting after her per say (he'd even blush so hard if she was to take his hand, oh my!). If we go with the idea that Lily was interested in James because of his status and the protection it would give her, then Slughorn is also a safe bet! And he's got tons of connections! She could be his dear trophy wife/sugar baby and not have to worry about getting pregnant because if they did the do, he'd be super cautious about it. Lily lives, no Harry, no prophecy, Sirius kisses James while they're drunk one night and everybody is happy. Though they wouldn't last a lifetime as she's way too fiery for his old bones and she'd get bored and leave him a few years along the line. No bad blood though. A solid 7/10.

🐺GreyBlack, yes, THIS is the werewolf daddy fanon!Sirius deserves. The problem is, Sirius is bigoted towards werewolves so if he doesn't want Remus, he won't want Fenrir. BUT he would find his 'fuck society' stance really sexy. Fenrir would so be his leather daddy after school. Sirius would act as if he's not interested then finally cave in when the man would shove him against a wall and rip his clothes apart. But also... would Sirius run the risk of getting transformed? I don't believe Fenrir doesn't use teeth when he fucks. So yeah, werewolf!Sirius entering the ring for sure! But he'd loose Remus friendship for good and I don't think Fenrir would appreciate his rebel posh ass for long before tossing him out of the pack so 4/10, not compatible enough imo.

💎Kreagulus is, since I saw the post a few days ago, absolutely canon. Kreature was the only nice person towards poor old Reg' in this godforsaken house. Their love and loyalty towards one another is endless. But I like them tragic, so Reg' never confessed his feelings, except when he wept about it as he was dying while drinking the cursed potion. Kreature has been heartbroken since. He's never going to get over it, 12/10.

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moonlight-prose · 1 year ago

Text

FIRST LIGHT

➛ #01. ETERNAL DARKNESS

a/n: this fic has been shoving its way to the front of my brain for months now. so i finally decided to sit down and write the first chapter. tommy miller somehow snuck up on me in 2023, and now there's really no going back with this man. i love him and all his agonies. this is a fic that i'm really connected to and terrified to post actually. it's also a level of angst i've never put out before so i'm handing tissues to y'all now.

summary: tommy miller never thought he would end up alone. not when he had family behind him - a life that wasn't perfect, but good enough. yet there he was, kneeling on the cold forest floor - bloodied and bruised - asking to die. until light streams through the trees, and he sees you.

word count: 2k+

pairing: tommy miller x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, grief, angst so much angst it's actually painful, tommy wants to die, tw suicide mention, blood, death, grief, the horrors of living through an apocalypse, IF YOU DON'T VIBE WITH A TON OF ANGST THIS IS NOT FOR YOU.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

There was no light in a body split down the middle. A body filled to the brim with splinters and jagged edges. With a hollow emptiness that created an opening—a chasm.

He could feel how the darkness soaked in, filling the spaces where light once belonged—where hope used to be. But nothing could exist if pain—grief—reigned free. A wild ruthless thing, cracking apart whatever remained. Feeding off the shine that once thrived there.

There was no light.

Not anymore.

He ran through the woods, the heaviness of his boots snapping twigs and branches as he went. The cracking echoed through the air, sharp and loud, accompanied by the heaviness of his breaths. Each one, more painful than the last. His fingers clenched around the ripped leather wrapped around the blade’s handle so tight his knuckles went white. At one point it was brand new, perfect. A birthday gift from his brother. He called it special—once.

Now it dripped red.

Wild eyes darted around the surrounding area, his breaths coming in slower—an attempt to slow the erratic beat of his heart. He could still taste it. The pungent sting of copper that built up in the back of his throat like bile. He couldn’t tell the difference at this point. They burned all the same.

Sucking in a breath, he felt his chest tighten, his eyes red with exhaustion. The nights were desolate, sleep no longer a priority when nothing but memories of a past he couldn’t get back to plagued him. What he wouldn’t give to go back. Maybe then he could save himself; end it before it even began.

Birds no longer chirped the same. He noticed that three days into being alone. As if nature had taken her beauty away; an act of punishment for the selfish behavior of humanity. They took her for granted. Used her up until nothing remained; until her grounds ran red with blood. And this was their consequence. An eternity of misery, of reaping what they sowed from her poisoned grounds.

He stopped breathing, stilled every limb of his body, and listened. For the signal of people coming after him. Or something worse. For a blissful numbing moment, he wished for the latter.

At least then he’d have an excuse.

His palm was warm, slicked and sticky with the color of crimson that stained his skin. A red right hand for the man filled with nothing but regret. If he could feel anything, he might have laughed at the sheer irony. Once upon a time he wanted to save the world. Now he was ready to watch it burn.

Silence spilled out of every corner. A deafening echo he yearned to find relief in. His body had other ideas though.

Clambering forward, he pressed himself against the nearest tree. The bark scraped his palm as he clutched it, tight enough to draw blood. But the bile had built and built and he could feel his body beg for something other than pain. Tilting forward he went dizzy as he dry heaved. His stomach was empty—the food he stole burned a hole in his pack.

Would it set him on fire?

Would he turn to ash here in the middle of the woods?

A sickening hope entered his chest. As thick as tar and black as night. Yet for a man who had nothing to cling to—this was enough. This would have to do.

He’d take what he could get. In a world ruined by death, a bitter hope was all he could carry. He would continue to push this boulder of grief up the hill paved with the souls of the past. The ones who could no longer sustain the heavy weight of their own heart. Some days he wondered if he could keep going, yet every morning he still woke up.

A bit more numb than the day before.

But still alive.

He used to feel hopeful at the realization. Now all that remained was bitter disappointment.

He bit down on the inside of his right cheek hard to stave off his pained shout. Copper flooded his mouth, but this was familiar. As if his body recognized a taste it’d grown to know. Clutching his thigh and waist, he stumbled away from the tree. There was nowhere to go, no place to hide, but the drive to keep moving kept him alive. The need to be anywhere but here.

Blood coated his once white t-shirt, his jeans a darker hue of blue as the wound on his thigh continued to drain out. Tommy knew he didn’t have long—spots of darkness peeking into the corners of his vision. The threat of oncoming blackness.

“Fucking shit,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as the burn of pain spread through his veins.

Images of the man flashed behind his eyelids. Blood, so much of it, filled his senses. He could still smell it, the hot flush against his skin as he pressed down on the blade hard enough to sever that link between life and the human body. How ruthless he’d been was sharp in his mind. And for the first time in a long time, Tommy was afraid of himself.

He killed the man with his special knife. The engraving Joel placed there—a reminder that his brother was always with him—glared back. I’m proud of you, coupled with the offset reflection of a man he didn’t recognize. There was no life in his brown eyes, no light. Only a thrill he’d seen before—a darkness he locked away the second it crept to the surface.

A piece of him that wasn’t human.

He bit down harder on his cheek, tearing through the flesh with ease. Would Joel be proud of him now? Would he look at him with the eyes of a big brother? The promise to protect him lingering in the brown Tommy knew better than his own. Or would he leave him alone all over again; claim he was a lost cause. After all, there was no use in saving the soul of a man this far gone.

Tommy’s breaths came in short, quick little gasps as he fought to stay upright. To push his boulder a little further.

But what was the use? What did he have left to offer the world? The man’s blood began to dry to his skin, into the grooves and lines of his palms. His fate line, heartline, and everything in between now coated in the essence of another being. A reminder that what he had done—what he’d taken—would remain with him until the end of his lifeline.

Being alone wasn’t new to him. Not when his only sibling had to grow up faster than he expected, leaving Tommy behind to figure out shit on his own. But this…the aching pit of isolation was something he didn’t know how to handle. He could still see Joel’s face, the lines of disappointment suddenly deeper than when he was younger. Pity in the brown that once used to shine with hope.

They both changed. They had to with the way things shifted so quickly.

Except Tommy never thought the only thing keeping him sane—the only tie he had to his past—would leave him alone.

He felt that overwhelming despair begin to swell in his throat, clawing to his chest like a beast starving for more. There was no one here to see him fail. No one here to save him from the darkness.

There was no one here to watch him die.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged and raw from not needing to use it. As days came and went he remained silent. His words, trapped in the empty cavern of his chest.

There was no reason to speak when no one would hear his agony.

“Please.”

The beg morphed the longer he stood there, repeating it softly. Swaying on his feet. He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to. Who his plea was going out to, but Tommy didn’t care anymore. The pain that he tried to control—keep at bay for as long as he could—finally began to seep into his mind. Cracking the final pieces of his soul off like a bottle shattering on the floor. He begged for the release of this anguish, for time to turn back, for his brother to return to him.

He begged for death on a silver platter.

Unashamed, unabashed, and unafraid.

His knees slammed against the forest floor as he fell, his body sagging forward slightly, hands clutching onto his waist as blood spilled down his leg. If he didn’t patch himself up and chose to remain this way, he’d eventually bleed out. Right here on the dirt. He’d return to the Earth, become one with the moss that would eventually grow over his body.

Even that seemed like the better choice than this.

Fighting to live without end. In a world that would be happy to see him get snuffed out like a candle. Entirely blown away with nature’s breath. Her viciousness finally coming to fruition.

He gasped for a breath. Hot tears spilled over his scraped cheeks, his blood split lip from fighting now burning with the salt. Only this time he didn’t try to stop himself, sober his emotions and gather his surroundings. This time, he sunk into the darkness that ate away at his soul, consuming him bit by bit like a decadent meal it wanted to savor. He was its sustaining life force.

Until there was nothing left of him.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking from the strain of the truth.

Tommy had never known an emotion quite like this. He never knew what welcoming death meant. Although he supposed a man would never know until he was faced with its truth; until something pushed him far enough.

He’d seen Joel go through it. Watched as his brother grappled with the decision to stay alive, and he would have joined Sarah soon enough. If Tommy hadn’t shoved his hand out of the way. Joel claims he flinched, Tommy knew the truth. He didn’t flinch, he stood still as stone with his eyes closed…he never saw Tommy’s hand coming.

But Joel would never know the truth.

A soft grin played on his lips as memories of his brother and niece flashed behind his eyes. Like a movie reel playing in a lonesome theater. He was the only person sitting there, transfixed to the screen. And Tommy would have spent the rest of his life there, watching. At least there he felt joy, hope. Emotions he thought he’d never have again.

“Please,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering open to see the light that filtered through the branches.

It fell on the floor like a spotlight, playing along it like water, and he found himself breathless to its beauty. Nature was extending her hand gently, offering him the last bit of beauty he’d get to witness. Placing a small amount of peace at his feet in retribution for what he’d gone through; what he was giving up. Tommy’s wounds continued to bleed, but for that brief moment…he didn’t feel a thing.

No pain, no hurt.

Just peace.

Something cracked in the distance, a twig breaking under the boot of someone, but he felt no need to react. The blade lay on the ground beside him, still bloody, still tainted with his guilt and regret. But there was no use picking it up now. He was already too far gone. Another helpless soul lost to a world on fire.

He could see it now. The sunlight illuminated behind their body, a soft voice echoing in the distance, and his lips curved into yet another smile. Was this nature? Had she come to lead him? Tommy gasped in another breath, forcing his eyes to focus, and yet all he could see was a blurred sight of this being. They practically glowed as they approached quicker than before.

“Hi,” he murmured, eyes wide yet unseeing.

Soft warm hands cupped his face, tilted his head, and replied something he couldn’t hear. But the light was too bright, too welcoming, and Tommy was so fucking tired. More words came, questions. He heard nothing. Just the softness of their touch, the gentleness of their nature, until it all faded. And nothing remained.

#catch me hiding for a WEEK after posting this #to all the tommy girlies i formally hand in my apology now #joy? i don't know her #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller #tommy miller fic #the last of us fic #my writing

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yeahspider · 2 years ago

Note

Disclaimer please don't write this if you are uncomfortable‼️‼️‼️

Ok so stray kids and reader are having a movie night and reader is sitting on Felix's lap with a small vibrator on inside her while she is cockwarming felix giving them both pleasure.

thank you and remember to drink lots of water and get a ton of sleep!!

Ve's note- i'd like to thank you for sending an ask anon!! Ive been lacking a lil inspo lately so this is perfect !! also you're so sweet anon remember to drink water and sleep as well . i hope this is what you wanted ! feel free to drop by again !! :) <3

Ve's note pt.2 - two felix posts back2back omg ? felix is just so fun to write for. anyways. felix x f.reader . nsfw minors dni . not proofread per usual . thinking about writing a jilix post with a similar plot ... maybe . enjoy <3

SQUIRM 🕸️

you wish this stupid movie would end already. if any of the seven other men asked you to explain the plot to them you wouldn't be able to, hell you wouldn't even be able to tell them the title. The only two things holding your attention was the vibrator and your boyfriend . Both happened to be inside you. time was never really your strong suit, it always had a way of escaping you. but not right now. now you were counting down the minutes until this movie was over so you could catch your breath. which you've been holding this whole time, not wanting to let any sounds you might make slip from your lips.

"you alright there darling?" felix questioned from below you. you had been so lost in thought that you almost forgot the predicament you had found yourself in. you and felix had always been a lil....adventurous with your sex life . trying any and everything together just because you could, but this...this was your hardest challenge to date. you could only hum a response to his inquiry as his cock filled you. the challenge had been your idea... see who could last the longest without coming. felix upping the stakes by adding the vibrator and you meeting him by proposing to do it today of all days. sacred movie night. you were determined to not lose . as sweet as your boyfriend could be he was a lil menace when it came to your challenges. he would not hesitate to tease if you came first.

so you decided to make it harder for him . all you had to do was get him to cum first . no problem considering how sensitive felix was to your devices normally . so you readjust yourself, in the disguise of making yourself more comfortable in his lap . just a slight shift of your hips and felix is biting your shoulder in attempts to conceal his groan . the vibrator pressing directly against his tip, stimulating him. you felt yourself gloat until you shifted a bit too much and the vibrator pressed directly against that gummy spot inside you. causing you to arch your back in surprise. your sudden movement caused jisung to spare you a glance of concern, which you thwarted with a smile that did not reach your eyes. this was good enough for jisung though as he smiled back at you and turned his attention back to the movie playing.

"stop moving kitten you're making it harder for the both of us." felix whispered quickly into your neck. planting a kiss right below your ear. you couldn't help but continue to squirm as the vibrator continued its constant assault on your sensitive areas. you weren't going to last much longer and you both knew it.

you felt felix move his hand from your hip to your clothed core. your eyes widened as he applied pressure to your clit. your will snapped along with the coil holding you together and you came with a scream barely held back. teeth clenching as you ride out the waves on top of him. slumping back once you finished. with a final pinch to your clit causing you to freeze and your walls clench on felix's cock he came inside you . using your shirt to muffle his own moan. once he had a chance to recover he picked up his phone and shut the vibrator off. causing you to let out a sigh of release . you could feel the pleasure ruminating off of felix as he smiled into your hair .

"looks like I won"

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #yeahspider #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #lee felix fluff #lee felix smut #lee felix imagines #lee felix x female reader #lee felix x reader #lee felix x you #yeahspideranswers

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plottwiststudios · 1 year ago

Text

Women of Xal II Kickstarter: Delayed?

Hey, have you heard of the overly ambitious visual novel titled "Women of Xal" for Steam and Itch.io? (PC/Mac/Linux) Because that plays into why we might need to shelf the series for a few years. Full breakdown under the cut. (No spoilers)

For those who have gotten the True Ending, you should be fully aware that the story is about to vastly expand outside of Xuna's castle. It's a narrative must where everything that happens, happens well outside the scope of the original game in so many ways. And let's talk about scope! Especially if you have no idea what's so staggering about the original Women of Xal visual novel:

600+ optional choices we painstakingly programmed

Branching paths that people are still asking for guides on

A dozen romance options

Poly and gay options that interact with one another

Voice acting from now VERY popular voice actors

A 15 hour story full of mystery, lore, and tense politics

110 track soundtrack

4 Endings

Animations

Thousands of art assets (Bless Cat)

Years of hard work and long nights

No AI Art

100% positive reviews as of this post

Recouped $6000+, or roughly a fraction of the cost of development. After 2+ years of being released

Note that very last bullet point. Doing things for the art and passion is amazing and all, but I can't be investing literal thousands of hours into creating a game for a subset of a subset of a subset of people. I have bigger projects I want to finally get to work on. Ones I really hoped Women of Xal I would help a bit with funding. But it's not. And because of certain facts about the game, it may never be able to do so. To no fault of any of the players.

When I made Women of Xal I, my time was more readily available and I was quite a bit younger. The cost of running a company and creating a game like WoX as the first product hadn't quite hit me. I was also silly enough to believe "if you make it, they will come" to a degree. That part makes me grin in a not fun way.

But these days I have a job that takes me away from creating, but does pay the bills and debts. Debts I don't want to get into again in order to create the sequel that will undoubtedly come with far higher costs due to the game's scope. I have a better understanding of the costs of hiring returning and appropriate talent necessary to create a game better than the last. (I don't personally believe in being satisfied with an intentional steep downgrade.)

Yes there is the Kickstarter option for Women of Xal II, but there are plenty of costs and time investment that makes it an unviable avenue to explore during this point in time. After all, who but the people who sat down and explored everything the first game had to offer would understand how we came up with a $50,000 Kickstarter price tag for a visual novel's sequel? Especially since too many will look at the first Kickstarter and believe we made the first game with only $14,000.

I have thought about giving Women of Xal I a modernized facelift with a smaller Kickstarter, complete with a ton of new features and fun ways to streamline and highlight the narration's strong points, but there's a LOT of baggage that comes with that, including not wanting to go backwards when I still want to create my "pipe dream" projects.

So I'm thinking we'll give it a bit more thought these next few days, and if we can't think of a solution that we haven't already tried, we'll officially announce the delay (and before you suggest your own ideas, know that there's a 99% chance we've already tried it).

A long, long post just to say I do sincerely apologize for having people wait longer, but I am literally still a few thousand dollars away from paying off all my debt that came from funding the first game. It's a micro-trauma I do not feel inclined to repeating again. When the franchise is in a better place, or I am emotionally/physically, I will return back to Women of Xal to finish the story. If I cannot, I will release a summary of events that transpire after the first game's true ending.

But for now, I'm going to focus on financial and emotional healing, and creating projects that I feel will be more appreciated by both myself and people who are turned off by what "Women of Xal" offers.

Thank you all for supporting our small company these past several years. <3

-John

#Women of Xal #Visual Novel #dating sim #indie game #gaming

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1rsoldiersince2012 · 1 year ago

Text

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Words: 3512 (chapter 47)

actually just got the best idea of posting next chapter on valentines day for all the singles here (myself including) ♥

also - minors do not interact !

47. All 'thanks' to the Devil

"So, what has Matt Murdock planned for the upcoming weekend?" You ask, leaving the office at almost 7 PM. The cases had you worked up until the late evening, with a shit ton of paperwork to sign and send back. The last few weeks had been hectic with courtrooms, new clients and trying not to go out of business with almost no income. All because Matt didn't want to take money from you. Or from his actual clients. You've tried to talking some sense into him, even getting Karen to help change Matt's mind, but he refused to listen. Eventually you just gave up and tried to ignore all the food that clients began bringing to the office, instead of paying with actual money. The food was good, yet it doesn't pay the electricity bills.

Matt lazily walks down the stairs after you, one hand holding onto the railling, the other carelessly swinging his briefcase. "What's happening this weekend?"

"You really don't know?" You stop on the last step and turn back to look at him, perplexed.

"No, what is it?" He stops one step above you, towering like a statue in the late evening.

"It's Thanksgiving." You lean on the railing with your elbow, just an arm's reach from Matt.

"Oh, that." He laughs, "I don't really celebrate."

"You're just weird, and not in a good way, you know that?" You huff, still looking at him from below. If Matt could see, he'd be met with your lovely doe eyes.

"Awh, you broke my heart, y/n." He teases. Those few weeks after sending Fisk to prison were almost like honeymoon - fewer criminals and more time to spend with you. Yes, he has been sneaking out at night when he heard screaming and fighting, but he always returned to you sleeping soundly in his bed. It was hard to keep up with this, the guilt Matt felt when he kissed your forehead and left the warmth of your body to put on the suit has been collecting in his heart the same way dirt collects in the bottom of a river.

"Not the first time, if I remember correctly." You say, cheekily placing your hand on his waist, just above the end of his shirt. Matt feels his breath hitch somewhere in his lungs, but the warmth from your touch calms him. "Listen, Murdock, I thought that if you're not busy, maybe you'd like to go to my parents' house for the weekend?" Your fingers hook on the loops of his trousers and tug him forward.

"To your parents' house?" There's a note of fear and doubt in his voice. He's never been away from Hell's Kitchen for long and the thought of leaving people in need alone was almost crushing.

"Yeah, you know, to celebrate Thanksgiving."

"Really? I thought you were finally going to introduce me to your parents." He smirks, hand resting on your shoulder for support. You both agreed to keep whatever was going on between you two a secret for as long as possible. Not only because of the way Karen was constantly sending Matt heart eyes, but you also didn't want to make things in the office weird, especially after Matt and Foggy called truce. And, secret romance was as exciting as winning a case. Meeting your parents would mean a new step in your relationship; one he was willing to take.

"Well that comes with the whole dinner for free package." You lean forward on your tippity toes, "and maybe breakfast, if you're good."

"I'm always good." His smile becomes even bigger when you tug at his pants again.

"One might argue." You laugh, still keeping your hand firmly on Matt's body, feeling the muscles move when he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

"Well, if one might argue, then one might decline the delicious dinner offer." He says after pulling back and feeling your hand drop. Like an animal close to catching his prey, he comes around in half-circle to stand next to you.

"Don't be a dick now." Your hands find his body again, slowly pulling him closer to you by his tie. "Let's leave this place and just forget everything. At least for a day." His face is just inches away from yours and you whisper, "I'll make sure my dad doesn't kick your ass."

"Oh, that's awesome." He huffs before you place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I might think about it." He murmurs before your lips connect again, this time more demanding. "I think I need a little more convincing." Matt smiles, playing the game with you, before you roll your eyes and kiss him again, tongue teasingly touching his lips and you pull away before he could breach his way into your mouth.

"I'll leave you to make the decision, handsome." You pull away, leaving him needy and in thought. "You better hurry, I might just leave you here."

As Matt closes the doors of your car, you lock them from the inside, much to his surprise and rising suspicion. Your hand rests on his body again, slowly getting under his jacket through the coat and stops on his chest, feeling the heartbeat speeding up. "What are you doing?" Matt asks, feeling cornered in the passenger seat.

"So, what is your answer?" You ask near his face, breathing hot air on his cheek. The air in the car was cold and the contrast made him shiver.

"You really didn't give me much time to think." He smiles, hearing you pout.

"I need to know tonight, my dad is going to the grocery store tomorrow." You kiss his cheek, dragging your lips along his jawline and stop when you reach his chin.

"That's very little time for such tough decision, y/n." He can't hide his smile when you squeeze his shoulder under all the layers and kiss him on the lips.

"I can be very convincing." Your hand drops from his shoulder and slides all the way down until you reach his crotch and can't believe that he's already half hard. "Very, very convincing." You rub your palm on him, intently watching him suck a breath through his teeth.

"Y/n, we shouldn't be doing this here." He mumbles before your tongue makes its way into his mouth, demanding and hungry. He gives into it, tasting your lips again like for the first time, finding it hard to focus on one thing with the way your hands are on him, pulling at his belt, trying to touch him as roughly as possible.

"We're alone, relax." You pull away, breathless from the kiss and using both hands, although, quite uncomfortably in this position, unzip his pants and Matt lifts up his butt so you could push his underwear almost to his mid-thighs. Your hand immediately wraps around his hard cock. He gasps instantly, feeling both relaxed and tense. "I could watch you all day." You whisper sultry in his ear and almost hypnotized look at the way your hand comes up and down, and the sight makes your stomach flip. Matt can't say a word, mainly because there isn't a single coherent thought in his head, just your hot breath fanning against his cheek, and your hand tightly stroking his dick. You kiss the corner of his lips before your hand leaves his erection and the instant coldness makes him shiver. He almost protests, wanting you to finish what you've started but then he hears shifting on the driver's seat and slight huffing as you struggle to make yourself comfortable with those suit pants. "What are you doing?" He asks again, the same question, yet different meaning, expectations high for a different answer.

You say nothing, finally comfortable on the seat, kneeling on the left side of Matt, heels pushed against the door. You lean forward, taking Matt's cock in your hand again and licking the tip. He almost cums on the spot, hands desperately searching for something to grasp and fingers finally tighten on the door handle. "Y/n..." he mouths without sound, eyebrows tightly knitted together, his left hand slipping into your hair and subconsciously pulling at the roots. You roll your eyes and refrain from making a sound at his action and start sucking him. At first, slowly, setting a pace and he pulls your head up for a moment. The hand holding the door handle comes off and he swiftly collects all your hair and one place, making a ponytail. You appreciate the action and continue your previously interrupted activity, hot tongue moving along his veiny dick faster and faster.

The gear shift is uncomfortably pressing into your breast, creating a strange friction; a grunt leaves Matt's mouth, so filthy and so desperate, his hands starts unconsciously pressing your head further on his dick, but he's not harsh. He doesn't want you to do things that you're not comfortable with. He's not one of those guys who needs to hear women choke and gag on their dicks, what difference it would make, if your hand, playing with his balls and the base of his cock that your mouth doesn't reach, does a perfect job? Of course, if you did, he wouldn't mind, but he certainly wasn't going to make you do it.

Lost in the rhythm of your mouth, he felt himself getting closer. Light shaking in his hips told you that he didn't have long left and you pull away, licking your lips. Breath knocked out of your lungs, breasts aching with desire and need to be touched, panties most certainly wet and knees hurting - you were a mess, just as Matt was a complete mess under your touch. You glance at his lower lip, tightly trapped behind his teeth, almost to the point of being bloody and flushed face and almost stop your hand from touching yourself. Awarding him with a kiss, you push your tongue into his mouth, wanting him to taste himself on your tongue, to feel the saltiness of the precum and the absolute desire that was possessing you. Matt groans, hands not letting go of your hair and your cheek; he inhales the air of the car, everything making him even hornier, if that was possible. He knew that your wet panties were sticking to your tight suit pants and if you wiggled your butt enough, you'd most certainly would've created some friction. He felt that in the air, you wanted to ease the tension, wanted to slip your fingers and rub your clit, yet you were almost punishing yourself with the way you solely focused on pleasuring him. He knew that even if his hand slightly brushed over your breast, you'd come undone.

"So," you say, hand slowly going up and down on his dick, calmer than before, but enough to drive him over the edge. "You've thought enough now?" You kiss his cheek, over and over again, purposely avoiding his lips, waiting for his answer. Matt laughs but doesn't say a word. "Are you coming, Matt?" You ask, holding him tigher and he sucks a breath in, "are you coming over, honey?" You ask again, your head against his, Matt's fingers tightening around your hair and you suddenly pick up a harsh, almost punishing rhythm and try to get him off quicker, mouth watering at the sight of your hand on his big veiny dick.

Matt grunts again, this time it comes out so dirty that you roll your eyes to the back of your head but manage to keep him on the edge, so close, but not close enough. "Are you coming?" You repeat your question, this time louder, still keeping the pace, he's almost there, you know from the way he takes short breaths and furrows his eyebrows. "Answer me." You demand into his ear and he finally nods, desperate for this to end. "I want you to say it. Say it Matt, are you coming?" He knows that this question is laced with double meaning, one obvious for this current situation down his pants, and the other - the unanswered question about the dinner.

It takes approximately 5 seconds for him to finally answer, the dominance of your actions and that tone - he was a gone man. "I am, I'm coming-" words get stuck in his throat when you, finally satisfied with the answer, wrap your mouth around his cock again, taking it all in and swallowing. He lets out a guttural moan, hips rising to meet your mouth, head thrown back and chest rising with every breath that he takes.

A moment later, you finally rise up and breathe heavily, a smile dancing on your lips. "Told you that I am good at convincing."

He feels weak, tired and satisfied at the same time. Matt's hand, stretched out, looks for your face and when he finally hooks his fingers behind your ear, you are pulled into a breathless, dirty kiss. He tastes himself again, but this makes the kiss even hotter. "Too good." He whispers when you pull away, knees already tired from this position and you slide down your seat, making yourself comfortable.

The windows of your car are fogged from the inside, hot air inside contrasting with the cold wind outside. Even if someone was passing, surely nothing could've been seen. Matt shivers, remembering that he's exposed at the moment, but doesn't hurry to pull his pants up. You open your eyes that you closed just a second ago and when his hand comes to squeeze your thigh, almost touching your core. You wanted him now - either his dick or his fingers inside you, but much to your own surprise, you push his hand away. "Don't get too greedy." He smiles, and reluctantly, pulls his hand away, finally pulling his pants up. You turn on the ignition, waiting for the windows to cool, "you'll get your piece when the time comes."

"Oh, is that soon?"

"Very soon." You say and touch his cheek with the back of hand before driving out of the parking lot.

*** Apparently 'soon' wasn't the next day. And not the day of your trip to your parents house. Matt felt slightly betrayed by the way you were giving him blue balls for two days in a row. But something told him that just the night after you dropped him off at his place and returned to yours, you definitely stuck your fingers inside of you and came, probably more than once to the fresh memory of him coming in your mouth in the front seat of your car. Just the thought of it made him feel a tingle down there and he shifted in his seat.

"Is it still cold?" You ask, noticing the slight movement in the corner of your eye and shift gears, "I'll have my dad to look over it, I swear something's wrong with the heating." He was right. You did masturbate when you returned to your apartment, almost immediately when you dropped all your clothes on the bathroom floor and turned on the shower. He was right, you came twice.

"No." Matt answers immediately, but then thinks again. "Maybe a bit."

"I knew I wasn't imagining it." You smile briefly when you hear one of your favorite bands on the radio. Muse. Their music had you in a chokehold throughout your entire highschool and it wasn't better when Twilight came out. Although it was a bit crappy movie, the scene with Muse's song made you close your eyes at the imperfection.

"So..." Matt turns to face you, the seatbelt digging into his shoulder, "what's your dad like?"

"Are you scared?" You smirk, adjusting your hands on the wheel.

"Should I be?"

"A bit, yeah." You sigh, "everyone keeps saying that I'm a lot like him."

"So we're going to get along just fine."

You can't help but laugh, glad to stop by the red light. "Your humor is admirable, Matt, truly."

"What? Is he really that bad?" Matt smiles, slightly confused.

"If you're a man, yes. Especially if you're my man." You tap your fingers on the wheel, letting the words sink in. My man. Matt felt his heart flutter. "My ex has him wrapped around his finger. I curse the day I agreed to go to prom with him."

"Wow, then I'm up against a tough opponent."

"Yeah, believe me. What makes it worse is that Robert's a nice guy. Dealing with exes is not easy, right?" You briefly turn to look at him when the light changes to green. "What about you? Any woman I should worry about?"

"Uh... It's all in the past, so no." But Matt's words are not reassuring. Elektra. He hasn't heard from her since college, when she almost screwed up his graduation. But right now, he didn't miss Elektra at all. In fact, he didn't even think about her, when he had you, sitting by his side all the time, full of joy and life. So beautiful like a gust of wind on a hot summer's day.

"Hm." You only hum, not really feeling the need to discuss past lovers. What truly matters is the present. He's glad you're not asking questions and you fall into a comfortable silence.

***

Forty minutes later, you're already parking your car in front of your parents' house. The late November wasn't particularly grateful with daylight, and by the time you drove here, it was almost dusk. You get out of the car, inhaling full lungs of fresh air. Home. The house was still the same as you remembered, no different from the other brick houses on the street, but still so dear to you.

"Can I carry something?" Matt's soft tone brings you back from your thoughts, and you turn around to look at him.

"Only the flowers." Of course, Matt insisted on buying your mother a nice bouquet of flowers on their first meeting. A true gentleman. You grab the apple pie you baked before leaving and with one final look at the last light of the sunset, you place your hand on Matt's elbow. His grip on the flowers tightens, the swing of his white cane is quick and almost enthralling.

"Should we knock?" He asks, when his cane hits a hard wall of the house.

"I'll do it." You knock gently, but loud enough for people inside to hear. Matt hears how the TV gets muted and a shuffling of slippers comes closer and closer to them. It felt like it was just the two of you against the whole world. Both holding onto each other tightly, afraid that if someone comes in between, you both might just fall apart like ancient heroes and their lovers, destined only to suffer. The doors open just a second later-

"I can't believe my eyes." A rough voice reaches Matt's ears, and his best guess is that your dad was looking at you as if he saw a ghost. "Y/n?" He steps through the threshold, embracing you in a tight hug.

"Hi, dad." You whisper into his broad shoulder, inhaling the smell of home. He pulls away and looks at Matt in question. Your mother appears, and her smile is brighter than the whole sky. You push the pie in your dad's hands and hug her with both of your hands. The faint smell of turkey and spices reminds you of all the times you celebrated Thanksgiving with your parents... And all the times you did not.

"So glad to see my beautiful daughter, just look how she glows, look Harold, isn't she just like an angel?" You mother's fingers gently pinch your cheeks, just like they did when you were little. Her eyes dart to Matt, standing just a bit behind you, small smile on his lips. "And who's this handsome?"

"Mom, dad, this is Matt. We wanted to make a surprise, so that's why I didn't tell you about us coming here." You say, and Matt quickly understands that you lied before when you said that your dad needs to know about this before his trip to the supermarked. Clever little fox you were.

Matt extends his hand, quickly folding the white cane and pushing it under his elbow. Your father is the first one to shake hands with him, one firm grip meeting another. Harold's eyebrows shoot up a bit, from the unexpected strength from a blind man. "I'm Harold Y/l/n."

"Matt Murdock. Nice to meet you, Sir. I've heard a lot about your work in the force." Matt smiles, and your father's hand is quickly replaced by your mother's. "Mrs Y/l/n, pleasure to meet you. Y/n said that you might like these," Matt gives your mother the flowers and she sighs, delighted, "something smells very good."

"Fantastic sense of smell! I'm Camilla, and oh, the flowers are just beautiful."

You watch their interraction, somewhere deep inside afraid that this bubble of a perfect world might collapse soon. Your mother takes the flowers and turns back, urging you to go inside. "Murdock you say? I heard a thing or two about your father. One hell of a man he was." You faintly hear your dad's voice, before every bit of happiness washes away from your body when you see him standing in the kitchen, a stupid grin on his face.

"Hello, y/n."

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