#bar st denis

[nothingexistsnever]

597

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Here Comes The Sun

Azriel x You

Word Count : 3.8k

Summary : When the Spymaster of the Night Court discovers your little crush, you end up crossing a lot of firsts off your list.

Warnings : lots of sexual tension, use of nicknames (Sunshine - Reader/You), mention/insinuation of loss of virginity, mention of masturbation, oral and fingering (f recieving).

Author's Note : written for this anon ask, very lightly edited so please forgive mistakes/mispellings.

The crowd at Rita’s tonight was especially large, you think to yourself as you huddle closer to your friends. You had made the trip from Day Court especially for one of your dear friends birthdays. After hours of dancing, you were now gathered next to the table that Mor had taken over for your friends and hers. Rhys was snuggled in the booth obviously preoccupied with his mate  and Cassian was moping, bouncing one knee and eyeing the exit, biding his time until he could go home to Nesta. The rest of your group, including the birthday girl, were standing in a tight knot trading laughs and waving their hands in animated conversation.

Except you. You had pushed yourself to the outside of the group, overheated from all the dancing. You allow your eyes to roam around the large room, the music picking up into another lively song. Your gaze slides along the bar before it lands on the dark figure you’ve been avoiding all night. Azriel, the Shadowsinger, Spymaster to the Night Court. 

As you dip your chin with a secretive smile, you turn back to your group.

“I see your little crush hasn’t faded since the last time you were here.” Mor practically shouts over the music.

“Who? Me? What are you talking about Mor?” You feel a hot flush of color creeping over your neck.

Mor just tilts her head in response with a smirk, right in the direction of the bar you were just staring at.

“Azriel? The Spymaster?” you feign a shocked face with a laugh. “He is way out of my league.”

Mor leans closer to your ear so she isn’t shouting. “But you aren’t denying it.”

The flush of heat reaches your cheeks now. “There’s no harm in looking, you know,” you answer with another laugh.

“You’re right,” Mor smiles wickedly. “No harm done.”

As she turns back to the conversation with the birthday girl, you turn towards the table top. Grabbing your water from the table, going for a piece of ice you can cool your fingers with and press to your overheated face. Shaking the cup you realize it's empty and risk another glance towards the bar. 

An elegant female catches your eye, dress glittering and legs as long as night. She is sidled up just next to Azriel’s stool in the corner obviously trying to get his attention. It is then that you notice he is paying her no mind, not even to politely decline. Because his eyes are on you.

Another flame of heat licks at your cheeks as your eyes lock with those light hazel ones. Dipping your head quickly to turn back to your friends, you feel a slow cool breeze sliding over the back of your neck. Before you can even question the source, a hand grabs your arm.

“You want me to grab you another drink?,” one of your other friends asks.

“No, thanks. That’s ok. I should probably head out anyway. Early start tomorrow and all.” Tomorrow you were headed back to the Day Court. Scholar duties wait for no one, not even a good friend’s birthday.

Slipping through the crowd past the churning dance floor, you spot Mor and the birthday girl pushing through the hordes of people in an attempt to reach the bar. Catching their eye, you wave a little wave and head towards the coat check.

Throwing your coat over your arm as you step out onto the street, you are blissfully thankful for the cold winter air that hits you. It was much too hot inside and your face is still heated at a low simmer. The fleeting reminder of those eyes on you from across the room bring that heat straight back up to a boil.

Those light hazel eyes, those swirling dark wisps of shadow, that single dark lock of hair that doesn’t seem to stay in place and falls across his forehead.

Enough. You admonish yourself in thought.

You decide the night air will do you some good and begin the short walk just a few blocks to your inn instead of winnowing back. You don’t even make it half a block before a whipping mass of shadow blocks your path and you slam into the very solid body within it. 

Stumbling backwards a step, you stammer out an apology. “Oh, I’m sor–”

Those eyes.

“Leaving so soon, Sunshine?” Those eyes are focused solely on you as Azriel’s deep voice sounds.

“Oh, um. Yeah, I was just heading back to the inn. I’m heading home early in the morning.”

“But the night is young. You’ll miss all the fun, Sunshine.” 

“I get it,” you force out a giggle even though your heart is pounding. “Sunshine - I’m from Day Court. Very cute.”

Azriel chuckles, the vibration sweeping over your skin. Your face isn’t the only thing that feels hot now. 

“Not what I was going for, but a cute coincidence.” He emphasizes the word cute in your tone. 

“Then why did you call me Sunshine?” 

Why are you out here alone on the street talking with this male? 

It wasn’t that you felt unsafe. How could you with the Spymaster at your side? It was just that being alone with males wasn’t something you did. Ever. The scholar dorms were separated and all of your roommates were female. The occasion had never arisen before. 

“Look at you,” he purrs. “You are practically glowing. That is why I called you Sunshine.” 

Your face flames even hotter now if that were even possible. Another slow cooling breeze passes over you, this time down the side of one cheek. The source is clear this time. Tendrils of smoky shadow pass through your peripheral vision as the coast over your shoulder. Before a thought could fully form in your mind, he slips to your side.

“May I escort you?” Your attention falls to the shadows that twine around the elbow he offers you.

“To the inn? Where I’m staying?”

“Did you have another place in mind?” His mouth quirks up on one side with a dangerous glint in his eye.

You shake your head a bit as your brain kicks back into gear. “If the night is so young, how come you are out here offering to walk me home?”

Azriel laughs. His chin tilted up, you can’t help but to notice that smooth expanse of tattooed neck. 

“You caught me Sunshine,” he says, bringing his gaze back to you. “It just so happens that a little birdie told me –” He leans down, lips dangerously close to your ear.

“- that you might have a little crush on me.”

If your skin could get any hotter you would burst into flame, right here in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Mor really should keep her mouth shut,” you spit out in a sudden burst of anger. 

“It wasn’t Mor who told me,” he says as he straightens.

“Then who?”  You tilt your head to look at him, confused. Outside of Mor, your other friends had no reason to randomly approach someone from the Inner Circle.

“Like I said Sunshine, a little birdie told me.” With a flick of his wrist he holds out his hand, index finger extended in a point. A vortex of shadow swirls above it, forming into a tiny bird. Wings flapping as it lands on his finger like a perch. 

You crack out a sharp laugh. “Spymaster. Right. I should have known. Well, like I told Mor –” you peer at him with a mischievous grin. “There is no harm in looking.”

In an instant, Azriel spins to face you fully. One arm smoothly planted to brace against the brick wall behind you. “So you aren’t denying it then? You do have a crush on me?”

Your head is spinning, your heart pounding, no witty comebacks spring into your mind. The only thing forming is a low heat in your belly.

“No, I’m not denying it.” you say breathlessly.

“Well,” he starts, staring right into your eyes. “It just so happens Sunshine, the feeling is mutual. And while there may be no harm in looking.” He leans closer, his finger glides down the side of your face before hooking under your chin. “It’s so much more fun to touch.” 

Before you can utter a single word, his lips are brushing over yours. The first tender kiss lands softly against the pillow of your lips, barely any pressure behind it. The second has you reciprocating with a gentle push of your own. The third is what causes all thoughts to flee and a sigh escapes your throat.

You feel his lips pull into a smile against your own. “Don’t you agree?”

You stand there frozen. Dazed, head empty. “I’m sorry,” you breathe. “I forgot the question.”

Azriel releases another low chuckle and again the vibration coasts over your skin. This time suspiciously close to your ear.

“I said,” he rumbles as you feel his nose brushing against your hair. “It’s so much more fun to touch isn’t it?”

The tip of his nose begins dragging lower, like a cold piece of ice sliding down your heated neck.

“Azriel, wait –” you say sharply.

He pulls back and stares into your face again. “What’s wrong, Sunshine? Did I do something wrong?” A sly grin across his classically beautiful face. “You’re standing here like you’ve never been kissed before or something.” 

The only answer is your bewildered stare, another bloom of color rising to your cheeks.

He jerks back slightly in shock. The look quickly covered with that impenetrably impassive mask so familiar to the Spymaster of the Night Court.

“There’s – I mean, the right – it’s just never come up before,” you stammer with a shake of your head. 

You watch as a heat reaches his face. The flame igniting not across his cheeks, but in his eyes.

“Sunshine,” he whispers softly, his finger still hooked under your chin. “Was that your first kiss?”

Once again, your words fail you.

Pushing off from the arm bracing the wall, Azriel brings both hands to the center of his chest. “I am honored to be your first,” he says nodding into a slight bow. “And maybe – if you so desire –” the sensual tone of his voice deepens. “I could be part of many more firsts for you.”

That flame of need is still bright within his eyes.The inferno no longer blazes up your neck and face as it doubles low in your belly, slipping down and settling squarely between your thighs. 

Isn’t this what you wanted? What you had fantasized about for weeks after that first initial sighting of him? Isn’t his voice after he first introduced himself to you the one you replayed over and over in your head? That deep timbre inside your brain as you ached for some privacy in the overcrowded dormitory to touch yourself? It’s not like you were saving yourself for any particular reason, it had just never happened.

“Yes,” you breathe in a shudder. “I do so desire.”

The flame in his eyes flares higher as he turns to stand at your side, a feline smile pulling at his lips. Azriel offers you his elbow once more. With your eyes still on his face, drinking in the crinkle near his eye and the tilt of his mouth, you slip your hand smoothly into the crook of his arm. 

Before you can even lift your leg to step, blackness surrounds you. What were once wispy strands of shadow now surround you like a sheet, obscuring the street around you from view. You draw in a gasp. This was not the winnowing you were accustomed to. It felt entirely different although not necessarily in a bad way. Yet before your gasp could be released fully, the blackness receded and you stared about you in wonder.

The cobblestones beneath your feet were replaced with gleaming hardwood, the chill of the winter night gone. A fire was already burning in the fireplace as you scanned the room before you.

“This isn’t the inn,” you state as you finally release your breath. 

“No. It isn’t,” Azriel rumbles out another laugh as he releases your arm. “I thought you’d prefer a little more privacy. Plus the beds at the inn aren’t exactly made for wings.” He shuffles his wings with a sly smile as he turns to you.

“You know from experience?,” you smirk.

“Does that bother you?,” he asks seriously as he steps closer. The usual buffer between bodies cut in half, you can feel the heat of him radiating.

“Does me being – inexperienced bother you?” Another rush of color floods your face and you press your still chilled knuckles to your cheek in frustration.

“No,” his tone is still serious as he gently removes your hand from your face. “It doesn’t bother me.” The fingers held so tenderly in his are brought to his lips, the same sweet pressure from his kiss earlier laid on the back of your hand. “It’s – intoxicating.”

You feel your breaths shorten as he steps even closer, his front pressing against yours. Azriel drops your hand and brings his up to your chin once more, this time tilting your head to the side. His other arm snakes around your waist. 

“Knowing you’re allowing me to bring you pleasure,” his warm lips brush against the side of your neck. “Pleasure you have never known before,” his kisses shift lower. “That it’s my name you will cry out as I give it to you,” his teeth graze your collarbone and his wings tremble with his words. 

“Azriel,” you sigh, leaning your head back even further. 

Sliding his hand from your face to the nape of your neck, his face comes up to meet yours. “We are just getting started, Sunshine.”

His lips crash into yours just as you bring your arms up to his shoulders. Gone are the trailing soft kisses. This is just need. Bruising, nipping, need. Your tongue meets his as it enters your mouth, searching. You push back as he deepens the kiss further, needing to be closer. Wanting more. Your hands slip into his hair, threading between your fingers as you try to get closer. 

He breaks the kiss just for a moment to reach down and grasp your thighs, hauling you up to wrap your legs around him before he eagerly returns. Your grip around his neck tightens as you hold on, your heaving chest pressed up against his. You feel him moving and in a moment you’re being lowered to the bed, mattress meeting your back. 

As he pulls himself away, standing upright before you, you notice the damp stain left on the front of his dark shirt. Right where your thighs had been spread around his waist. As he unbuttons his shirt his gaze drops down to where you are looking and he runs his thumb over the wetness there. 

His shirt now tossed aside, he steps near you again. Hands sliding up the outside of your thighs to your hips, the fabric of your dress bunching as he pushes it up.

“No need to be embarrassed.” He says as he sits you up so that he can gather your dress over your head. “You're about to be dripping on much more than my shirt.” 

As he tosses your dress over on the floor with his shirt, he peers down at you, just looking, hands held still at his sides.

“So fucking beautiful.” His hand reaches out and caresses your breast, filling his palm with its weight before drawing his thumb across your tight nipple. The sensation causes you to gasp and you feel it in your core. He seems to be lost in thought for just a moment before he leans over quickly, snatching the pillows from the head of the bed and tucking them directly behind you. 

“Lay back,” his voice barely above a whisper. You follow his instruction, your body angled so that you are sitting up partially on the edge of the bed. “I want you to watch as I make you come undone, Sunshine. I want you to remember who put that look of bliss on your face.”

As he speaks, that swirling sheet of shadow moves behind him along the wall. As they fade back into their usual state and return to his shoulders, you see that a large full length mirror is left in their wake. Azriel drops to his knees beside the bed as you take in the sight before you. His broad muscular shoulders kneeling before you, wings tucked in tight. His hands snaking along your hips and your face flushed with arousal. 

One scarred hand nudges at your knees and you spread open, watching reflection as you do. That same hand now moves to your soaked panties, one index finger sliding through the gusset and his knuckle brushing softly against the outside of your folds.

“All this for me, Sunshine?” It comes out like a growl. With a pull, that finger begins lowering your panties down your thighs. You bring your knees together just long enough to slip them off completely before you spread wide once more. 

In one swift motion, Azriel’s hands are under your knees and you are being pulled to the very edge of the bed. He hooks one leg over his shoulder and the other he pushes firmly wider. You don’t even have a chance to react before his face is at your core, his tongue lapping at your arousal.

You squeak out a sound of surprise and you feel a muffled laugh against you. The vibration of which turns your sound into a moan. His tongue has parted your folds now, making a slow circuit around your engorged clit. 

“Is this what you thought about as you touched yourself?” He doesn’t even lift his head as he speaks. Your moans continue as your head falls back and your eyes close. He breaks the circuit of his tongue to dip down toward your entrance. 

“How quickly did you come with your fingers while you imagined my face between your legs, Sunshine?” Returning to that sensitive bud once more, his tongue picks up a fevered pace. The cry that leaves your throat is positively sinful and your leg begins shaking against the palm that holds it open. 

You feel his tongue curling, cradling your clit just before he pulls it into his mouth and sucks. The leg you have over his shoulder tenses, pulling his body closer to your core. With a pop he releases and brings his eyes up to your face. 

“Watch,” he says with authority. Just the tone of his voice has you practically vibrating. 

You follow his command as he lowers his head. You stare at the image before you. His hand pressing into the flesh of your trembling thigh. His tongue picks up that pace once more and you see yourself shudder as you moan. Releasing the grip you have on the sheets, you bring your hands up to his head, staring at the sight of your skin against the black hair as you thread your fingers through.

The picture is – intoxicating. Just like he said. On the edge of the first orgasm you haven’t given yourself, you fixate on the bob of his head between your thighs, your breasts heaving with your labored breath, the sweat beginning to glisten against your skin. 

It’s too much. Quicker than you’ve ever been able to finish before, you feel that tightening in your belly rushing you towards the finish line. Azriel’s tongue dips again into your entrance before resuming his pull at your clit with a groan. 

“Azriel,” you pant out. “Oh, Az– I–”

“That’s it, Sunshine, keep watching,” he says quickly before returning to his task. Just as you feel that familiar flutter starting, you feel a finger at your entrance pushing in. 

You choke on a gasp as his finger fills the void and begins curling inside you. Clenching your fingers you pull at his hair, eliciting a deep moan from his chest. One more curl of his finger and you are falling over the edge. You watch in the mirror as your face twists into pleasure, your muscles contract and you pull your leg tight against his back. Your other leg now trembling freely as his hand moves up to your hip. The ripples of pleasure draw out as you watch, longer and longer until you are pulling yourself upright by the grip on his hair. 

“Azriel!” you cry out in a sob. The orgasm gives one final wave before you fall back onto the pillows, releasing your hold on him. He lifts his face from your core, but the finger inside you remains. Gently, slowly he continues pushing it in and out of you, the sound of your release squishing around it. You shudder with aftershocks at his continued movements.

“How did you like seeing me between your thighs? Was it everything you imagined?” You can hear the smile in his voice as you gather your breath. 

“It was –” you sigh out at a loss for more words. 

He halts his movements, pulling his hand from your body. Then Azriel is standing before you, grabbing your hips and shifting you to the head of the bed. Bringing his knees up to the mattress and crawling over you he asks, “How many firsts was that, Sunshine?”

He settles his weight over you, the hard length of him evident against your core. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, you laugh. “I lost count.”

Az’s face breaks out into a bright smile as he brings his mouth to yours. Tongues searching, heads tilting before he pulls away nearly a full minute later. “The night is still young, Sunshine, what’s next on your list?”

He gives a testing thrust against and you laugh once more as you wrap your legs around him in answer. 

****

Hours later, you wake in the pitch black of the dead of night, a muscular arm wrapped around you and a wing slung over your body. Pushing gently against the hard chest in front of your face, you start to push up to sitting. The arm around you tightens, pulling you back to the mattress. 

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Not time for you to rise yet, Sunshine. Go back to sleep,” Azriel’s half asleep voice is even sexier than the one he whispered in your ear with earlier. 

“I should go.”

“You don’t really want to walk the streets back to the inn at this hour do you?” He smiles sleepily as he cracks an eye open. He would winnow you if you wished, but he couldn’t resist teasing. 

“No, I mean – I’m heading back home to Day Court today,” you snuggle back into that hard chest again. “But I don’t want to.”

That sleepy smile graces his face once more as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “So don’t.”

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ The Jackpot

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: You join Arthur and the boys for a job on the Grand Korrigan riverboat where you act as Arthur’s lap girl. The man in question is more than excited about this decision. ✦ Warnings: Guns, mention of shooting, swearing, SMUT, oral (reader receiving), edging if you squint, unprotected p in v ✦ Words: 3,8k ✦ a/n: A big heartwarming thank you to @zae-heeyyy!! Who took the time to correct my dumb spelling and give me her thoughts on this before publishing it! Please go check her work, I swear it won't disappoint! Also: pictures are not mine! I usually try to use a pic for Arthur from my own playthrough but I'm fcking stuck on Guarma rn. Found them on Pinterest.

Dim lights are flickering all around you, making the golden ornaments of the luxurious place you're in shine like a thousand stars. You couldn't believe this gigantic reception room, gratified by a bar, a grand piano, and of course, three elegant poker tables, was actually floating on water right now, as you were on the Grand Korrigan boat, the jewel of its kind, den of the richest gentlemen in St. Denis, in search for some amusement and of course, even more money.

Trelawny and Herr Strauss had plotted a well-crafted deal that could earn a lot of money for the gang. Along with Javier disguised as one of the guards, Arthur would act as a new wealthy businessman who had just made a fortune in oil. Strauss would give him signals during his poker game, which guaranteed him to win considering Trelawny had made a friend out of the dealer.

You? You'd play his mistress, sitting on his lap during the game to make the scene look more convincing. On top of that, you had been able to hide a little gun in a hidden pocket in the underside of your dress, guaranteeing some extra protection, which wasn't a bad idea considering the Grand Korrigan was heavily armed and neither Arthur, Trelawny nor Strauss had one.

So here you were, thriving in your role, comfortably sitting on Arthur's lap, hands wrapped around his neck, both legs hanging on his left side. His arms were enveloping you, hands resting on the edge of the table as he was focusing on his cards.

Well, more like trying to focus, actually.

Maybe it was because you two had started a quite passionate relationship a few weeks ago, sneaking in each other's tent, simple kisses and whispers in the night quickly turning into something more, the both of you having cravings to fulfill.

Maybe it was because Trelawny, the damned man, had chosen a particularly suggestive dress for you to wear, comforting your play considering wives weren't allowed at the poker tables, only work girls and such, your cleavage on full display for his immoral eyes.

Maybe it was the way he could feel the round and warm flesh of your ass even through the fabric of your clothes, right where he wanted to, making his brain impossible to function properly, desperately trying to keep the hardness between his legs to stay in line.

Either way, Arthur had to make enormous efforts to focus on the job and was frankly relieved Strauss was telling him what to do; despite being a pretty good poker player, he would never have been able to win the easiest of games in this state.

Strauss told him to go all-in. He did. You smiled, you would have lied saying you weren't enjoying yourself right now. You had known far worse jobs than playing Arthur's lover. Much to your surprise, he had played a really convincing character through the night too, his usual mumbling far gone, replaced by a bright and confident speech and a cheeky grin that was making you want to kiss it even more. In fact, you wanted to take care of him just to see this cocky smirk flatter under your touch, replaced by a pleasured expression on his handsome face.

It was easy to say both of you were acting pretty good, but inside felt like two teenagers in love.

Arthur had won another hand, men were starting to leave the table, angry. It was only you both and the target now, an opulent man known as Desmond Blythe, loaded with money thanks to his hosiery business.

You pulled a cigarette out of Arthur's pocket along with a match, and you felt his breath hitch for an instant when you slipped your hand in it. Rubbing the match against the wood of the table, you lighted the cigarette casually, little flame illuminating a thin grin on your lips. You took a small drag on it to make sure the tobacco had plainly burnt, then you placed the cigarette in front of Arthur's lips, holding it for him between your index and middle finger, so that he could smoke on it while keeping both his hands on his cards.

It was downright one of the hottest things anybody had done to him and he was starting to lose it. Wrapping his lips around your offering and smoking a long drag, he allowed himself to avert his gaze from his opponent for a few seconds, planting his turquoise pupils into yours.

His eyes were half-lidded, long lashes accentuating the languorous gaze he was giving you. Your heart started racing. The power this man had on you was insane, but if only you knew what you were doing to him in return. You had a glimpse of it though, right there in the depths of his two blue diamonds, this so distinctive dark glow of him, direct window on the sinful pit of his urges.

You were sure your own eyes were mirroring it. And it got worse when, after exhaling some smoke, he quickly kissed the palm of your hand, indicating he had smoked enough, the warm sensation of his chapped lips on your skin giving you goosebumps. His eyes went back to Blythe, and you exhaled as if you had been holding your breath during the whole time you had locked eyes.

You retrieved your hand, taking a drag yourself on the cigarette after him, loving the idea of sharing it with him, of putting your lips right where he did a few seconds before, your biased brain telling you you could taste sweet remnants of him there.

Another all-in, another hand won by Arthur who couldn't stop himself from smiling this sly cocky smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Shit, shit!" Blythe shouted, hitting on the table with his fists furiously.

"I guess ma luck held... Is that you done?" Arthur asked him, his tone triumphant while bending over the table to gather his not-so-well-deserved chips. "Or, do you got somethin' else to play with?" He added more lowly, his baritone voice almost making you shiver just hearing it.

"Meaning?" Desmond questioned back, visibly frustrated. Looked like frustration was a popular feeling around this poker table tonight, about the game or other things...

Arthur had gotten up from his chair and you too, now standing by his side, partially glued to his body as he had snaked an arm around your waist while finishing to put in order his chips. He answered using the same taunting, arrogant tone as before.

"Well, I heard there was some big boys on this boat, maybe that's not you, no offense-"

"Sit your and your whore's hillbilly asses down." The rich men cut him off, voice dark and serious.

You felt Arthur's hand grip tighter on your waist. For a faint moment, you thought that his cover would collapse, considering how tense he had gotten hearing him calling you a whore. But the way he was still smiling was almost even more scary, it was a false, threatening one. The kind of smile that hides a cold anger, boiling silently inside.

"Why?" Arthur simply answered, tone brilliantly contained considering the way his muscles were flexing on their own under his fancy suit.

"I got a watch... An expensive one, swiss... a Reutlinger no less. It's in the safe, upstairs. It's worth more than you."

You forced yourself not to cross eyes with Arthur. Your target. He had just confirmed what you were all here for. Perfect, just a bit more of this whole play and Arthur would be able to access the strongbox.

"Okay, I trust ya." Arthur consented while sitting back on his chair, placing you with his two big hands back at your place, on his lap. You were definitely loving this job. You'd have to thank Trelawny for it, someday.

The rest of the game passed just like before, your outlaw ultimately winning once more thanks to your colleague's little trick. Desmond was furious, and you obtained your goal.

Arthur happily got up once again, gently helping you stand, one of his hands naturally resting on your shoulder. Before following the gentleman who was supposed to bring him to the safe, he bent over to you, head brushing against yours, his stubble and hairs tickling your cheeks. He whispered in your ear, voice deep and hoarse, this one voice that was always making your head turn.

"When we're finished here, I'm gonna take care of ya, darlin'."

You sighed, cracking up a sly smirk, your cheeks turning a bit red. These simple words were enough to make the heat between your thighs make itself known; crying out for attention. Being so close like this was allowing you to breathe in his scent, its combination on top of his breath on your ear was a dangerous mix for your sanity. You took the opportunity of having his skin so close to your lips to place a small kiss on his neck, right below his own ear.

Arthur smiled at you, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he took a last look at you before walking off. You sighed softly again, already missing his presence. The wait for some time alone was only making your own needs grow.

You were only hoping the job would end up smoothly.

Of course, it didn't. 

Desmond, sore loser, had accused Arthur of cheating. That and the fact that the guard Javier had knocked off to steal his clothes had appeared out of nowhere yelling to shoot him had set things on fire on the Grand Korrigan, the boat now witness to a heated shooting the Van Der Linde Gang was known for.

You had instantly pulled out your hidden gun and helped Arthur clean up the place thanks to Javier who had thrown him a rifle. The night had ended with your incongruous team jumping straight in the water, swimming back to the shore, a quite odd and armed to the teeth fish shoal. At least, everyone was alive, and you even had obtained a pretty decent amount of money, not even mentioning the watch Strauss had authenticated as a real Reutlinger. Arthur had quickly taken back the precious object from his greedy hands, "well give it back then", which made you laugh to yourself.

True to himself, your cowboy had instructed everyone to separate and get out of the shore, as always after a job. You were all quite a sight, soaked to the bones. As you were greeting everyone a good night, Arthur silently walked to you and grabbed your hand. Even with the water you both had leaking from your clothes to your skin, you could feel how warm his hand was, contrasting yours which was completely freezing cold from having swam in the icy waters. You wondered if this man was even human.

"But you, Miss, are comin' with me." He playfully informed you, not leaving you any choice.

It was not as if you wanted to go anywhere else anyway.

"Really now? What d'ya have in mind, cowboy?" You asked him with an equally mischievous tone on your own, your eye glued to the way his hair looked completely soaked, subtle rivulets sliding all the way from it to his neck.

"Maybe we could pay ourselves a well-deserved night in town..." He proposed, voice turning more and more into a low growl as he was letting his desires take the lead on his reason.

"I would love that." You simply agreed, before getting closer to him, tilting your head up to bring your lips to his. He gladly let you, one hand still holding yours, the other gently landing on the side of your face.

The walk to the La Bastille Saloon was supposed to be a short one, but you both looked like you couldn't wait to be there before teasing each other. You would sometimes stop walking to just attack his neck, lips merciless as you sucked and kissed him there. Your taunting acts were often met with his equally heated answer, one of his palms ending on your ass, or your thighs, your wet clothes transparent and glued to your curves not helping him to keep his touch away from these places of your body. Arthur's breath sharpened as he called you his lil minx, and no, darlin’, we can't just do it on the streets.

Finally, after having shocked the barman by arriving at such late hours in completely soaked clothes, which honestly just made the both of you laugh mischievously, you reached your love nest for the night.

And what a nest! Silk sheets, canopy bed, sumptuous decor glistening with the dim lights of the chandeliers. Even the floor looked comfortable, carpeted with some fancy patterns, matching the couch and bed's color. Red, just like passion, just like lust. Red, like the color of your cheeks right now as Arthur had closed the door and was already on his knees, placing you on the edge of the mattress. Red, just like what Arthur was seeing right now, hungry hands pulling your dress up, positioning himself between your thighs.

You looked down at him, his darkened eyes looking at you. You noticed he had ripped off his fancy tie, needing to breathe properly, the heat between you both already making him suffocate. In those moments, his beautiful pupils were always shining with a more murky color, his usual sky blue turning into a more cobalt one. They were staring intensely into yours, expression questioning. A silent demand. You nodded positively, quietly answering. Dooming yourself.

The moment you did, he buried his head between your legs, left hand resting on your hip, holding you gently. His lips started kissing softly on the fabric of your undergarments. His other hand quickly came, helping him in his task by pulling it to the side, granting him access.

The moment his lips met your folds, you let out a moan, unable to resist the feeling he was giving you. He was loving it, his ears getting redder as he was more and more aroused himself. He was so big between your thighs, his shoulders were spreading them almost completely open.

He licked in a long, slow movement all the way to the top of your pussy, making you sigh in pleasure already, hips jerking against his head, begging for more.

"Easy, girl... I've got ya." He soothed you hoarsely, left hand holding you more firmly to prevent you from crushing him totally. Nevertheless, he took your eagerness into account; he couldn't deny you anything. Not when it came to sex. Not when you were so beautiful in this ostentatious dress. Not when he had grown more and more found of you, even if he was refusing to admit it to himself completely for now.

He brought his lips on the top of your core, tongue gently circling around this so special knot of nerves, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin, bringing you even more sensations.

It was already so good, Arthur's mouth showing you no pity, licking, sucking, kissing, as if you were becoming the only food he could ever feast on, the only oxygen he could breathe with. The sight of his broken nose buried beneath your skin, as if he was searching to go even deeper within you was almost too much for you to handle. Your hands that were gripping the sheets had now found the top of his head, spurring him to continue, please please please, Arthur, more, or you could have died right here on the fancy bed of the La Bastille Saloon.

Arthur's tongue answered your begging call, lapping your sensitive spot faster, harder. How the Hell was that man so good at pleasuring a woman? That, sinful, dirty man, just like the sounds you were letting out right now.

Your vision started to blur, the back of your head sinking onto the mattress, your back arching deliciously, and you were going to let him know just how close you were until he stopped all of a sudden.

"A-Arthur!" You protested, head snapping back at him, eyes pleading, tone both offended and needy as his name had sounded more like a whine when it had felt from your mouth.

He smiled cockily at you from where he was, his mouth looking wet with your arousal. He loved it, he loved being responsible for it.

"I'm here, girl... I jus' need ya too much right now. Lemme just..."

His voice was now a low rumble, coming from the depth of his chest. You watched as he quickly ripped off his clothes with little care for them. Trelawny would have shouted at how he was treating one of the most expensive suits he had ever brought.

But he didn't care about the suit. And neither do you, as your eyes were devouring every inch of his flesh that was appearing under them. The sight of a completely naked Arthur always had the same effect on you, no matter how many times you already had seen it.

His muscular body looked like it had been carved by Angels. No, more likely by an angry, dark God, who would have sculpted him from a hard and brutal material, his many scars and blurs a remnant of it. You could almost picture his tools molding your lover's broad chest and shoulders with sharp, furious hammer blows. His powerful arms and legs had received the same treatment, as if the deity wanted to pass on all of his brutal force into his creation. And his cock was definitely no exception to it.

And yet, this massive force of nature was blushing under your gaze. He couldn't have resisted the hurtful sensation of emptiness around his shaft, one of his hands now giving himself a few strokes to try and relieve some of it. His eyes closed in a frown for a few seconds, your pussy burned at this unholy scenery he was offering you.

You were in such a state of need it was almost depraved. You quickly got rid of your own clothes, tossing them somewhere on the floor of the room, needing to share this intimacy with him, to feel his skin against yours.

"Oh, please... Arthur, jus' take me..." You asked yourself before he could probe your adequation. You knew him well now, you already knew the next words he was going to speak would be another demand to make sure you truly wanted this.

He seemed to enjoy how you had forecasted it, his eyes opening again to look at you, his cock hardening even more, precum slowly leaking from its top, wasting all the efforts he had done to relieve it a bit.

"If that's what you want darlin'... I'm your man." He answered in a growl, climbing next to you on the bed.

You weren't sure why but his last words had made your heart swell in your chest. You were sure, deep down inside of you, that he meant it in another way. He really had become yours, and you, his. Lost in your thoughts, you let him handle you gently, placing you on your belly against the silk sheets, lying himself on top of you, legs between yours.

You slightly moved your rear up against his erection, earning a grunt of pleasure from him. Saying he had loved it was an understatement; he had been thinking about doing this with you since you had sat on him on the riverboat.

Using his right hand, he placed his cock against your entrance, and finally started pushing, your pussy already ready for him thanks to his ministrations, your mouth mewling at the sensation. Your perfect, hot walls were finally enveloping him, and he tried his best not to come just from that intense feeling alone.

He was so big and tall behind you, his head could reach yours and he buried it onto the crook of your neck, his hair still wet offering you a cold feel, contrasting with his whole hot chest pressed on your back, making you feel as if a literal inferno was burning it. He slowly started to pull back, only to shove himself in you again, starting a slow but intense back and forth.

"God, damn it... 'Feel so good girl..." He mumbled against your skin, his arms encircling you from both sides, caging you under his tall figure.

You sighed at his praise, wanting to answer something to compliment him back, but he snapped his hips just at the same time, making you shut your eyes close, and moan louder than before. Your voice was starting to crack under the amount of pleasure he was bringing to you, hard shaft brushing this deep spot within your core every time his hips moved, hitting just right where you needed him to.

He had noticed, and it was only making him lose his mind even more, unable to keep his pace slow, letting his body unleashed. He had waited this whole night to bury himself in you, listened to this moron calling you names without having the right to punch his goddamn idiotic face. He couldn't hold anything back anymore.

He started thrusting more frantically, pistoning his cock in and out of you so fast and hard he was now fucking you onto the bed. His right hand grabbed a fistful of your ass, the feeling of it colliding with his pelvis with every thrust making him insane, the other one next to your left shoulder, preventing him from crushing you completely.

You could feel it, the familiar feeling, the divine relief, building more and more thanks to him, the pace increasing your pleasure. Feeling how impossibly hard his sex had gotten in your cunt, you knew he was close too. This simple fact was the last push to your deliverance.

"A-Arthur! God, yes!" You screamed, unable to form any coherent thoughts, existing simply for this, for this moment with him, naked on the bed of this saloon. Just you and him.

"Oh, darlin’, shit!" Your orgasm had made your walls clench even more around his dick, exploding his limit. He quickly removed himself from you, and finished at the last second on your back and ass, his burning release painting your skin in flaming spurts. His very own sinful art piece.

The room felt silent again. The air stifling from your lovemaking, the only sounds being heard were your sharp, quickened breaths. Arthur took a few seconds to collect himself, feeling better and so satisfied, almost euphoric. Turning your head to the side, you took a glimpse of your lover's gorgeous state. Hair messy, cheeks and ears crimson, sweat dripping everywhere on his skin, chest rising and falling in big, profound exhales.

He then grabbed a piece of fabric from one of the wardrobes to gently wipe off his seed from you, and tossed it away, wanting nothing more but to rest against you now. A perfect contrast, from an agitated, stormy sea to a quiet, secret cove. As if you were the only one who could see him like this, vulnerable, loving even.

You watched him lay by your side on his back, your head still feeling dizzy, slowly coming back from a world of fantasies. You snuggled against him, resting your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, feeling spent but so, so happy. And you felt the same. Still naked, skin against skin, heart beating together, just the two of you.

Tonight had been quite something, and despite having won a few thousand dollars, it was definitely not money that was making Arthur feel like he had hit the jackpot.

[mbbmz]

HEY IM BACKK🤭 Wakasa has been on my mind the past days (he deadass appeared in my dream💀) So I got a request where Wakasa is friends with reader and secretly likes her but hides it really well. So when the 1st gen bd drink together and Waka gets drunk he won't get off her, hugging her n stuff and it eventually leads to a sleepy confession from him ykk🤭 The others all tease him the next day for it😭 (sry if this is kinda long)

Omgg hi again! I’m so glad you decided to request again (I love Wakasa)

Your requests are always interesting ml heheheheh, even though I’m not really proud of this one, I still hope you’ll enjoy it (and sorry for the wait)

No warnings, alcohol consumption (a bit too much in this instance) fluff and crack

Every time you changed something about your appearance, no matter how small it was, no matter how many of your friends didn’t notice, Wakasa always did. Might be the slightest change in your hair or makeup, you’d always receive a "It suits you well" or "That’s a nice change". He would always carry that bored expression as he says it, as if he didn’t really care. But how would he notice such small details if he didn’t?

Of course he cared. He was your best friend after all. You called him that, others called you that, he called himself that. Even if those words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet he’d never act on it. He was content with what he had, content with the proximity you two shared. Even though he wanted more, he swallowed back all his feelings. Because Wakasa, as much as he didn’t like to admit it, was scared to lose you. So he swallowed back the lingering touches he wanted to give you, any comments that could appear as "too much", for the sake of your friendship. One he would continue to cherish, even if that meant settling for less than he wanted.

- "Come on, just one drink!"

You rolled your eyes. Currently, you were downplaying the invitation of your friend, really insistent to get you to drink with the small group tonight.

- "Dont insist, Omi… I have work tomorrow…"

It was Takeomi’s turn to roll his eyes.

- "Just live a little… beside…"

A small smirk appeared on his face. You were almost, almost curious as to what he was about to say.

- "I don’t believe you’ve ever seen Waka getting drunk…"

Your annoyed rambling about work stopped for a second. He was right, your best friend, the one you’ve known since so long… Have never been drunk in front of you. And you couldn’t deny that the thought made you curious. What kind of drunk was he? Emotional drunk? Tired drunk?.. Yeah, definitely that…

After a few seconds of thinking, you sighed, you couldn’t deny one drink sounded nice.

- "One drink…" You finally indulged, watching his smirk widen

- "You won’t regret it… it’s actually pretty fun to watch…"

On those words, you started walking toward the bar you often went at, where the others were probably already waiting.

And when Takeomi told you it would be fun to watch, you didn’t expect that. And based on his expression, he didn’t either.

You were trying to drink in your now half empty glass, but you found it difficult to do so, as a pair of strong arms were wrapped around your figure.

- "I’ve… never seen him like this before…" Stated Shinichiro, sitting across of you. In his eyes was a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

At this point, all the eyes around the table were on you, more precisely on the man clutching at your side. Wakasa Imaushi, the White Leopard, Black dragons founding member and first generation Special attack Unit captain, THE living legend… Clinging to you like a lost child.

- "N-No one- hic -can touch her… ‘xcept me…" He mumbled, eyes closed and face red from all the shots he had.

You were torn. You’ve never seen him like that, with you or with anyone. And your best friend being so clingy, so… touchy… felt weird. But at the same time… it wasn’t a bad kind of weird.

- Waka… I think I’ll drive you home…

As you muttered those words, you felt his grip tightening. Goddamnit was he strong. You winced slightly, trying to get him off, to no avail.

- "Can someone… Help me out here?.." you asked, a bit annoyed at the lack of reaction from your friends

The three guys exchanged looks, before looking back at you.

- "I mean… you heard him." Started Takeomi, a sly grin on his face

- "No one can touch you except him!" Finished Keizo, raising his hands to support his words

You rolled your eyes, hearing the three of them laughing like degenerates. Unbelievable.

You had to find something though. You wanted to go home, too. Yet it was proven difficult with the bag of muscles holding you tightly.

You sighed, looking at his slumped form, trying to find something to get him off.

- "… Hey Waka… Let’s go home, mhm?.." You tried to bargain, with seemingly no success.

- "N-Nah… M’staying… with you…" He mumbled, his speech almost incomprehensible.

You sighed sighed again. You definitely wanted to go home, getting a bit tired yourself.

- "… Wanna sleep at my place?.." You asked, as all eyes on the table landed on you, even his. You felt a need to denfend yourself to your peers.

- "N-Not like that! I’m not that kind of person!" You tried to defend yourself

- "That’s really inappropriate. I wouldn’t have taken you for the type…" Teased the black haired mechanic, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

- "Mhmm… Take me home, love…"

Your eyes widened, as everyone else’s. You looked down at your lap, eyes landing on a very sleepy Waka, nuzzling your thigh.

- "… Yeah, I’ll take him home… He’s… not in his right mind…" You muttered, trying to calm the emotions he provoked by calling you that.

- "Heh, you know what they say… A drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts!"

You glared at Takeomi, who was laughing his ass off with your other friends. They wouldn’t let that die down easily…

You called a cab, trying to walk with a grown ass man clutched at your hip. Quite a humorous sight, really.

The drive wasn’t long thankfully, and you managed to drag the drunk man in your bed. You were too tired to do anything else, crashing on the mattress next to his unconscious form. You were about to fall asleep, when his voice caught your attention.

-" ‘Meant it, y’know… I don’t… wanna be your friend… wanna be more…"

You listened to his drunken confession, your own eyes fighting to stay open and focused on his relaxed face.

- "Wanna… hold you and… do shit couples do, I dunno…"

A small silence followed his words, lingering in the air. You looked at him one last time, before your eyes closed on their own.

- "G’night, Waka…"

The only answer you received was the sound of his slow breathing and light snores. You would deal with that tomorrow…

- "Hey, "love"! Mind grabbing me a beer?" Teased a certain black haired man, as your now boyfriend was glaring at him, fighting the urge to smash his head on the coffee table.

- "Takeomi I swear to god…" He warned, pinching the bridge of his nose as you let out a small chuckle.

He could now hold you, kiss you, and do plenty of other shit couples do.

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 3

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, maybe. I don't think anything else. Sorry if there are typos.

Words: 1720

The One I Want Masterlist

---

Jake Seresin is a wizard. Or a mind-reader. Or some creature with wildly sensitive hearing. You’re sure of it. 

In the month since you moved into the apartment, your only moments alone come when you lock yourself in your bedroom. Otherwise, Jake is near you—sitting next to you, looking at you, talking to you. If your door opens, he follows not five seconds later. If you sit down at the island with your breakfast of bland cereal, he enters the kitchen within two minutes to prepare his own meal; the same meal every morning. Eggs, Canadian bacon, and a protein shake. If you dare to switch the television on, turns out he’s been meaning to watch that show for weeks. You had no idea he was into movie special effects competitions. 

It isn’t irritating, exactly—though, it wouldn’t shock you if others experiencing similar treatment would feel that way. You just can’t figure him out. He’s unfigure-outable. You’re pretty sure that’s a thing. If not, Jake Seresin just brought it into existence. And here you thought you were the mystery. 

“So I was thinking,” he says. 

You close your book without a second thought, having barely read and retained a line in the last fifteen minutes anyway. From the moment he came out of his room and plopped down on the couch—his leg bouncing and eyes trained ahead on nothing—you’ve been waiting for him to snap the tense band of silence between you.

His fingers clasp together, thumbs subtly twiddling when he finally looks over to you. “Maybe you could meet my friends. They’ve asked about you, and you’ve already met Nat so it’s really only the guys.”

That was perhaps one of the last things you imagined he would say. You’ve heard very little of his friends. They’re also pilots. His team. They all have weird nicknames. Half of those nicknames are animals. 

There are other tidbits Jake casually mentioned as well. Coyote is his closest friend. There’s a Rooster who recently found himself a chick. A Bob and a Phoenix—who you learned is Nat—are particularly attached. 

But every bit of that information you figured he was simply spilling to fill moments where you were in the same room but not speaking. Or perhaps it’s some method to draw out feelings of trust so you might participate in his little game of show and tell. In his eyes is always the hope that you’ll share something of your own, but you have yet to find the courage or need to do so. 

“Oh,” you reply, trying to gather the correct words to turn him down. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not really up to meeting a group of people today.”

You hate the way his face falls. Like a puppy denied a treat. But it lasts only a second as another thought brightens the green hue of his irises. 

“What if we went somewhere? You and me.”

“What?”

His body shifts on the couch, more of him now facing you. He’s wearing a shirt today. He’s been wearing shirts around you since you made the request weeks ago, but they’re weak at disguising the body underneath. Thin fabric pulled tight like a second skin. 

“You said no bars,” he continues. “How do you feel about diners?”

—

It’s an odd image—Jake framed in this setting. He’s all lean muscle and neatly styled hair with a clean-shaven jawline surrounded by greasy food and booths so old their plastic seats are cracking. As others watch him—particularly the hostess who cannot for her life keep from glancing his way every thirty seconds—he watches you. Says nothing; just watches until the waitress returns to set a few plates and mugs in front of you both. 

“There you go, kids,” she says. She’s older, and her hair is done up in a style that hasn’t followed the turning of the decades, but you like that it suits her; that she hasn’t paid attention to the change around her, or simply doesn’t care. With her hands on her hips, she says, “Now Jake, if I knew you were bringing a girlfriend I would’ve set aside some of that pie you like.”

Your eyes bug so much they could’ve fallen right onto the table, but Jake chuckles, smiling at you before directing it to the waitress. “Don’t spook her, Mags,” he teases. Then, “This is my new roommate.”

Her lips form an ‘O’ that holds for a few seconds too long before she blinks and tilts her head to the side. “Didn’t work out with the other one, honey?”

“Not so much, no.”

“Well, that’s just fine. I wasn’t a fan.” Mags takes a breath and straightens out her little apron; a costume element you’d rather die than wear, but much like her hair, Mags seems to take pride in it. You can’t fault her for that. You wish you could find a job you enjoy. Or a job at all. She shoots you a grin; nothing like the rehearsed smiles from someone in a customer service job, but a genuine curve of the lips that creates a warm little ball in your chest. “You, on the other hand, look like such a sweetheart. So be good to my Jake here.”

You don’t have the opportunity to disappoint her because she doesn’t wait for a response. Be good to her Jake. Not an ask. A demand. An unspoken ‘or else’ hanging in the air. And though she’s got at least forty years on you, you’re pretty sure she’s spry enough to follow through on her sneaky threats. 

Mags squeezes Jake’s shoulder and departs, leaving you in a confused state of mixed energies. Shock and discomfort radiate off of you like heat waves, meeting the cool calmness emanating from a beaming Jake. 

“Will you tell me more about yourself now?” he asks. 

Shaking off the questionable tone of the older woman, you reconnect yourself to the man in front of you. His words soak in; another unexpected curveball Jake has thrown you within one day. His friends want to meet you, and now your personal details are on his mind. What would come next? Does he want to know the last time you were thoroughly kissed? Your high school GPA? Height and weight? If so, he’s going to be terribly disappointed. 

Steaming, wispy tendrils invade your vision, and you finally register the blueberry hint hitting your nostrils. Jake had whispered the order to Mags with the explanation that he already knew what you wanted. And being the mind-reading wizard you’re convinced he is, on a menu of nearly one hundred items he magically happened to pick something you enjoy. 

You hold yourself back from digging in, instead meeting his eyes as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think free pancakes are a good trade for my life story?”

He slowly slides a mug closer to you. “I got you coffee as well.”

When you raise an unenthused brow, Jake sighs. 

“Fine. You’re leaving me no other choice than to guess,” he says. “But if I get it right, will you be honest?”

With a snort, you pick up your fork and take your first bite of the sweet fluffy cake. It’s undeniably delicious. Fucking wizard. “Sure,” you say, and akin to a child, Jake’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. 

He ignores his own food and drink to once again watch you. Observing. Your eyes to your lips to your neck and back again. When he comes to a conclusion, he leans back in the booth. “You are a fan of the beach and before you die you intend to live in every beach town this country has to offer for at least two months each.”

Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, since it appears that I am wrong, I’m going to say yes I am kidding because I’m very funny like that.” He stares some more, eyes narrowing. “You’re searching for a long-lost family member.”

“No.”

“You are only attracted to Navy men and thought you’d travel to a hub.”

Again, as he likes to do, he leaves you lacking words for a moment. “That better be another one of your ‘I’m very funny like that’ attempts,” you eventually manage to say. “And you know I wasn’t aware this was a Navy town.”

Jake nods and then leans forward in his seat, arms overlapping on the linoleum tabletop. You can sense the sudden shift; a new energy. The glint in his eye doesn't quite go with the steady seriousness of his voice. Like mismatched puzzle pieces. “So you’re not attracted to Navy men?” he asks. 

Your head jerks back to regain the distance he lessened. “Not exclusively.”

“Damn,” he replies, full playful tone back in place. “I wanted to at least get that part right.”

There’s another bright smile from him. A wink. You look to your right to find Mags' watchful gaze; motherly and hopeful.

After another swallow of pancake, you say, “Alright, you’re done for the day.”

“Oh, come on,” he whines. 

When you shake your head, he picks up his fork and begins to poke at the eggs on his plate, and you bask in the silence of his disappointment. Peace and quiet, with the exception of the diners surrounding you. No questions. No attempted agonizing small talk. You have a moment to breathe. 

It’s not until you’re halfway through your food and the coffee is nearly drained that Jake lifts his head. 

“I’m going to figure you out,” he says with an unwelcome note of determination. 

Your eyes snap up. 

The feeling behind his statement is hard to nail down. You would’ve said delving into your history was something fun for him to do. Something to pass the time with the new person in his home. But now it comes off more like a need. A little prick in his side that he can’t shake. 

You so badly want to be wrong in your interpretation. You want him to give up; to surrender to your stubbornness. Ideally, sooner rather than later. 

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. Nothing about him—not his breath, not his stare—stutters at your response. Instead, he returns with, “But I want to.”

---

A/N: Sorry it's a little short. Next chapter will be labeled 3.5 and will be from Jake's POV.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @coldmuffinbanditshoe

[writingoddess1125]

Young Love pt. 2

Older!Mihawk x Older!FemReader

Fluff - Romance - Spicy Themes - Teaspoon of Angst

Part 1 <<<

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You opened an eye, lifting the hat you'd been using to cover your eyes from the blazing sun to glance at him, pointing a finger at the two in warning.

Usopp had been on the ship for a few days, however one question seemed to burn into his mind while there with the odd band of pirates he had found himself with-

Who was the hobo women that was drinking the place dry and sleeping the the deck all the time!?

"Who is she?.. some homeless person you guys are helping?" Usopp asked, noticing you laid against the railings of the ship half asleep once again. Zoro leaned against the rails and glancing at your resting form-

"A veteran- Shes been pirating longer then we've been alive Luffy managed to convince her to come along till we were ready... Despite being a lazy bum" Zoro explained, You hearing every word he said and had to suppress the urge to throw something at him.. Veteran- Like you were some old soilder.

"As well as the Second best Swordsman-"

"Watch it Moss Head- Or do I need to beat your little ass again?" You chimed, the teen wrinkling his nose at you before huffing.

"Then train me-" He argued, you smiling at this and roll up to your feet and grab your sword.

"Fine- Get ready"

As Kids- You couldn't lie you liked this bunch. When you had been approached by the lengthy teen Luffy while seated at a bar, you'd dismissed him at first that was till a brawl come out and you helped of course- Can't let Marines outshine you.

The defeat of Axe-Hand Morgan and seeing the promise of these younglings you joined them. Teaching them ways of old pirates, Instilling the morals and codes of them- Luffy adored you, Nami was indifferent and Zoro only wanted you to show him tricks from your years as a swordwomen.

"Sloppy footwork!" You yelled, Slashing Zoro to his left as he struggled to keep up with your speed and agility. With ease you smack him on the leg with the back of the sword making him fall to his knee in pain side stepping him as you point your blade at his back.

"One mean ass teacher-" He grumbled, You laughed at this, helping the boy back to his feet.

"Remeber Zoro, Wounds on the back are swordmans greated shame" You say and pat his shoulder, telling him training was over that day. You went back to your spot to rest.. your shoulder was hurting-

By the time you had woken up you were informed you'd arrived at the Baratie- letting them all go ahead as you decided the bar was more up your speed anyway. Taking a seat you ordered a few rounds for yourself, taking the eventing to drink and relax. Eventually the crew coming back to the bar to meet up with you, Having fun as they should as you sat by yourself.

"I see-" He said calmly, his eyes never leaving you and you felt warmth hit your cheeks. He looked to Zoro still high from inflated ego and staring hard at Mihawk-

"(Y/N)?..." A voice called, even in your hazy state it brought you to your youth. Looking back you saw a looming figure over you, the large brim hat blocking the flashing lights from the dance floor as the smell of sea water and bergamot filled your nose. At first confusion painted your features till you saw those yellow eyes- And the large cross that you once called your own over 20 years ago.

"Mihawk?-" You say in surprise, a swirl of confusion in your gaze as you stared at the man. He could only smirk at this.

"(Y/N) why are- Why must we always meet were the alcohol flows the heaviest?" He mused, you couldn't deny he was charming.. even with all the time that had passed. A chuckle breaking through you as he leaned against the bar counter.

"Call it luck Mihawk- Now what brings my old conquest here? Trying for a part two?" The male looking away and you were sure under the right lighting their would be blushing.

"Looking for a young pirate, tasked with bringing him back- Alive" He said calmly, your eyes narrowing st his words.

"That's right... I heard through the grape vines you were a Warlord now- seems it's true" You say carefully taking another sip of your drink.

"And you? What are you now?" Mihawk asked, you smile into your drink as you look at the crew outside drinking.

"A teacher of sorts-" You say with a smile, Mihawk following your gaze he nodded at this. There was a few moments of silence, in truth your heart was beating out of control and you couldn't exactly tell why...

"Must be lucky students- especially to have you around" He said softly, You could hear the flirting in his voice and you winked at him.

"I tend to think so- Besides I showed you a couple of things didn't I?" You reach over and straighten out the cross on his naked chest- it felt like electricity went through your arm when you touched him and clearly he felt the same..

"So you did- maybe it's time I returned the favor" He practically purred and you clearly blushed- The Warlord smiling at the small victory it seemed.

"Charmer as always, I'll be back Mr. Warlord- wait here" You said quickly as you walked away to the washroom. Sighing as you breathed heard in there, the smell of piss burning your nose but that wasn't what hurt- No... You had to recollect yourself- a one night stand from when you were 18 shouldn't have you coming up at the seams like this.. it was illogical.

Getting a grip you march back out, only to see Zoro standing up a fierce look on his face and Mihawk before him. You quickly walking over and looking at the two-

"What is going on? Zoro stand down now-" You bark but he ignores you, Instead you turn to Mihawk.

"Mihawk what is the meaning of this?

You can feel the eyes of the crew now following you in surprise of knowing a Warlord of the Sea so well- enough to call him by his name so casually.

"I'm here for the Captian of this ship it seemes.."

"Luffy? What can you possibly want with that child?" You demand, his eyes finally meetings yours.

"Well it seems your pupil here wishes for us to battle for him-" Mihawk said and you snap your gaze to Zoro in anger, hissing a curse as you knew what this was about.

"Ignore him- Ignore this crew Mihawk.. They are children" You try but the man makes a huff. You standing infront of him more-

"We meet in the morning" Zoro pushed his ideas in and you glared at him-

"You and I both know the world needs a few more wild cards- And Zoro I told you to back down" You try once again to force Zoro to stop this.

"We will meet tomorrow"

Pulling your blade from around his neck your eyes widened.

He said and marched away, Anger boiling in your chest as you grabbed the closest thing and chucked it were Zoro had been standing. The Fool!

The argument that night would have rivaled a hurricane- Zoro too stubborn and too proud to back down and heed your words, you couldn't allow this- But like a mother dealing with a teenager he didn't fucking listen..

By morning you were standing at the pier arms crossed as you waited for Mihawk to arrive. Head lowered as you knew this wouldn't be good- of course right on time the Warlord made his appearance and stood there calmly, Zoro pulling his blades.

That son of a bitch-

It was clear this wasn't a test of Zoro's strength but of your teachings...

Zoros comment lost on you as Mihawk stood there calmly holding the tiny blade.

"I don't hunt rabbits with a canon-"

Kneeling down next to your fallen pupil you placed a hand on him, Proud at his work and courage he had-

The fight was swift, quick in Zoros defeat as your pupil was thoroughly beaten- Stepping forward with your hand drifting to the blade on your hip but Zoro held a hand for you to stop. Pulling his swords away as he held his arms out, your eyes widening as fear made your stomach churn.

"You are defeated, why do you still persist?" Mihawk said, almost amused by his resilience.

"Wounds on the back are a Swordmans greatest shame-" Your words hitting you back like a damn brick-

Mihawk eyes widening at this as he readied his blade.

"Magnificent-" He mused before striking Zoro across the chest, You wince but know it was a lesson.. not to kill.

"You did well my student...I am proud" You say softly, Zoro wincing in pain at hearing this. Luffy rushing to his wide as you rise from your position next to him and Zoro claimed his loyalty to his Captian and vow to improve.

You glance at Mihawk, Rage in your eyes as he stared at you. Placing the blade back around his neck-

Watching him walk towards the pier once more prepared to leave, You quickly following him as your hand went to your blade.

"How dare you!" You hissed in rage, Staring on Mihawk as you both stood at the pier. Pulling the blade from your hip ready for face your former conquest.

"You did all this to humiliate him and me- I will not take this lying down Mihawk" You said angrily, deep down knowing there was some joke to be had in the comment.

"I will not fight you (Y/N)-" He said calmly not even bothering to touch his blade, Anger rising in your blood as you grabbed his coat with a single hand quickly in rage.

"Why the Hell Not!?" You yelled, Mihawks eyes softening at you as his fingers went to your shoulder were the thick scars of a shattered shoulder were hidden under your shirt and have a gentle squeeze, gasping as pain rushed through your system and you dropped your sword.

"I will not-" He explained, tears welling in your eyes as the heavy feeling of pain pulled your chest. You grabbing his hand that was placed on your shoulder.

"...I could tell the moment I saw you... your shoulder-"

"Shut up-" You hissed, Tears rolling down your cheeks as you force his hand away from your shoulder but Mihawk grabs you quickly so you couldn't run- Seeing his eyes like a sworm of emotions.

"What happened?-" He demanded, Clearly he wanted to know what had kept you from reaching the full potential from being his match.. Sorrow now gripping your throat as you looked down ashamed-

"It was an accident- My ship was taken up by a hurricane... I survived by my arm was crushed" You admit, Mihawk wincing as he heard this all. Pulling his hand away from your shoulder, watching the crushing sorrow overcome your form.

"I-" You heard a sudden crash, Turning to see Arlongs ships coming towards the resturant. Ready to rush forward Mihawk grabbed you-

"What are you doing!?" You growled in anger, But Mihawks eyes were gentle.

"Stopping you- Your chicks are ready to spread their wings.. These are hard lessons for them ones they need in order to be pirates... understand?" You wanted to argue, you wanted to fight... But deep down you knew he was right..

"Then what?" You say, Mihawk taking a step back.

"We go drink... and wait" He said truthfully.. and in this moment that sounded all right-

When you returned, you had heard of Arlong and Nami, the betral and pain it had caused the crew. You wanted to break in the little ginger bitch teeth however kept your opinion back.

"Luffy- It's best to cut your losses-" You start but Luffy Looked at you, His face twisted up like a storm in a way you hadn't seen before.

"You said I needed to make Captian decisions (Y/N)- This is it. We are going to bring Nami Back" He said firmly, You staring at the firm faced teen and smiling proudly.

"I see there is nothing left to teach you... May the tides be kind to you Luffy" You said with a smile, Luffy smiling as he hugged you suddenly, knowing that you would also not be joining him on his mission- Your teachings were done and you were proud. Pulling away you pat his shoulders with a smile, he walks onto his ship you see a wave of a Captian finally settling on his shoulders.

You watching Usopp and The newest face Sanji also board, You hanging back and instead going back to the resturant to get a meal from Zeff as well as a chat from the old Pirate to help patch up your Pupil back on the ship which he agreed to.

By evening you stand there on the pier next to Zeff as the crew set sail. A tear tears going down your cheek as they do-

You stand on the pier watching the Going Merry sail away from the small refuge. You knew your role wouldn't be permanent on the ship, it just wasn't who you were- But it did make you sad to see them sailing off to their next adventure without your guidance. Like a mother bird watching their chicks leave the nest-

"They will be fine.. you taught them well"

You heard a low voice next to you, not even having to look to know it was Mihawk who now occupied the space next to you.

"...Still sad to see them go" You admit, finally looking to Mihawk who had such a gentle look on his stoic face. His gaze soft as he seemed to admire you- Warmth developing your face.

"What? Youre staring at me hard-"

"Want to go to the bar nearby?" He said softly, a knowing twinkle in his yellow eyes. There was a pause before both of you cracked wide smile and chuckled a bit together.

"You know what, That sounds like a wonderful idea~" You finally say with a playful wink.

His fingers lacing around your own, a hint of a smile playing on his face- You giving his hand a gentle squeeze in reassurance.

"Oh and please don't rob me in the inn this time" Mihawk jest, remembering having to sleep outside the days afterwards. A laugh slipping past your lips as you shake your head and promise not too, the two of you walked back hand in hand.

Tag List-

@who-the-hockeysticks @jennieyeager @lebanese-afg-ya @vancehopper1987

[fafnir19]

Contagious fuckboy charm

Under the vibrant sunlight of Hamburg, the street cafe buzzed with life. Leonhard parked his old bike, clad in his trusty yellow safety vest, displaying his dedication to safety.

Sandrina, elegant in her classic attire, exuded confidence with her long blond hair catching the light. "Hey, Lenny! You made it!" Sandrina beamed, sliding into the chair opposite him.

Leonhard chuckled, "Wouldn't miss our coffee catch-up, Sandrina." They shared a laugh, their banter flowing easily like a familiar tune. Leonhard's eyes wandered to a trendy bar across the street, where stylish men with goatees paraded. "Look at those fuckboys strutting around," Leonhard teased. Sandrina joined in, "They're multiplying like rabbits. Let's hope it's not contagious." Leonhard chuckled, "Hopefully the fuckboy epidemic won't spread here."

As the hours unfolded, their playful ribbing continued, the easy camaraderie between them palpable. But as Sandrina's phone pinged with a work email, she sighed reluctantly. "I hate to cut this short, but duty calls. See you soon, Leonhard," Sandrina said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before hurrying off. Leonhard watched her go, a fond smile tugging at his lips before turning his attention back to his coffee. Left alone, Leonhard awaited the bill, musing over the eccentricities of the day. Suddenly, a cocky guy swaggered over from the bar across the street, introducing himself as Ronny. "Hey there, buddy!" Ronny boomed, extending a hand towards Leonhard. "I gotta say, you've got yourself a hot girlfriend there. Lucky you!" Ronny remarked, eyeing Sandrina's retreating form. Leonhard raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the unexpected compliment and shook his head with a chuckle. "Oh, Sandrina? She's just a friend, actually." Ronny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Just a friend? No way, man. A nerd like you must be getting some action on the side, right?"

Leonhard's patience wavered as Ronny continued with his condescending remarks. "We're really just friends, Ronny. Nothing more." A smirk played on Ronny's lips as he leaned in closer. "Come on, buddy. Friendship between a man and a woman? That's a load of crap. You're probably just too shy to seal the deal!” Leonhard clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The nerve of this guy. How could he be so ignorant? Leonhard felt a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubble inside him. He searched for a way to gracefully end this absurd conversation, his thoughts racing as he battled to maintain his composure. Before Leonhard could muster a response, Ronny's tone shifted dramatically. "I know what you need, pal. You need to get laid, and I'm just the guy to help you out!" With a sudden exclamation of "No homo!" Ronny leaned in and pressed his lips forcefully against Leonhard's, his beard scratching against Leonhard's skin. A surge of energy surged through Leonhard, electrifying his senses and setting his skin ablaze with a tingling sensation. It felt like a storm of sensations, a clash of conflicting desires waging war within his very being. His heartbeat quickened, each pulse a drumbeat of transformation reverberating throughout his body. He felt his vest melting away, replaced by a sleek race-cycling outfit that hugged his newfound athletic physique. His old bike transformed into a sleek racing machine, the embodiment of speed and adrenaline. Suddenly, a surge of heat erupted from deep within Leonhard, a primal force awakening with a raw intensity he had never experienced before. A wave of desire crashed over him, engulfing his senses in a whirlpool of lust and longing. His body responded, betraying him with a throbbing ache that pulsed with a need he couldn't deny. A tingling sensation spread through his body as a goatee sprouted on his face, mirroring Ronny's signature style.

Leonhard sat there, dazed and bewildered, as the truth dawned upon him like a blazing sunrise. He stood up in disbelief, now resembling the very image of a stereotypical fuckboy. He had been reborn, no longer the nerdy Leonhard but a transformed entity – Lenny, the fuckboy extraordinaire. His mind reeled, consumed by a singular desire. "I have to... I have to get laid," he muttered, his thoughts clouded by newfound impulses. As he bid farewell to Ronny, who now called him "Lenny," Leonhard embarked on a journey of self-discovery and newfound confidence.

The nerdy Leonhard was no more, replaced by the embodiment of a true fuckboy. The streets of Hamburg whispered tales of a transformation unlike any other, as Lenny set his sights on a new goal: seducing the irresistible Sandrina.

[inkyquince]

Ripped Corset and Scattered Pearls

Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader

Arthur Morgan is just trying to steer himself right in the world, raising money and being some sort of a good man. It's just harder, with so many lonely nights when surrounded by couples among the camp and the communities. His iron will is shaken upon just seeing someone so tasty to him, just a rich little miss, escorted by her bodyguards through the dusty streets of St. Denis.

The sight of her nourishes him, and that's all he needs, until one of Dutch's plans give him an opening to take her away, to keep her for him

cw. noncon turned dubcon. stalking. voyeurism. low honor arthur morgan. possessive and obsessive arthur. kidnapping.

notes. 12.5k words. This was a commission by Red, thank you for your patience and hoped you enjoyed it!!

There were a few truths about the life that Arthur Morgan had chosen to live. One truth was that it was going to always be hard, gritty and your ass is going to always be a bit sore from the saddle. Another was that your horse is your life. That beauty goes down, and you can kiss your dwindling chances to live goodbye, especially on the road. 

But the one that Arthur kept close to his heart, was the truth that good women were rare, a pretty woman was rarer. So, like John did Abigail, like Dutch did Molly and Sean… Somewhat did with Karen, Arthur promised himself that if he found the one, he would never let her go, not again. Everything else be damned. 

The life they all led was lonely, despite the gang’s closeness. It was something about going back to his own tent after a long day, and hearing the sounds of love making next door in Dutch’s tent was excruciating. The thought of jerking his cock desperately flitted in and out of his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. One, because being caught would be… Embarrassing, but also because… He struggled to think up the perfect daydream to fuck his fist to. Once upon a time, he’d think about Mary, and the sweet life they would share together. Think about their first night between them, sweet kisses and slow, but as time passed, it just felt sadder and sadder each night he imagined it. He had to stop at one point, frowning up at his tent as cum cooled on his belly. It never felt as good as just imagining some faceless woman, riding his ruddy cock, moaning as he jerked his erection. 

He had started to pay for whores in bars too. Fleeting fucks or slightly calloused hands fondling at his cock as he leaned back in the bath. It had become a need, something to ease the growing loneliness at the back of his heart, craving…. Craving something that no paid prostitute, nightly jerk off session, or singing along to Javier’s guitar with the others in the evening, could ever placate. The craving to share his little alcove, to let Jack have a little cousin, to be fussed over and his face sat on by a perfect little pussy. Arthur just wants someone with him. In this new fantasy, they’d never fight like Abigail and John. He wouldn’t ignore her, like Dutch did Molly. They’d be with each other and it would be natural. Perfect pairs for each other, meant to grow old together. 

It was this fantasy that was playing in his head, as he, John, Sean, and Charles headed into Saint Denis, needing to be away from Camp for a while and John had some things to pick up that could only be found in the hellish city that felt too claustrophobic and tight. Arthur lingered on the daydream of soft hands against his aching shoulders, almost able to hear the swish of a dress as the chatter of the men was drowned out by the bustle of the city. The others split off, letting Arthur know that they should meet back up at the bar at dusk and Arthur watched them go, his hand still slowly stroking along the horse’s neck as she huffed and shook her head. 

There was usually quite a lot to do in Saint Denis, but not a lot of the real time killers were running right now, like the play, or hitting the Bastille Saloon. Instead, he started to mindlessly amble, just taking in the sights, even if he wasn’t… A big fan of the sights. The city had accidentally become a symbol of everything he wanted to get away from, what the gang wanted to get away from. Big ole city you could get lost in, cluttered with people and law men. 

This thinking did nothing but sour his mood, Arthur’s lips having pulled down into a frown. Instead, he got one of his cigarette packs out to light one up, taking a moment to squint at the cigarette card before shrugging and discarding it. His eyes, shadowed by his hat, finally focused on a saloon, seemingly a bit more empty on the busy day. Might as well enjoy a full meal and a good drink before continuing on his amble through the city. As he approached the stairs leading up, the wind blew, and the doors swung open before he got to them. The breeze carried the lovely, angelic scent of expensive perfume. But he was used to the overpriced musk that drenched elderly ladies with rows of pearls that seemed to choke them. This was something softer, sweeter, natural. He knew what it smelled like, he just had to remember. It brought memories of dusk falling over meadows with the humid air settling into something in between warm and cold, something perfect. 

With one foot on the first step, he looked up, two big burly fuckers pushing through and past him, revolvers in their belts and rifles slung across their backs. But as they shoved him aside, off the step, to make space, they parted, and showed… 

You. 

John would have called you a rich bitch with diamonds in her pussy. Dutch would have called you a mark. Charles would have said you looked quite nice. 

Arthur thought you were the most perfect woman he had ever seen. Soft lace gloves holding the parasol perched on your shoulder, protecting you from the heat beating down. Your dress didn’t have the bustle the older ladies dragged around behind them, but still had that classy material…. The one that crinkles when you walk, swishing just above the ground. Tight corset, the skirt falling naturally over your legs as you gratefully accepted the hand of one of your… Bodyguards(?) that helped you walk down the steps. 

Your eyes briefly met his, framed by your pretty eyelashes, a small bit of sweat from the hot day trickling down your throat. His eyes slid from yours, to follow it down until it vanished into your clothing. Your lips curved into a small smile but you didn’t say anything, instead flanked by your bodyguards down the street, passersby being scared into skittering to the side. Arthur watched you go, cigarette sitting static on his bottom lip, until he remembered. 

Bluebells. You smelled like bluebells on a Midsummer’s Eve. 

Little Lady Bluebell. 

Arthur’s lips twitched with humour and headed into the saloon, the soft scent of the little blue flower lingering on his clothes from the short brush with the pretty little thing of his dreams. 

You were the highlight of his daydreams for a while, but in all of them, he was a gentleman, someone of value, and you were… More than delighted to hitch those skirts up and let him finger you, sweet breasts pressing against his arm. It always left him feeling like a filthy man, rubbing the back of his knuckles against his bristly chin, cum staining his rough fingers. Arthur was more amused than disgusted with himself. A bit surprised he could cum like he was a younger man again, with just a pretty face of a girl that just gave him a glimpse. If he was a hopeless romantic (he was) that had enough time and money (he didn’t), he’d go back every day to maybe catch another glimpse, maybe get you to lose the security to ask you for a drink and be a gentleman. 

Arthur was happy to just have you as a daydream, a wish that could never come true. Well, not happy, but he’d be… Fine. You were something he could have for himself as he did his dirty jobs, robbed, killed, intimidated, everything. A fantasy that was waiting back at his bed, someone that washed the blood from his hands, kissed his gunpowder streaked knuckles, washed his hair and lay with him every night. Sometimes he went through the motions of cleaning himself up, only somewhat listening to the camp around him, instead imagining you, maybe even in your underclothes, sitting on his knee and nosing along his jaw. The most perfect thing. 

Weeks had passed, with spring melting into summer, crickets scream-chirping each night and the sun seemed to beat down with a new intensity that was aimed directly at him. As if laughing. Burn, Arthur Morgan, burn. 

What’s worse is that Dutch was up to something. His usual cool, relaxed gait when he was still searching his brilliant brain for ideas to up their wealth was gone. Instead he had begun to stay up longer at night, pouring over papers in his tent, snapping at Molly to stop bothering him. Everytime Arthur swung by, his tobacco stained teeth would glint dully in the light as he looked up at him. 

“This’ll be a fun one, my boy. Going to fill our pockets but not as easy as just pulling your gun and demanding the money.” Arthur quietly disagreed that robbing was that easy, but nothing was going to dull Dutch’s shine right now, so he just waited, going into town, selling pelts, robbing stagecoaches, until one morning. 

The sun was beating down, sweat slowly rolling down his neck, staining his shirt collar. He was already feeling too sticky and warm, flies buzzing around his horse’s head as they made their way with some of the gang. Dutch led them down a thin, narrow, worn path that Arthur had never noticed before. Dutch was giving him and John the rundown of his plan, which did shape up to the usual, let-him-speak-shut-your-mouth schtick. At least Hosea said it with longer, nicer words. Arthur stretched a bit, enjoying the shade of the leaves as they made their way.. 

It was a long ride, or at least felt like it. 

The downy trees slowly gave way to a large plantation, a building  similar to the Braithwaite Manor in its size and grandeur. No wonder Dutch was practically serenading the weeds at the camp for weeks. Arthur vaguely knew that their great wagon leader found some rich guy with a transportation problem and gussied himself up to be some sort of man of repute who could help out with anything. 

Ill-repute maybe but anything for those extra few coins in the box.  

Dutch already slipped into his southern devilish charm voice as soon as the group got past the gates, closer to the house, idly chatting to one of the hands that started walking with them, the rifle slung across his back glinting in the sun. Arthur only half listened, his eyes idly watching the nearby lake, the light glinting off the water. Pretty. 

The manor wasn’t even that much cooler on the inside than the outside. At least the watered down drinks they were offered weren't half bad. 

But as Arthur raised the fancy glass to his lips, he froze up. Floral. Fresh. Something was carrying on the breeze, through the house. Bluebells. 

Saliva pooled on his tongue, as he dragged the tip over his canine, pressing hard into the organ, as if trying to pierce the flesh. Just a coincidence. Maybe the lady of the house favoured them in those annoyingly tall vases around the house. 

It wasn’t. 

The master of the house was downright gleeful to introduce the apple of his eye when you came down the stairs. Your dress was switched out for a pretty blouse and skirt, swishing over your heeled boots, but instead of matching Miss Grimshaw in the austerity of the outfit, you looked… Delicate. The pearls resting on your collarbone glint in the natural light. You looked like if spring herself slipped down from the heavens and took a seat on the… Chaise… Lounge… Thing. Pretty and flowy with eyes that were doe-like and that held… No recognition for him. He wouldn’t care if some prissied bitch didn’t recognise him after a meeting, but he wanted you to. Let those eyes light up in remembrance, maybe even give him a smile, extend those pretty gloved fingers for him to kiss on the knuckles. 

He was just lucky no one saw him staring. The conversation was about moving a shit ton amount of bonds on a certain night, along with the family’s greatest treasure, to the next town over. Some ruffians have their eye on it or something. Dutch’s pleased smirk was mistaken as something more wholesome. Figuring out the logistics would usually have Arthur’s attention, just so he can figure out his part in the upcoming plan, but you were a magnet. Cleavage just peeking out of the blouse, your finery not a demand to be seen as more, more of a fact. You were more. And even as Arthur was quietly counting your eyelashes, it felt like he was doing something that he wasn’t allowed to do, not by any human law. 

Thank god he was a criminal. 

His cock was sore from all the stroking that night. Dutch promised the family that they would stay near the estate in order to be on hand at any time. Finally some privacy for him to properly see to himself, massaging his balls as his rough thumb dragged over his leaking head, struggling to not cum just yet. He can just see himself tucking his fingers down the front of your corset, pulling it down to free those pretty little tits. Arthur could just envision it, your dress pulled down to just underneath your breasts, the cute little sleeves trapping your arms against your sides. Your dress pulled up to reveal those pretty stockinged knees, all the while your cunt was stuffed full of his cock. 

He’d bet anything that little Miss Bluebells was a tight little virgin. Daddy wouldn’t let you scamper anywhere without those bodyguards, so unless you were giving it up to them, you were ripe for him to take it from you. 

Normally the afterglow of an orgasm had him taste the bitterness of his reality curdle the pleasure still settling in his stomach. But he knew Dutch’s plan. The glow never faded, not this time. 

It was simple really. Get paid to escort an understated but tasteful carriage, filled with bonds and something near and dear to the family over to… Nowhere. It will never arrive, the insides gutted out like a deer carcass, free of everything that could get them just a few extra shiny dollars. Hell, they would even sell off the horses. 

Arthur was thinking he could lure you out of that house. A slipped note, to come alone, and you can get your family’s riches back. Then, who knows. 

He doesn’t know when the longing in his chest turned into something darker, hungrier. You barely looked at him, even if you spoke sweetly when you two did share words, but he wanted you. You were it. Maybe he was going crazy, but it was hard to deny himself when your floral perfume was still staining his skin.

The days seemed to drag in a sweaty haze of over planning and bulk buying bullets, checking the horses’ hooves just in case. The smell of your perfume was almost sickly to him. Sweat running down his neck, the overwhelming scent of overripe fruit and scorched, browned grass too much for him. An addictive sort of sweet, nauseating, as if it's turned rancid from being apart too long. Fruit in the bowl that’s not been checked everyday. 

It was worth going back to the plantation. If caught he can just say that he was set on special security a few days before, but there was no hassle. He got to watch from his horse as you read by the lake, and sometimes lifted those skirts and dipped your feet in. The cigarette smoke curled over his face as his teeth dug into the paper just enough to leave a deep dent, imagining what it would be like to nip and bite along your graceful neck. Arthur doubts you’ve ever gotten anything more than an awed kiss on your ring or maybe an affectionate kiss on the cheek from family. Unless you were secretly allowing your ever present bodyguards to trade kisses with you, using too much tongue and sinking their fingers into you. Arthur scowled at that, biting down further on his cigarette as he adjusted his binoculars. It didn’t soothe him that they just seemed fond of you and nothing more, not when you were… You. A fine whiskey to an alcoholic, meant to be savoured on his tongue, smooth going down. Arthur knew that if he was one of your bodyguards, it would only take a glimpse of your perfect collarbones and something in him would snap. He took a moment to enjoy the daydream, being trusted so near you, so much so that no one would care when he went up the stairs to your room, and fucked you in your childhood bedroom, made properly into a woman under his rough hands and drooling cock. 

Best of all, your family would cast you out once you were found to be pregnant. You wouldn’t rat him out, would you? Not that it would matter. Thrown out, and all you could do was crawl to him, and let him put a scratched up ring on your finger.

 Arthur’s eyes slowly watched a guard take notice of him, tilting his head, as he ruminated on stripping you of all your finery, and selling all the dresses and jewels off. He raised his hand in greeting as the other man scrutinised him, exhaling some of his cigarette smoke and imaging your pretty flushed face as he kept you naked, promising you daily that your new clothes should be coming in any time now while getting to openly eye your cunt. The plantation guard started making his way over and Arthur decided against any sort of conversation, not while his cock was hard in his trousers and the image of you, shy and bare, was suspended in his mind, like those painted glass windows of the Virgin Mary in church. Luckily the man just stopped in his tracks and watched him ride off, unwilling to kick up a fuss. 

Arthur was thankful that Dutch hadn’t sprung this job on them a month ago. He wouldn’t have been able to get through the nights if he had to wait that long. Would have fucked up the plan somehow, no doubt. Stealing you right out of your sheets in the middle of the night most probably. 

But the day came. After so long, it was here. 

Riding alongside the carriage, he ignored the excited twitches from Sean, Dutch’s smug smirk as he glanced back at the gang, and even Bill’s complaining about the sun beating down his sweat soaked shirt. The driver seemed to enjoy the company, chatting with the ever affable Dutch as they made their way further and further away from the estate, and deeper into the sheltered, untamed land yet to be conquered. Arthur had hoped to see you before they set off, but he only got a rudimentary glance around the grounds and up at the balconies before he got an elbow in the side and an annoyed glance. No matter. He knew you’d be easily lured out by the promise of helping your family. 

The ambush was quick, easy, fucking child’s play. The driver, the poor man, had looked under his seat to grab a flask to share around, when Dutch caught Sean’s eye. The deafening, wet crack sounded as the boy swung his gun immediately down on the driver’s head, letting the man crumple. 

Dutch immediately lunged over to take hold of the reins, yanking the horses to the side, down and off the beaten path. Bill hung around on the road to look out for other riders down the path before following the others down into the trees, almost chuckling to himself. 

“Dutch, if this ain’t the easiest fuckin’ payday, I don’t know nothing.” 

Dutch just smirked to himself, swinging down from his horse. 

“Sean, bring the horses to Hosea, going to be worth a pretty penny.” He patted one of the pure white horses’ hindquarters as he swaggered his way towards the door of the carriage. 

There was a bit of movement from within. Arthur and Dutch both froze up for just a second before unholstering their guns, Bill needing a moment before he yanked his rifle from his shoulder. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“... Maybe the-” Sean began when the carriage door burst open. 

A big burly fucker came through, already swinging. His knuckles connected with Arthur’s cheek, sending both men sprawling down to the ground. His ear was ringing from where the punch landed, and the two of them started to wrestle on the ground. Gunshots rang out, first from the carriage, then from Bill and Dutch. 

Arthur felt blood swell in his mouth, but he just swallowed it down, lunging forward to smash his own face against the other man’s, breaking his nose instantly. He howled in pain, and stumbled back, trying to get away from the outlaw, but Sean’s hand was faster than his legs. Two gunshots rang out, and blood bloomed from the two holes in the fucker’s arm and trousers, the bullets having ripped through his thigh and shoulder. 

“Fuck… Fuckers… They’ll fucking hang you for this.” He wheezed, mud covering his face along with his blood, still alive.

Bill yanked Arthur to his feet, bruised and bloodied, but not as bad as the other man. 

“Shit. Aren’t they…?” Sean looked up at Dutch, from where the two men were holding the second one down. 

They are. They’re your bodyguards. But that means… 

Arthur made sure to step on his attacker, on the way to look into the carriage. Ducking his head in, suddenly surrounded by plush seats and pretty interior wallpaper, he held his breath, in either trepidation… Or excitement. 

And there you were. 

Tucked into the corner, face flushed with fear, clinging to your skirts. Frightened. Petrified like a little mouse. 

“Y-You…” You whispered. 

Arthur smiled. 

Then he reached inside and ripped you out of your seat. 

“Well, shit!” Dutch exclaimed as Arthur hauled you out of the carriage, holding you securely in his big arms as your two bodyguards kicked up a weak struggle again. “... The little princess is their nearest and dearest treasure? Well, that’s adorable.” 

He laughed and Bill grumbled. 

“So, does this mean that they don’t have any fuckin’ money in there?” 

“The bonds.” Your second bodyguard wheezed out. 

Arthur finally paid proper attention to him, always quietly dismissing him before. The younger of the two, a bit broader, and still putting up a valiant fucking fight despite the bruises littering his face and then blood oozing from his shin. 

“D-Don’t hurt her. There’s a box of bonds under the s-seat!” 

“Looks like someone’s got a crush.” Dutch snorted softly but stepped towards the carriage to root around inside. 

The blood soaking Arthur’s mouth soured on his tongue. Fucker. 

“My jewellery!” You suddenly said, tense in his arms. Warm. Soft. But tense. “That should fetch you around $200!” 

“You’re shitting me, girly.” Bill whistled through his teeth. 

Arthur disliked the way Sean’s eyes were suddenly pinned to the brooch by your breast, the gems glittering in the dappled light. 

“I’ll sort it.” He grumbled, trudging towards one of the trees and dumping you on the ground. 

Stripping you of your fineries was a fucking rush. His hands dragging over your pretty dress, unhooking the brooch, tilting your face to slip the earrings out, taking every ring from your pretty fingers. The only moment he paused, was to take the pearls from you. The beads of white splayed across your collarbones always had his stomach tightening. 

“They’re real.” You whispered, low, and he blinked at you. “They’re… They’re individually knotted, see? Means they’re real, so if it snaps, they won’t all scatter.” 

You had taken his pause as doubt. Silly, sweet thing. He watched your throat bob as you swallowed nervously. He could always give you-

“C’mon Morgan, don’t let her twist you around her little finger.” Dutch called.

Oh, but he already was. From head to toe, he belonged to you. But, he had a job to do. So he carefully slipped the pearls from your throat, his rough thumbs dragging over the sensitive skin. Arthur pocketed all of your little niceties, before slipping a length of rope from his satchel. Your doe eyes widened at it but it seemed that you were more of a deer than you realised, freezing instead of running. Not that it would have done anything. He was a hunter. 

He tied your wrists behind your back before binding your ankles, making sure to rip the stockings enough to catch a glimpse of skin. Before too long, your two loyal dogs were dragged over, bound with rope and gagged. 

Dutch sorted through the haul, satisfied smirk settling on his lips as he fiddled with your jewellery. 

“Good payout from this one, boys.” He finally announced, tucking it all into the satchel by his side. “All we have to do is deal with these three, and then we’re home free.” 

“I’ll do it.” Arthur immediately spoke up, arms crossed firmly over his chest. 

The older man eyed him closely, rolling his thick cigar between his thumb and forefinger. The way he scrutinised him made Arthur feel like Dutch could see into his heart, his head, to see exactly what he wanted, what he wanted more than the money. Everything else faded away as Sean snickered and Bill grumbled. Finally, the older man smirked. 

“Go ahead, Arthur.” He said, slow, as if measuring out his words intentionally. 

Permission. 

Arthur stood, stock still, as the others saddled up and took off, one by one, Dutch waiting to go last to shoot him a wink. The moment he disappeared through the trees, he exhaled slowly. He felt excitement build in his stomach, his cock rousing oh so slowing, just from breathing in the nature around him… And the bluebells. 

“Just let us go.” The older bodyguard spat out his gag and demanded, through a mouthful of blood. Someone had stemmed the bleeding so he’d have some time to go get some help and survive. Maybe. “We can make our own way back. You don’t gotta kill us.” 

Arthur stepped closer, gait slow and relaxed before picking up the sodden gag and ramming it back into the bodyguard’s bloodied mouth. He could feel the man’s front tooth break against his knuckles as he yanked his hand free. 

“Just shut it.” Arthur grumbled, looking at the grazed skin of his hand. 

Before too long, his gaze was back on you. You weren’t gagged, nor as thoroughly tied up as your two loyal dogs. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you by making the ropes too tight, but also… Easier to get them off this way. 

“I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He finally said, and saw your entire body tense up in fear. 

He wanted to do the opposite of hurting you. He wanted to free you. 

Arthur saw the two bodyguards start to try and fight their bindings as he got closer to you, taking you by your bound ankles and dragging you away from the tree the three of you were leaning against. Not exactly a four poster bed with nice blankets, but the grass was soft. You started to wriggle, making soft, cute noises behind that gag. Gripping your knees, he spread them enough to settle in between. Not going to yank up your skirts yet. 

“Relax, sweetheart.” He murmured, taking a moment to squeeze your sides. “I’m gonna be a gentleman about this.”  

You gave the most adorable little terrified whine. He could almost mistake it for a sigh of pleasure, and he couldn’t wait to hear more. 

Ignoring the muffled protests from the two bodyguards, the younger one almost frantic in his objections, Arthur stroked over your sides before reaching up to fiddle with the neckline of your dress. His rough fingers weren’t nimble, not like Javier’s, at least not with the dainty little buttons and fine drawstrings. But, despite your wriggling and soft pleas, he managed to get your cute little blouse open… With the knife he kept by his thigh. A quick slice opened it right up, showing off the overbust corset you wore. Soft, cream coloured thing, cupping your bosom in such a tantalising way. Arthur was transfixed by the way your breasts heaved with every shaking breath, nearly slipping free to let him see those pretty nipples. 

You gave another sweet little whine and Arthur dragged the flat of his tongue over one of his canines. He wanted to hear your words, no matter if you were going to beg, scream, plead. It didn’t matter. Because eventually, you’d be moaning for him. You’re going to want more and more of him. He shifts his weight and leans forward to drag the piece of fabric from your mouth, noticing how dry and chapped your pretty lips had gotten. 

“Please-” You immediately whispered, once your mouth was freed. You quickly darted your tongue out, just to wet your bottom lip but his blue-green eyes snagged onto the movement. “Please, don’t-” 

“Hush.” Arthur pressed his coarse thumb against your lips. “Been wanting to make this good for you, don’t make me wanna take that back if you start kicking up a fuss.” 

Your eyes slowly widened in realisation as he leaned away, dragging your blouse down your arms and fully away from your torso. This quiet, tall, man who your father had assured you was trustworthy, had not only planned the robbery… But this. With you. You felt tears beginning to well up in your eyes, and Arthur was too busy fighting with your corset to notice. 

It was just a light corset, from the softness of your stomach, reaching up to gently cradle your breasts, but it was like trying to get off a full body chastity belt. The drawstrings on the back were tightly knotted, and even when he turned you on your side to try and free them, they were just too fucking complicated to untie. He turned you on your back again with a grunt.

With a low sigh, Arthur took up his knife again, rubbing the blade against his dusty trousers. You blinked your wet eyes, terrified but too frozen to start begging again. You could almost feel the blade sinking into your belly, cutting you open even if he didn’t mean to. You weren’t put at ease by his easy, small smile, nor his large hand resting on your side to keep you from squirming.

“Don’t worry, pretty thing. I know my way around a knife well enough.” 

Arthur slid the knife underneath the first string of your corset and swiftly jerked his blade upwards, cutting it open and loosening the garment. He could vaguely hear one of the bodyguards shout through his gag and wriggle helplessly, but most of his attention was taken by the first reveal of your skin. With a sense of awe, he stroked his rough thumb against the flesh, feeling you shiver between his thighs. Have you ever been touched like this? Worshipped? Did you even know all the ways a woman could be held and caressed and fucked?

Suddenly feeling like a parched man who had a single drop of water, he was ravenous for more, more of you. Forgoing his careful cutting, he laid the smooth side of the blade against your spine, and wrenched the serrated edge of it through the intricate laces. You gave a cute little squeal of terror at the feeling, but Arthur was true to his word. He didn’t even nick your back with his knife. 

He gripped your sides and pushed you onto your back and wrestled the tattered remains of your ripped corset off you, flinging the garment to the side, into the mud. Your chest was finally freed for him. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, you were perfect. The prettiest tits he’d ever laid eyes on. Arthur had been with a fair few women, but fuck. Cute breasts, with your softened nipples hardening in the air. His cock strained against his trousers. He felt like he was a young man again, excitement brewing in his gut to a disgusting degree. 

Slap! 

You cried out softly as his gloved hand left a red mark against the side of your chest, watching it jiggle from the smack. 

“Sorry.” Arthur gave a crooked smile. “Couldn’t help myself.” 

Neither could the young buck apparently. His eyes widened and stared at your tits, perky nips all stiff, begging to be sucked. He could imagine ruining you with babies, one always on your breast, feeding, and then he’d get his own turn, getting to drink his fill as you whispered to save some for your children. His balls throbbed. 

“D’aw, look at that.” He gripped your chin with his filthy, dirty fingers, smearing some mud on you, and pulled your face to look at the boy. “Aren’t you glad I got to you first? He was going to creep in and fuck you on your nice sheets, you can tell.” 

He loved the look of bewilderment on your face, at the thought of one of the men you trusted would look at you like that. You whimpered and Arthur cooed at you, trailing his fingertips across your cheek, just to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He leaned down and breathed in your scent, just below your ear. Bluebells. Fear. God, you were delicious. He never took stock in scaring his lovers, but you… You made him feel somehow bigger than you than he already was. Like a bad man. 

You couldn’t take the look in your bodyguard’s eyes anymore, a split between horror and arousal. It felt like a betrayal of the safety his eyes once promised you. But when you pulled away from looking at him, you were cheek to cheek with the brute, the brute whose entire body enveloped you. His skin was rough, stubbly, hot. Sweaty. His clothed chest against your bare one, his deep breaths against your ear making the hair on your arms and neck stand up. He smelt… Your thighs shook a bit. Different. He smelt different, different to any man you’d met before. You were used to perfumed gentlemen, clad in cologne and the pomade they put in their hair. He smelt of none of that. Leather, gun oil, like horsehair, like sweat. Like a deep musk seeping from his skin. Like… Like a man. 

You felt his chapped lips breath against your cheek before pressing against it more firmly. A kiss. Your breath caught in your throat. Again… Another kiss, against your cheek, against your jaw and then he paused, mouth nearly touching yours. You could already taste the whiskey on his breath. 

Arthur crashed his lips against yours, losing his control at the last moment. He guessed he should have treated it like a kiss at the altar, a kiss of marriage, but he couldn’t, he had spent too long thinking about it, jerking his cock as he pressed two fingers against his lips, lost in the dreams of your desperate kisses as you humped his cock. Fuck. His lips had just barely touched yours, tasting you, when he slipped his tongue in, dragging it along your teeth before pressing further. He couldn’t stop his own breathless moan, his cock jutting right where your cunt was hidden, beneath your skirts. God, you tasted… So good. Sweet, with a hint of blood. You must have been biting your cheek, or your tongue. You were wound so tight, like a spring, and he couldn’t wait to hear what noises you would make for him. 

You whined into his mouth, the alcohol on his tongue, the cigarette taste dripping into yours, the blood that was no doubt from the fist fight earlier, your bitten cheek stinging as his tongue dragged against it. You could hear one of your bodyguards shout against his gag, probably for the brute to stop, but you both ignored him. You were a realist. Your breasts were free, he was kissing you and you could feel his… His thing pressing against your private place. You knew what he wanted. Your mother had warned you at a young age what men want; you knew why you had bodyguards. 

Arthur pulled away, a long bridge of spit connecting both of your bottom lips, only to gently split when he got further away. He wasted no time, ducking his head to drop equally wet kisses to your hard nipples, giving one sharp suck. You gasped softly, biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the noise, not wanting to excite him further. He spent some time just kissing and sucking at them, rolling the nipple along his teeth and tongue, tugging with his head every now and then just to make you repeat the sound that got his cock throbbing something unbearable. 

Straightening back up, he shucked his belt free and fought to get his trousers open. His erection strained against the fabric and he already knew that his long johns would be stained from the precum that had been seeping freely from his cockhead. It only happened with you, not even with Mary, back when she was Mary Gillis who was so sweet on him, before she was a Linton and only came to him when she needed something. Arthur chased the thought away from this moment, not wanting to be thinking of another woman when one so perfect lay half naked before him. 

Yanking down his trousers and tucking his long johns below his balls, you finally got a good look at the monster you would be dealing with. You fell completely silent, no more whimpers or whines, just staring at his dusky cock, the head a deep, angry red, with a droplet of… Something hanging off the tip. While you fell silent, your bodyguards were shocked back into speech once more, shouting through their gags, the younger one wrestling at his restraints and smacking the back of his head against the tree in frustration. Stupid boy looked like he was about to cry. 

Now, Arthur had a plan, well, an old plan. What he had wanted to, when he lured you out of the house, told you that you could get your family’s riches back, then trapped you in the abandoned house he had found in the forest. Well, it was abandoned after he left a bullet between a hermit’s eyes, but hey, he washed the blood out of the floors so you wouldn’t be forced to see that. He’d treat it like your wedding night. Suck at your clit and finger you until you came and then fuck you, like a good Christian man. Then he’d show you all the ways to make a man feel good, all the ways a woman could cum. 

But fuck, it was hard sticking to the plan right now. 

Kissing it goodbye, he gripped your soft sides and dragged you down, letting the dirt get into your hair. Your doe-eyes were still staring at his cock, the way it was just too fat to stand all the way up. God, he just needed to cum. Then he can carry you off and do this properly. 

“Listen,” Arthur went back to dragging his thumb over the curve of your breasts before gently flicking a wetted nipple. His dark eyes glinted underneath the shadow of his hat. “I’m real sorry about your nice pearls, ma’am.” 

You tore your gaze away from the fat monster resting against your sternum. 

“E-Excuse me?” You managed, blinking up at him. 

“That nice pearl necklace.” He repeated, lips quirked like he was letting you in on a private joke. “Was thinkin’ that I give you another one. To show how sorry I am we had to take all ya nice things.” 

You started getting a bad feeling. 

“No, no, that’s okay, sir, please-” His thumb covered your bottom lip before you could say another word. His cock throbbed. Arthur liked that you called him sir. 

“Hush. Ain’t no trouble for the prettiest thing I ever seen.” His smile was sharp. 

Arthur lowered himself just a bit more, nearly sitting on your belly, but now his cock lay squarely between your breasts, the precum rolling down, onto your skin. Fuck, the sight already did things to him. Cupping your breasts, he made sure to give your abused buds another pinch before pressing them firmly together, encasing his cock in soft, warm flesh. Fuck. Just needed one more thing. 

He used his thumbs to part the flesh covering his cockhead, revealing the drooling thing, and spat down onto it, enjoying your squeak of surprise that trailed off into a whine. Sounded like you liked it, deep down. He hoped you did, it would open up the future to talking you into doing everything a good church wife would never dream of doing, and what wives in love do with gusto and throaty moans. 

Lost in the thought of you mouthing at his ballsack, he began to thrust his cock between your tits, aided by the spit lubricating the skin and his erection. You gasped softly as it roughly moved against your skin, the head bumping against your collarbones every time he drove himself to the base. Wet skin against skin, it made a soft slapping sound as he thrust himself between your breasts. It was obscene, it was dirty. Your mother had talked about the ravages of man, the vicar at church had warned against sins of the flesh, but not even overhearing dirty jokes between your bodyguards would ever had you imaging this, a man, a brute, with a monster between his legs and a dizzying musk using your breasts to… To relieve himself. It should disgust you, being used by someone who was no better than a rutting farm animal, who ripped you free of your jewels and clothes, but you were all too aware that between your thighs, there was something warm growing. You felt too sweaty, as if it wasn’t just the sun beating down on you that had you shivering and short of breath. You were sticky between the thighs, the same way you got when you watched Elijah, your older bodyguard, wet his forearms in the lake before heading to you, when you thought about some of the rambles your vicar would go on about. He had a vivid imagination as he ranted about the lows men and women would sink to, rutting at each other in the street, unwed and open to be seen. 

Like you are now. 

The thought had a gasp slipping past your lips and the brute’s eyes flicked to yours, hazy and dark and blown so wide that they looked almost entirely black. Whatever he saw in yours must have been too much for him.

Arthur’s fingernails bit into your soft skin as he gritted his teeth, fighting back his pleasure, but he couldn’t. It had been too long with just his hand and used prostitutes. You were soft and looking up at him like… Like that. With your big eyes filling with heat as he fucked your tits. He was dirtying you. 

His breath caught in his throat and his hips stuttered in their thrusts. Cum splattered against your skin, Arthur quickly gripping the base of his cock, aiming to spread his heavy load across your shoulders and throat. You gasped in shock, a fat drop of his release splashing against your bottom lip. You couldn’t stop your tongue slipping out to lick it up, even as your stomach flipped in disgust of your own actions. 

“There you go, missy.” Arthur finally managed to say, throaty and low. “A pearl necklace, good as new.”

You could barely comprehend his words, feeling dazed from being used, from the taste of his cum, as small as it was, flooding your tongue. Maybe you didn’t notice, or maybe you didn’t care, when Arthur pushed himself off of you, instead settling himself between your legs, your skirt bunching up just a bit. 

You were only brought back to the moment when you noticed he wasn’t moving, his cock still half hard. He was just kneeling there, breathing hard, his fingers gently stroking your stockinged shin. His tongue darted out, swiping against his bottom lip before retreating back. After a moment he groaned. 

“Fuck. I ain’t a monster, miss.” He muttered, just for you and him. “I was going to wait, treat you real nice, make sure you felt all wedded before I…” 

Your stomach tightened. This man, this man who walked into your home, politely taking his hat off when your father talked to him, looked awkward and too small for the armchair he had picked to sit in, someone who your guards had noticed riding along the borders of the estate, had planned this. 

He was going to do this, even if you hadn’t been in the carriage. Shock prickled at your skin, your lungs feeling too big for your body. Yet your thighs felt sticky, and… And the place between them felt warm. 

“But I can't.” Arthur finally admitted after a pause. “But I’ll make it good.” 

The promise made your heart thud hard in your chest, hammering against your ribcage as if it was fighting to get out, to get away, but your legs were slowly relaxing into the dirt, allowing him to manhandle them, pushing your skirt up more, to your knees, up, up, up until-

He gave a low whistle, taking in the soft flesh of your legs, your stockings held up by your garters. Arthur takes a moment to admire them, how they squish the soft skin of your thighs so tantalisingly.

 "You know, I've heard that it's customary for the groom to take these off with his teeth." Arthur murmured, slightly hoarse, as his thumb slipped underneath the fabric, just to ping it against your flesh with a smirk. 

He didn't wait for any acknowledgement, as he ducked his head down, pulling your skirt down, over his head with a self indulgent chuckle. You squirmed and tried to kick, as his stubbled cheek scratched your sensitive skin. You couldn’t help it, it tickled and you had to fight back a giggle, a part of you still too aware of the two men staring at the display, one cursing and trying to fight his binds, the other one defeated and shoulders hunched. What would they think if you started giggling, squirming as this brute, ducked underneath your skirt, was trying to get your garters off. Would they believe that you, god forbid, was enjoying this? Enjoyed the way he had handled you, groped you, sucked and… And pleasured himself with your chest? What would they say to your family- Oh! 

One garter gave way, and Arthur emerged, victorious with it clenched between his teeth. He tucked it into his pocket before peeling your skirt back up, one stocking already bunching around your knee, the other still held tight by the garter. He liked the image. Made you somehow more debauched in his eyes. So perfect for him. He’d like to imagine in another life you wouldn’t belong to your family, instead being a girl at the saloon, or working at one of the farms. You’d still smell of bluebells, but you would have seen him. Actually seen him, as a man, instead of the help your father paid for. Your bodyguards wouldn’t be there, and all your father could do was threaten him with a shotgun, but you’d still meet him in the trees, pulling up your skirts to let him fuck into you, whining his name as you bounced. You’d be happy to marry him, because your life was routine, slow, and he wasn’t. You’d live with him in his tent, and unlike Molly and Abigail, you’d be happy. Never ignored, gossiping with the other girls, looking so pretty in your underclothes when you do the laundry, your nipples showing through the fabric, and slapping Javier when he flirted with you, reminding him you were good as married. Dancing with him at the campfire, playing with Jack, trying to hide your giggles as you two overheard Dutch and Molly going at it, only to do the same, moaning to each other softly, privately. Being so sweet to everyone but refusing to let anyone but Arthur treat you in a husbandly way. Kissing his bloodied knuckles, massaging his back and cheekily patting his ass after a long ride. 

It would have been perfect. But it didn’t matter, because in the end, he’s got you now anyway. 

Finally his gaze rises to your unmentionables, the fabric looking soft and nearly see through. Whenever he saw the other girls’ undergarments drying at camp, they looked comfy but not enticing. You could be wearing his own long johns and he’d still think you’re the most fuckable creature on God’s green earth. He’d have killed to see you swimming in your under-things when he had been watching you from his horse just a week ago. You would have looked practically naked and snapped his control completely, stealing you away the moment you climbed out from the water.

He slipped the fabric down, revealing your gorgeous peach of a cunt to him. A precious thatch of hair just above it, but the best part… The lips of your kitty. Wet. Glistening in the setting sun.

You shook beneath him. 

“Sir…” You finally uttered, naked except for your mismatched stockings, and your slip having been bunched above your private place and below your belly button. “I… Please…” 

But you didn’t know what you were begging for. Anyone could ride by, see this man towering over you, almost completely bare, and see two lovers needing to touch each other, as long as they didn’t look slightly beyond to the two tied up men, shouting again and fighting against the ropes that bound them. You felt warm and flushed, as if with a fever, sweaty between your thighs and at your temples. You were never so aware of your breasts before, with his white liquid staining them, nipples sucked and still wet. You felt like… Like some sort of whore. And for a terrifying moment, you could only think that if all the women who worked the night and the saloon felt this way, you’d have happily joined them, wearing next to nothing and being desired. You felt disgusted with yourself, with the man who thought he could take from you freely like this, just because he wanted to. 

So you were at an impasse with yourself, as Arthur reached down and slowly jerked his cock, squeezing the head so that precum would gently ooze from the slit. You didn’t fight as he spread your thighs, nor when he ducked his head, a part of you wondering if he was going to breathe in your scent again, like he did at the side of your neck. You felt him inhale deeply and then-

You arched your back with a whorish moan, shaking your head as if in disbelief. You could hear a faint despairing moan of your own name, but everything else trickled away, like water poured on drying watercolours. 

All there was was his tongue on you, focusing on something that made you wriggle and cry out, jutting your hips into his face. You could feel him chuckle against you, one of his large hands cupping the outside of your thigh to keep you steady.

Arthur loved that you had never been tasted down here. You were a bucker, just like his favourite horse that he kept away from camp, safe in the stables to prevent any remarks from Javier or Bill. The treatment you were going to get. You worked your lower half to practically fuck his face with your pussy, any attention on your clit making you go to pieces. God, have you ever touched yourself? Did you even know that you could have spent your night, laying on your bed and rubbing at your cunt and cumming your brains out? Would that have helped him lure you away? Such a repressed little rich girl, rubbing at her kitty and needing a big cock to ride on, willingly following him, someone who promised to give her a real fuck. 

But no, this was better. Untouched, already so wet that your slick was trickling down your thighs and his chin, the heady taste dominating his mouth so wonderfully. Better than any drink he’d ever had. 

He kissed and licked until you were practically sobbing, switching between begging for more and wishing for him to stop, it was too much. You just needed another nudge. So he slowly parted his lips and sucked your clit into his mouth, encompassing it in a wet heat, tongue rubbing on the sensitive little bundle of nerves. 

You squealed, loud and unabashed, your back arching as something was pulled from you, something deep in your stomach unravelling until you could do nothing but weakly buck. The heat had ebbed away, your private place wet, and not just from his saliva. 

“Good girl,” You heard him murmur against your thigh, lips wet as they kissed the skin. “I think I’ll make a proper squirter out of you yet. You seem the type.” 

You didn’t know what he even meant, so lost in the aftershocks of the sensation. Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then licked the remaining juices from it, not wanting anything to go to waste. 

He knew you were more than ready. Your hole was so wet, so pliant from his tongue and your orgasm that you were no doubt more than prepared to take his cock. God could come down and punish him, the Devil could come up and drag him down, but he would fight to fuck you before either could stop him.

Jerking his cock a few times to full hardness once more, he let you just lie in your bliss, dazed from pleasure before he nudged your clit again, this time with his cockhead. He wasn’t making it a secret of what he wanted next. Arthur slowly just swiped it through your folds, your wetness gathering around the head and slipping down his shaft. The muffled shouts from the tied up men grew in volume again, but he couldn’t care anymore. You were relaxed and open to him, and they were restrained to a tree and probably harder than they had ever been in their life. Not his problem, and not yours either by the end of the day. 

“Relax for me, girl.” He slowly began to press in. Arthur was vaguely amused that he was using the same phrases he had for his horse on you, but it was working. “All ready for me, aren’t you, sweet thing?” 

You gave a soft moan as his cockhead was fully encompassed by your warmth, the sensation of it parting your walls making you so incredibly dizzy with… With… Something. Pleasure. Pleasure you never even tasted before. But it also stung, being split apart like this, by something so big, so hot. Your breath caught in your chest, and you struggled to breath out, making a choked noise. It made his cock twitch inside of you. 

“Breath, missy, breath.” He whispered against your cheek, enveloping your body with his again. “There you go, letting me in so easily. So easy for me.” 

You groaned, your legs pressing tightly against his sides, using your knees to try and urge him deeper. You could feel his chest rumble with a chuckle as he pushed in further and further, your wetness slipping down his balls and your thighs. It did hurt, it stung, but your body moved on its own, needing to feel more of him as tears pricked at your eyes. 

“Yes, that’s good.” Arthur chuckled. “Tighten your knees, like you’re riding a horse. Much better. Taking me so well.” 

A breath escaped your lips so quickly, a mixture of a laugh and a sigh as you felt him bury himself to the hilt, his balls pressing against your privates. He groaned deeply, feeling you soft, snug cunt wrap around him so well, fluttering as his cock throbbed. Fuck. He hoped you bled a bit. Not a lot, but enough to prove that he stole your virginity, that even if one of those bastards got loose and shot him through the head, they couldn’t take this away. You’d remember your first orgasm, at his tongue, and of his fat cock and the little trickle of blood seeping down his erection. 

He couldn’t wait any longer. You whined at his hips slowly starting to rock, and gave a strangled gasp the moment he gave up any semblance of gentility and instead began to rut into you, each thrust harder than the last. His cockhead pounded into you, ruthlessly hitting your cervix as Arthur groaned, low and deep, the type that reverberated deliciously. Everything about him filled you up. You could taste his skin against your tongue; his scent having traces of his cock, from when he fucked it between your tits. His moans filled your ears, and his cock overwhelmed your cunt completely. He was just so big, his arms wrapping around you easily, his chest broader than yours, his erection ruthlessly splitting you open. 

You both could hear the faint resumed shouts from the guards, probably death threats and promises of what would happen the moment they got free, that he’ll be dead within the day no matter what. It all just faded away. None of it could surpass the haven of combined moans, the smell of sex slipping between your two bodies, skin against skin, pleasure throbbing in your veins, under your skin, even as Arthur roughly gripped your hair and forced your mouth against his in another kiss. 

The loud slap of his body against yours, his balls throbbing against the lips of your cunt, his tongue pressing against yours, insisting on mixing your blood together, his hand, stealing under his own body to grope at your chest. He encompassed you, and your whimpers of pain from the merciless insertion into you was turning into whines and moans, noises only a whore could make when being used by this thug, their attacker. Good girls were supposed to scream and kick and hope a gentleman comes along to apprehend the savage who would dare to take a lady of good repute in such a manner. No one warned you that this man, this man who smelt of sweat and gun oil and unwashed skin, could make you lose yourself this easily, with just a few licks of his tongue and setting a ruinous pace into your unprotected cunt. 

Your eyes shot open at the thought, now too aware of what he would want to do. To you, not just to you, but in you. His last… Release had dried on your collarbones, now flaking off with every rub of his clothed chest against your bare one.

“S-Sir,” You hiccuped out, tears of past pain, pleasure and worry creeping to your eyes again. But to Arthur? The shine of your eyes made him feel intoxicated. “Please, don’t- Not inside. Not in there.” 

You really should have kept your sweet mouth shut, Arthur thought in a haze, your words doing nothing but making him even harder. Of course you didn’t know all the filthy words you needed to use to get him to understand. Which he did, but it wasn’t going to stop him from breeding your tight little cunt anyway. It almost made him smile to himself, imagining your mother sitting with you on the bed, chalk in hand as she spelt out all the important words for you to know in order to fuck a man. Cum and cunt, and cock and-

“Not inside!” You hiccuped again, gripping his shoulders tighter, a tear slipping free and wetting your lips.”I can’t- It won’t-” 

Arthur reached up and gripped your chin, making sure you were looking him in the eye. 

“You can and it will.” He breathed out, the smell of cigarettes and whiskey fanning over you, giving you a second hand buzz. “Daddy won’t ever know, if that’s why you’re so worried.” 

Your voice was lost, too busy moaning and shaking in his arms, the heat from your lower stomach slowly unravelling again, like a spool of thread slipping loose from your fingers and spilling its guts. Your legs began to kick involuntarily, unable to take another dose of pleasure, the toes of your shoes digging into the wet earth. 

His cock couldn’t handle the way you were tightening around him, and he could do nothing but speed up, tucking his face into your neck and grunting loudly. You were just too hot, too snug around him, you looked more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen in his life as the sun slowly set on your pleasured face, lips bitten and swollen from kissing. 

Arthur slammed all the way into you with a groan. He came, came so hard as if a large weight was lifted from him as he emptied himself deep inside of you. He stayed there for a while, feeling you slump down, drained after the first two orgasms of your life. You would be dazed for a while longer, so he should shake off his lethargy, the instinct to grab a smoke and roll over next to you. He couldn’t take the risk of the bodyguards getting free at last, or anyone else trotting along this path. Or you shaking off the afterglow of sex and deciding that this was going to be a one time thing. 

Pulling his trousers back up, Arthur tucked his cock away before half heartedly dressing you, doing enough to cover your bare pussy and tits, but leaving most of your lovely dress in tatters on the ground, soaked in cum and blood. He grinned. Your family would have no doubt of what had happened to their most prized treasure. His now. 

With a furtive glance over at the two bound men, he noticed with satisfaction one was still half hard. The other had a big wet patch on his trousers and looked away in shame. Stupid kid. The older one, with his erection flagging slowly, began to shift and strain again, his wrists bloodied with rope burn and his face burnt from the sun. Arthur hoisted you up onto his horse which had spent the last half hour chewing sleepily on grass and trying to eat the younger man’s hat. He made sure he still had his share of the loot to deliver to the camp later. You barely managed a coherent objection when he tugged you against his stomach, making sure you wouldn’t slip from the saddle.

With a click of his tongue, he urged his horse forward, into the trees, leaving the shouts of the guards behind, as you slumped against him. Arthur held you close, carefully manoeuvring through the thicket, only taking his eyes off the road to bow his head and breath in the faint perfume of bluebells, underneath the smell of sex. 

Epilogue: 

From a young age, you had been promised to a nice gentleman’s son. Their family lived in town. They weren’t as wealthy as your own kin. They weren’t as highly regarded. But over a game of cards and a few drinks of very fine whiskey, your father clapped his new friend on the back and talked about his drunken desire for their children to be joined in matrimony. Even when he sobered up, he held firm. 

You met your fiance a fair few times. You were just a bit taller than him, so he would start to wear heeled boots and your ones were packed away. He was about four years your senior, but had yet to grow out of the sweet awkwardness of being a young man, at least around you. He was nice. Complimented your mother. Trotted after your father. Gawked at you. 

“He was looking into your eyes.” One of your maids whispered as she did your hair for the night. “Such a sweet boy, he was so besotted at dinner.” 

He wasn’t. You knew he was staring at your chest. It made you feel dirty, knowing that he barely listened to what you said, and focused on every glimpse of skin, like a salivating dog. But you knew your father wouldn’t take your side in this. If anything, he’d give a hoot of laughter and say your fiance was paying you a compliment. 

So you said nothing.  Time passed and you got taller than him. He started growing a weak moustache. It tickled when he kissed your hand. 

Your father had hired your body guards after you left the house one night, to sneak into town. You didn’t get very far. Your maid woke him up and you were brought back. She stopped talking to you about your fiance’s sweet nature after that. 

But Thomas and Elijah were nice. Sometimes you’d spend more time with Elijah in one day than you would do with your father in a month. Thomas was just a farmhand that was thought to be loyal enough to be trained up with Elijah. They went everywhere you did. You preferred them over your Mother’s dogs. 

You remember the day you met Arthur. The day, not him, even as he recalled it, murmuring against your hair about how you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, the only thing he could ever want. You wish you could be that poetic about it. 

The day prior, a maid had let it slip that your fiance had a certain reputation around some of the unsavoury businesses around town. You lied to your Mother about going to meet a friend and rode in. Elijah was wary and Thomas had begun to sweat after you mentioned to them where exactly you wanted them to take you. They didn’t want to. But you knew how to get your way. 

It wasn’t heart breaking, getting to hear what your future husband was doing. A whore house frequenter, gambler, and it seems he wasn’t much good at either of those activities. By the time you couldn’t hear anymore, you were embarrassed on his behalf. On the way out, you overheard Thomas mumbling something about how it seems like your marriage bed is going to be deeply miserable and Elijah smacked the back of his head. He obviously didn’t mean for you to overhear, but you did. 

Then Arthur was there. You stepped out, into the sun, passed by a bulky man, who towered over you. You might have even looked at him. You don’t know. 

Then you went home. 

 You always thought about what Thomas said. Your marriage bed being a miserable one.You were a virgin of course, up until the day Arthur finally “married” you. The only man you’ve been with was Arthur. Before him, you wondered about your fiance having the reputation of being bad in bed. Almost like you were trying to appease yourself, you tried to reason that you probably wouldn’t even know what bad sex would be like, since you never had it before. Maybe it would be good to you, a virgin, and bad to the… Women of the Night. 

You never wondered, not with Arthur. Fuck, if someone told you that Arthur was bad at sex, you’d shrug anyway. 

The way he sucked your clit like he was a man parched, had you seeing stars. His thick fingers roughly spread you, letting your slick coat your thighs, the way they hungrily dig into your mouth afterwards. His fat cock, laying against your belly, nearly reaching your belly button before he pressed it inside of you. You loved it all. 

You felt like a whore. You were never so aware of your cunt, even when your mother sat you down and explained what you would be expected to do for your wedding night. It had been a few weeks away and she would never know that you would be gone that week and would have first hand experience about what a man would feel like. Now, after Arthur raped you of your virginity, and took you home, you were nothing but aware of it. Your clit throbbing gently. Your soaked peach of a cunt. Your hole, always aching, almost like phantom pain, too aware that there wasn’t a fat cock nestled inside. You were aware of your breasts. Arthur had ruined your corsets, and never deemed to go and get you more. Most days you didn’t even wear a full dress anymore, just in an underdress, with your puffy nipples poking through. Almost daily Arthur would get distracted by them and start mouthing away at the poor things through the fabric. 

You wondered if this is what those women, those prostitutes, felt like. Slowly rubbing your hands over your slightly swollen belly, you felt strangely light. No corsets, no tight dresses. Just the underdress, with your stockings sometimes. No underwear. You never delighted in being naked, but now you feel constricted when dressed. 

The bed under you shifted as Arthur sat up, his broad, tanned back covered in fresh scratches as he stretched. 

“Gotta head to the camp today. Dutch is getting real antsy again.” He said, before glancing over his shoulder at you. 

His hard eyes were trained on your face, your own eyes, before greedily skittering down to your naked breasts, your stomach,  lingering on your glistening cunt before he finished it off with a loving look at your ankles. Arthur really liked your ankles. 

“Will you be gone long?” You mumbled, feeling your cunt throb. 

“Not too long, darlin’.” He leaned back down, elbow against the bed, to slowly nose up your throat before pressing a kiss against your lips. 

So gentle. Gentle and loving. Not like during sex. It was like when he got his hands on you again, he mentally went back to the first time he got to have you. Rough, and dirty and good. Sex was always like that, even when he took you to a cabin he probably removed the owners from. You’d still fight tooth and nail, and he’d still indulge in you. You can’t remember when you couldn’t hide how good it felt anymore. 

The daughter of a rich man shouldn’t be moaning like a whore on the cock of the man who kidnapped her, but it wasn’t like you were fooling him anyway, not with how your cunt adored him from the moment he fucked you open. It welcomed him in, even when you didn’t. 

And now here you two were. Addicted to each other, with you playing the barely clothed housewife to the man that stole you. At least your husband was no doubt a better fuck that your fiance had ever been. As Arthur ducked his head to tongue one of your nipples into his hot, wet mouth, you gazed at your wedding ring on your finger, carding itself through his dusty blond hair. The slightly raised scar on your ring finger was more striking than any engagement ring your fiance had gifted you. 

Arthur had given it to you just after he rode off, leaving your body guards in the dust, and spent hours on horseback, getting further and further away. No one stopped him, even with the half naked woman on the back. He barely got the door open to your new home, when he was on you again, desperately tasting your skin and sinking two fingers deep inside of your dirty, cum filled cunt. It was only when he pressed back inside of you with a low moan, did he raise your filthy fingers to his mouth, to kiss over and over again, before singling out your ring finger on your right hand and pressing the digit into his mouth, against his tongue. The warm, wet of his mouth had disgusted you, but your fighting was cut short when he suddenly clamped his teeth down on the finger. It was painful, the way he bit down, to the point you were crying and firmly believed that he had reached the bone. 

Every day, he opened it back up, biting down on the barely scabbed over wound, until it finally scarred. It looked like a ring too. Your wedding ring. Forever in your skin. 

Sometimes you compared Arthur to the boy you barely knew as your fiance. 

He was bigger. Bulkier. His stubble grew in evenly, unlike the other man’s spotty moustache. Arthur didn’t seem to have time for the women of the night, you could tell by the way he greedily buried himself inside of you every time he came home. Arthur was… Twice your age? Maybe a bit more. You liked it. He knew the way to touch you till you came around his fingers. You doubted your fiance would have been able to do so. Arthur was poorer. He was an outlaw. He killed people. 

It made you wonder sometimes. As Arthur’s tongue released your nipple and his kisses pressed over your stomach, down to your cunt, you struggled to maintain your train of thought. Especially the way he would fixate on your clit, already puffy and sore, and suck on the poor thing until you came directly on his chin, soaking his beard. 

You caught back a hold of your thought, even when Arthur seemed very intent on making you as empty headed as he could. 

You wondered, when Arthur would inevitably be killed, or captured and sent to jail, would your fiance do the gentlemanly thing and still marry you. You, whose cunt was still full of a dead man’s cum, with his ring around your finger. You wondered if he’d take in any kids Arthur gave you. 

You wondered if you could survive without him, now that he had shown you exactly what you needed, even if you didn’t know it at the time. 

As Arthur hungrily pressed a kiss to your ankle and hooked them over his shoulders, to sink into your hungry cunt, you hoped your fiance would eventually marry you, if the man bullying his cock inside of you would ever leave you. 

The thought of Arthur’s bastards being legitimised and getting to inherit their grandfather’s estate made you smile. Smile, until you gasped and whined, your husband’s lips sucking a hungry mark into your throat, as he bottomed out inside of you. 

To be honest, you hoped Arthur lived forever. He was your husband, but the little things he did always meant so much to you. Little things that mattered. Kept you safe. Cooked for you. Whispered in your ear that your eyes were beautiful, and then would compliment your tits. Come home and run his hands over your sides and kiss your shoulders and murmur that you should stop outshining the sun, or he’d never leave the house again. Oh, and he was the only one who loved and complimented your bluebell perfume. 

[r0seb100d]

PLEASE DO A FLUFFY DALLAS X READER CUDDLING ONESHOT WHERE THEY JUST KISS AND CUDDLE AND LOVE EACHOTHER AND JUST FLUFFFF

Hello! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy <3 🤍

Warnings: fem!reader, fluff, kissing.

Oh, be my once in a lifetime

Though the muffled echo of Hank Williams playing downstairs from Buck’s bar was mildly irritating, especially at 10 p.m., the steady rhythm of Dallas’ heartbeat as y/n lay on his chest felt like home.

Dallas was running his fingers through her silky hair, his nails gently grazing her scalp, causing y/n to press herself closer to him. 

“Feels nice.” She mumbled into his chest. He smirked slightly, glancing down at her, also loving how relaxing it felt to just lay like this after an exhausting day.

“Oh yeah?” His tone was half curious, half teasing.

“Mhm.” Y/n ran her cherry-red nails up his chest, reaching to play with his St. Christopher chain, twirling it between her fingers, admiring its faded silver, so worn out from being used as a lighter for his matches; she couldn’t deny that she found that habit sort of sweet and amusing, even though smoking was more than gross to her. 

The tickle of her fingers against his chest sent a shiver through Dallas’ body, and he shifted slightly before reaching behind and pulling the chain off. Y/n sat up in confusion, gazing at his beautiful moonlit face, wondering what he was doing; maybe it was uncomfortable and he wanted to take it off.

“Come closer, doll.” He gestured towards her. She leaned in, and he placed the chain around her neck. The small action made her heart melt, and she reached up to touch it gently. 

“Keep it; it tells all those other guys that you’re my girl.” Heat rose to her cheeks, leaving a rosy hue that Dallas found adorable.

“Thanks Dal.” His hands found their place on his waist, and he pulled her back onto him, but this time capturing her lips in a soft kiss. She smiled and hummed into the kiss, their lips gliding over each other so perfectly y/n could have sworn she felt her heart jump in her chest. They finally pulled away breathless, lips swollen and hair mussed. 

Dallas pulled her in even closer, his back resting on the oak headboard of his bed, with her straddling his stomach, and he could feel the warmth of her soft cotton pyjamas on his bare skin.

Reaching for his Christopher, he used it to tug her in once more. Y/n let out a small laugh as he did so, and Dallas couldn’t help but smile too, her laughter so adorable and contagious. He kissed her more passionately this time, running his rough hands along her smooth skin, feeling every curve and dip that he was determined to memorise for as long as he lived. 

Suddenly, she pulled away with an irritated huff. 

“What’s wrong?” His brows were knit together as he tried to figure out what was bothering her. 

“It’s that stupid music.” She pouted,

“It’s ruining our moment.” He laughed at her comment, not totally disagreeing with her; however, when she attempted to get up to play something on the little radio he had in his room, Dallas was quick to wrap his arm around her waist and playfully yank her back to him. Laughing, y/n tried to pull away from him, desperately wanting to change the music, but he was much stronger than her, and he flipped them over so he was hovering over her, the both of them laughing.

“Dallas stop! I need to get up.” 

“No way, you’re warm, and I don’t want you to.”

“Stop being silly; I’ll be back in one second.” She stuck her tongue out at him. At this, Dallas began to tickle her sides, causing her to burst out into breathless giggles and squeals as she squirmed beneath him.

“Stop! I promise I won’t get up!”

 “Promise?” 

"Yes, I promise.” He began to pepper her face with small kisses, still set on teasing her as much as he could, loving the sound of her laughter and the sweet taste of her lips. Dallas lay down beside her and pulled her in close to him, but as he adjusted his position slightly, y/n took this as a chance to sneak out of his grasp and run towards the radio, flicking on a random station, leading the room to be filled with a Beach Boys song. 

“There. much better.” What she didn’t realise is that Dallas was standing right behind her, and as she began to turn around, he swiftly lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing.Her heart was racing in her chest. 

"Hey, you promised.” Y/n bit down on her lip, holding in a grin. Moments like these with him were the best. Moments where they could just be themselves together. She tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear and gave him a long, deep kiss, wrapping her legs around him, tugging on his hair softly as he gripped her thighs.

“You’re forgiven.” He whispered as he led her back to the bed, so they could lay together again.

♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

౨ৎ 824 words ౨ৎ

[zaebeecee]

Helluva Boss Full Moon Episode Analysis 🌕 ✨

My very long and detailed personal analysis of the scene we were all waiting for below the cut. Spoilers, obviously, so don’t click if you don’t wanna see that. Also, this is just my own opinion, it’s cool if you don’t agree.

Also, I took all these screenshots on my phone because it’s all I have, so I apologize for the constant presence of the “hey you wanna change apps now or something” bar at the bottom of the screen.

tl;dr: Both Stolas and Blitzø are at fault here, and that’s the point of the episode.

So, I’m gonna start right after Stolas requests his book back and informs Blitzø that he needs it permanently.

Blitzø argues that he needs the book for his job. And that’s true, Moxxie already spelled that out earlier in the episode. But we have seen Blitzø trying to persuade Stolas before, and this is not how he does it. Whenever he persuades Stolas for something that is based in purely selfish reasons, he leans on his sexuality and on Stolas’ desire, not on straight up begging. All day, he has been plagued by Loona’s words that Stolas has been getting bored of him, and the fact that the first thing Stolas does is request his grimoire back is proof that she was right.

But Blitzø, being Blitzø, can’t just say that he’s scared Stolas has gotten bored of him, so he goes back to the thing Stolas already knows: he needs the book for his job.

Stolas, of course, was anticipating this. That’s why he has the Asmodean crystal prepared and within reach to give to Blitzø in exchange, probably to assuage his fears about the future of his company. He genuinely cares about Blitzø’s passions, and because of that, he is genuinely invested in his work and wants to do whatever he can to help him. Additionally, not only will the crystal end the transactional nature of their relationship, it will free Blitzø—and his employees—of the burden of being held accountable for law breaking.

Blitzø, on the other hand, wasn’t expecting anything like this. He has known from day one that if Stolas ever takes his book back, that’s the end of I.M.P. For Stolas to then turn around and tell him that he got a crystal for him (and advocated to Asmodeus on Blitzø’s behalf, no less) is something he probably never imagined would happen, much less anticipated.

For Stolas, a member of demonic royalty and of a privileged class of demon, this isn’t that big of a gesture. It’s big, of course—Stolas isn’t stupid, he knows how difficult it is for a non-Lust demon to acquire one of these crystals and is aware that his connections are the reason he was able to do this at all—but to him, it’s something of a no-brainer.

Stolas could not imagine a reality where he denied Blitzø anything, at least not right now. So, in his desire to end the transaction, it’s only natural to him that he would find another way for Blitzø to do his job, one where he doesn’t have to rely on anyone but himself. And in a rational situation, Stolas would be entirely right.

But this isn’t a rational situation. Blitzø doesn’t hear that he’s not beholden to anyone anymore, what he hears is that his excuse to see Stolas and pretend that it isn’t emotional has been taken away from him. That’s why he says they can just keep doing things the old way: he’s so emotionally constipated that if he loses the book, he either has to confront his feelings for Stolas or never see him again. And it might not matter anyway, because if Blitzø believes that Stolas only wants sex and has grown bored of him, this is simply a very expensive way to say “I don’t need you anymore”.

I think Stolas placing the stone on Blitzø’s bracer is a very important detail for the way things go in both of their minds, and it is very different:

For Stolas, he has proven to Blitzø that he is serious in his offer, and that this crystal belongs to him. He knows Blitzø is suspicious and untrusting, and by fastening it to him in a way that means Stolas himself cannot take it back, it shows Blitzø that Stolas truly means what he’s saying. It’s a display of selfless sincerity, and of trust, because if Blitzø took off that moment, there would be nothing Stolas could really do about it.

However, for Blitzø, Stolas has just taken away his autonomy and made the decision for him. Before he even had a chance to parse his thoughts on what’s happening, Stolas places the crystal on him, even though the only answer he has given is a fairly explicit “but I don’t want this”.

When Stolas tells Blitzø that he doesn’t have to stay, but that Stolas wants him to, he is showing an emotionally vulnerable side of himself that he only ever lets Octavia see. He is bearing his soul to Blitzø, because he wants to make it perfectly clear what he wants. And it’s so very important to emphasize that Stolas is very clear and direct in what he wants, because he doesn’t want to accidentally give Blitzø the wrong impression. He’s put a lot of thought into this, primarily because he’s been obsessing over what he was going to say ever since he went to ask Asmodeus for the crystal in the first place.

However, it’s also important to remember that Stolas is the one who prepared himself for this conversation. Of course he has a beautiful speech prepared and has reasoned out his arguments and knows exactly what he plans to do.

Blitzø is not prepared for this, however. Blitzø, who has convinced himself that a prince could never actually want an imp (especially one like him), who has spent all day telling himself that he isn’t feeling emotional over this and running all over town to acquire as much as possible because he’s afraid Stolas is getting bored, is completely blindsided by the sudden deluge of real emotion that’s pouring out of Stolas. Blitzø is already exceedingly bad with words, and because of his self-hate, he leans on the idea that it’s a kinky roleplay because that’s so much easier for him to believe.

Stolas, of course, has no reason to know any of this. To his eye, he just presented his heart to Blitzø on a platter, and Blitzø immediately turned flippant and dismissive, an obvious rejection of what he just metaphorically gutted himself over. To him, Blitzø has just affirmed that he doesn’t take this seriously, isn’t anywhere near as invested in it as Stolas is himself, and doesn’t actually want him.

To Stolas, this is the end of the conversation. He ended the transaction, he asked Blitzø for a real relationship, and Blitzø said no. With nothing else to discuss, Stolas leaves the room, probably assuming Blitzø will leave the way he came in. I would imagine that, after living with Stella for so long, the best way to deal with an awkward situation has always been to remove himself from that situation entirely. For him, this is a kindness, because otherwise the room is about to get very uncomfortable.

To Blitzø, this is a dismissal that Stolas would give to a servant or someone else he deems as lesser. He even asks if Stolas was serious in a disbelieving manner, because the idea of everything Stolas said being genuine is too alien for him. When he runs after Stolas, he clearly still doesn’t even know what he’s going to say, because things are moving too fast for him to process.

Stolas is, in my opinion, completely justified in his feelings. He’s hurt, because he’s cared so much for Blitzø for so long, and he tells him as much because Stolas is still trying to be fully upfront and honest. He believes he received Blitzø’s answer, as well as confirmation that everything has always been about sex.

I think it’s this, in particular, that sets Blitzø off. The transactional relationship was Stolas’s idea. Stolas spent every moment they were together, especially early S1, doing nothing but hitting on Blitzø. He even tells Stolas, in his mind, that he knows he only wants sex after the disaster at Ozzie’s, which was also the last time they talked in person. Blitzø is hearing his own words being used against him, realizing how much it hurts, and lashing out because anger is how he responds to strong emotion. (This is a bad thing, by the way. I’m not condoning it, just making an observation.)

Because he’s lashing out, Blitzø proceeds to verbally dump on Stolas, but he says something very important: he tells Stolas he needs a minute to think.

Blitzø was, again, blindsided by this conversation. He was then put on the spot and made to give an answer immediately, and when he wasn’t able to provide an in-depth, soul-searching, thoroughly considered answer off the cuff, he lost any opportunity to even attempt to recover the situation. And in my opinion, this is the most unfair thing Stolas does this entire scene. He seems to have completely forgotten that Blitzø isn’t prepared, and expects him to be as ready for this as he is himself.

When Blitzø tears into Stolas about his station, and about how the rich treat people like him, it’s clearly something he’s been wanting to say for quite some time. But he’s emotional, he’s not thinking straight, and he says things far harsher than he means to (which I’ll expound on in a moment). One of Blitzø’s flaws is saying things without thinking them through, and it definitely fucks him over right here.

Blitzø has no way of knowing that what he just said to Stolas is almost identical to what Striker said when he kidnapped and almost killed Stolas. But it is: both of them directly state that Stolas uses people beneath him because he can. Just like Blitzø didn’t hear Stolas’s sincerity, Stolas isn’t hearing Blitzø’s turmoil. Instead, he hears that the man he loves has the same opinion of him as someone who tried to kill him multiple times. That has to be a heartbreaking feeling, especially since Stolas seems to have been actively working to not be like his fellow royals, and it hurts him that Blitzø doesn’t see that.

Blitzø doesn’t just feel bad when he sees Stolas crying. When he hears Stolas’s words, he realizes what it was that he just said and that he didn’t mean it. He even tries to apologize; when he reaches out, he’s halfway through “I’m sorry” once he realizes he’s been teleported outside. And Blitzø never apologizes, not so directly, which means he knows that he hurt Stolas and he knows that Stolas didn’t deserve it.

I also think so much of his frustration stems from the fact that he wasn’t given an opportunity to explain himself. It was explaining that started healing his relationship with Fizzarolli, after all, and not having the same chance here was clearly fucking him up.

Here’s my takeaway from this episode: this argument needed to happen if their relationship was going to evolve in a healthy way. Both of them had put too much baggage into what they currently had, and the only way to fix that was to dump it out on the proverbial table the way they did. And, because they needed to dump their baggage, it makes sense that it ended with both of them wounded.

Both of them need time to work things out, be alone with their thoughts, and try to get over their own bullshit.

Blitzø needs to learn how to let himself open up to emotion, even just a little bit, and how to express himself without sarcasm, anger, or tears.

Stolas needs to learn how to actually listen to others (which we know is a problem from the time he took Via to Loo Loo Land after being told point blank she didn’t want to go).

Both of them did things wrong. And both of them did things right: Stolas was so honest and straightforward, and Blitzø immediately realized a place he had fucked up and tried to fix it immediately. And I think this argument needed to be both of their fault, ultimately, because something on this scale would be almost impossible to come back from otherwise.

Painful, but necessary. And it’ll just mean their making up will be that much more satisfying.

[bwoahtastic]

Robot Oscar!!!!

Max can't help but take Oscar in but now he is legally Oscar's owner and sure Max is an experienced cat owner but he has never had to care for an android! Max awkwardly hoovering around Oscar asking if he has a usb-c or lightning charging port and Oscar dryly tells him he has a power down mode in which he charges, nothing to be inserted thank you very much!

Also can you imagine professional yapper and know it all Max dealing with Oscar? Max's self-defense in awkward times is spewing cat or geography facts but Oscar literally is the Internet he knows more and always just nods solemnly.

Max waking up one night to not only find the cats curled up on the bed with him, but Oscar too (they form a chaotic trio there to manipulate him, Max is 90% sure Oscar speaks cat but Oscar is denying it) curled up real small so he wouldn't wake Max. Max manhandling Oscar under the covers next to him claiming that he is sure it will help Oscar charge better and Oscar smiles softly and says he thinks so too, he is pretty sure he read an article on it (liesssss!!)

SCREAMING

Vibing with Max basically going "I'm a great cat dad how hard can it be caring for a robot" and Oscar is just silently judging him lol. Max going over with charging cables trying to figure out where the charging port would be and Oscar stops that real fast lol. Oscar explaining his low power mode, kinda between sleeping and meditating and he will power up through that, and Max just blurts out that's great cos electricity prices are so high now as if he isnt mega rich

Oscar thinks it's very amusing ehen Max seems to want to fill any awkward silence with just straight up yapping and Oscar does love to correct Max when he is wrong lol! The only things he doesn't know more on than Max is basically human emotion and habits and it fascinates him, so Max often has Oscar wandering after him to see what he is doing (they gotta talk about boundaries when Max is in the shower and suddenly hears "isn't bar soap better than liquid body wash? According to a study by-" and let's out a screech seeing Oscsr fully clothed in the shower next to him)

Pls Oscar and the cats just vibing a lot and Max is a little jealous when both cats curl up on Oscar's lap instead of his (he says it's cheating hearing Oscar upped his body temp a little because they like the warmth), but Oscar seems excited so it's fine.

Max waking up to 2 cats and 1 android sleeping a the end of his bed and he is groggy and confused but pulls Oscar over to be more comfortable. Oscar might be able to deal with the awkward angle but Max's muscles ache just looking st it so he isnt having his robot be uncomfortable! He mutters it's so Oscar can recharge better and Oscar hums, agreeing thst he read about that too (first lie Oscar ever told anyone).

(He much later also claims he heard that a kiss could help androids recharge faster and innocently asks if Max could help him test that theory)

[vintagelasvegas]

New Town Tavern, 600 Jackson Ave, Las Vegas, in 1967. Photo by Clinton Wright. One of the oldest clubs in Las Vegas, destroyed by fire 10/15/2023.

Town Tavern was opened Jul. ‘55 by owners Marie and Earl Turmon, locals who lived at nearby 708 Madison. In its heyday of the late 50s the 24-hour bar, casino, and coffee shop was central to Westside’s nightlife scene. After the closure of the Moulin Rouge in Fall ’55, Town Tavern became the main Westside destination for black performers who were headlining the segregated Strip hotels.

Nat King Cole, Sammy Davis Jr, Cab Calloway, Arthur Lee Simpkins, Bob Bailey, Dorothy Dandridge, and the Ink Spots all performed in a single night during an NAACP cocktail party in Dec. '55. Review-Journal columnist Forrest Duke wrote of another night when, “Pearl Bailey and her Flamingo gang sashayed over to Earl Turmon’s Town Tavern Wednesday night, and the joint was, to put it rather mildly, jumping.” Another columnist’s blurb describes an employee’s going-away party with music by jazz musicians Christine Chatman (singer, piano), Al Morgan (bass), Chuck Hampton (drums), and Bob Bailey as emcee, “there with his lovely wife Anna who dances in the Pearl Bailey’s Flamingo show.”

The club became “New” Town Tavern in late ’59 and operated more or less continually until 2013. Westside's nightlife scene deteriorated in the 60s – the unplanned byproduct of integration was the decline in black gaming establishments, but Town Tavern remained. Florence Elmore owned the club in '70-71. Danny Curtis & Elijah Green bought the club in '71; Green was still the owner in the 80s, renovating and enlarging the club after a fire in '81. In the 90s it became “Ultra New” Town Tavern and continued operated under this name until closing.

Town Tavern originally had a top hat-shaped sign. Its second sign with "Town Tavern" in a ribbon and "Casino" in a circle, was installed in the early 60s and remained until 2023. In 2016 the words "Town Tavern" were replaced with "Tokyo" for a casino which ultimately never opened. The sign was removed from the building on 8/16/2023.

1967 photos from Clinton Wright Photographs (PH-00379), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Sources: "Opening.” Review-Journal, 7/6/55; “NAACP Plan Party for Sunday.” Review-Journal, 12/24/57; Forrest Duke. Review-Journal, 1/16/59; “Take Pickets Off Westside Casino Beat.” Review-Journal, 9/7/59; J. Berger. Black casinos flourished during days of segregation. Review-Journal, 11/10/75; “Arson suspected in tavern fire.” Review-Journal, 5/25/81; “West Las Vegas Casinos Have New Look – And Dreams.” Las Vegas Sentinel Voice, Vol. 4, Issue 25, 10/20/83; C. Drummond. 'It's a legend gone': Fire destroys Historic Westside building, and Clean up of Historic Westside building destroyed by fire. News3LV, 10/17/2023.

Note. Prior to Town Tavern, this corner 1400 F St. was the site of the earliest known Westside casinos. It was Shady Rest Barbecue, licensed for slot machines on 9/17/42, and Club Alabam, aka Smokey Joe's Club Alabama the following year. Fuller's Index of Nevada Gaming Establishments says the Club Alabam was licensed for 21 from 5/1/43 to 7/2/43. City Commission Meeting Minutes of 7/2/43 (p97) states that the liquor and gaming license of Joe LaDue at Club Alabam was denied. The club burned down 9/29/43. Liquor License. Review-Journal, 9/17/42; Westside Club Burns, Officers Say Incendiary. Review Journal, 9/29/43.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

Four days after the new Weathered Waves bar received its license to serve its hard ciders in its space at The Gateway mall in Salt Lake City, a post on its Instagram account announced, “NO ZIONISTS ALLOWED.”

The Monday post said: “We are a business, but we are also human. We don’t make and sell cider for robots. … We are horrified by the ongoing genocide in Gaza and are even more horrified to see so many Americans ignore and rationalize ethnic cleansing. That is why we are pleased to announce we are banning all Zionists forever from our establishments.”

[Update: Salt Lake City bar’s ‘No Zionists’ policy prompts dozens of complaints to Utah liquor agency]

Weathered Waves, 158 S. Rio Grande St., is part of the Six Sailor Cider group, and specializes in locally brewed hard ciders. Six Sailor Cider is owned by Michael Valentine, an advocate and small-business owner who unsuccessfully ran for Salt Lake City mayor last year as a first-time candidate.

On Wednesday, the Utah Department of Alcoholic Beverage Services notified the state Attorney General’s office about the post, “so they may conduct an investigation on whether the business is violating discrimination laws,” said agency spokesperson Michelle Schmitt.

The agency has received “several comments from members of the public” about the postings on Weathered Waves’ Instagram account, Schmitt said, and “we take these concerns seriously.”

It also “is reviewing its statutory obligations and legal options for responding to discrimination at DABS licensed establishments. … Safety is always the department’s top priority for everyone who interacts with licensed establishments, including patrons, employees, and owners,” Schmitt said.

The department’s commission awarded Weathered Waves its bar license on Feb. 29 and it opened March 1. In an interview Wednesday, Valentine said he wrote the Monday post and doesn’t see it as antisemitic.

He emphasized that he opposes all hate speech and said he has received “thousands” of messages on voicemail and social media, including some with threats. He said he reported a threat to burn the bar down to Salt Lake City police.

He said he clarified his stance in a follow-up post. “We didn’t just ban Zionism, we banned all hate speech,” he said. “We banned neo-Nazis, we banned transphobes, we banned sexists, we banned homophobes — any and all hate speech.”

[spicybylerpolls]

“Nobody does anything cool anymore, and everybody is afraid of everything,” Vinson Cunningham said in a recent roundtable about the death of the sex scene for the New Yorker. “We are in a decadent, post-excitement world.”

The widespread access to porn online, according to Cunningham, raised the bar for a sex scene from titillation to plot. It wasn’t enough to make people horny; a sex scene had to move the story forward or serve a stylistic purpose. Narrative momentum can in itself be a turn-on. As a teenager growing up online, I was significantly less interested in porn, which felt obviously fake, than in Youtube compilations and cuts of various sex scenes, which had the trappings of real characters, and thus real life. The scenes felt fascinating, shocking, spellbinding, adult. Maybe not actually realistic, but vibrant and vital, validation of my own capacity for eroticism. Sex is an essential part of humanity, sex scenes an essential reflection of the human experience. Perhaps the most frustrating element of this particular anti-sex scene argument is its fixation on a justification for sex on-screen, as if people wanting to have sex or wanting to be turned on is not character-driven or important enough. To deny the power of sex on-screen is to deny one of the core reasons to watch anything in the first place: desire, a basic human impulse and a gift.

from this article: https(:)//archive.ph/VqXbY

And as relates to byler and culture itself, another piece....

In a culture of convenience, where values are understood increasingly through their digital imprints, things feel nauseatingly 2D because they literally are. Marshall McLuhan predicted this a long time ago. [in the 60s with his 'the medium is the message' - a concept which relates to ST as a whole!] I’ve started thinking of this quality as sexlessness. I’m using sex here as a euphemism for the natural arousal that attends life in 3D, sexual or not. It is the antithesis of the gamified pleasure we pursue online, which has now infiltrated our values offline too. Consider beauty, which is today often understood as a set of objective, imitable, purchasable characteristics, rather than a quality experienced through movement, context, subjectivity, mystery, actual presence. When I think of the dominant trends of the last five or 10 years, most of them engender this same lack of humanity: personal branding; biohacking; virtual reality; reality television; fillers and filters; botox and plastic surgery; being extremely online; corporate activism; minimalism; cancel culture; labels for every type of person and personality... One way to view the irritating state of things is as a kind of collective sexual frustration. '“Nobody does anything cool anymore, and everybody is afraid of everything."'

The above is from: https(:)//haleynahman.substack.com/p/89-the-death-of-sex

I see this page has died down a bit but wanted to drop this for any deep thinkers out there, because it speaks to the wider issue and shows how spicy byler tumblr (and indeed byler tumblr, and by extension ST fandom and all fandom itself) is part of this wider issue of being engrossed in the kind of culture that removes you from visceral, realistic pleasures and what this might mean for society.

Can we expect eroticism from Stranger Things? Not in an arthouse way, I don't think, but i'm fascinated to see how they position themselves in the zeitgeist of gay media, conservative media, and media that is willing to portray sex - especially considering that the portrayal of sex could and would indeed have narrative purpose for mike and will. the duffers might just have set up one of the best stories to portray this experience, and redefine the entire genre if they can pull it off.

Always grateful for your thoughts and contributions to the spicy byler fandom (and the byler fandom at large), scrunchietown. It's so true that there's a general sexlessness in media, even as people try to complain that everything's too sexualized when that's not true, especially not in mainstream movies. Last summer there were a lot of people freaking out about the (pretty tame) sex scene in Oppenheimer! Perhaps there are more sex scenes in Max shows like Euphoria, but even so, I do think the Duffers have the opportunity to do something truly special and redefine the sex scene. Byler has the opportunity to be groundbreaking in so many ways!

"One way to view the irritating state of things is as a kind of collective sexual frustration."

Society if Byler helps to heal our collective sexual frusturation:

[thestobingirlie]

Sometimes when I see people making comments about Steve's polos being out of place/ unfashionable are looking at fashion through a 2020s lens, not a 1980s lens. Striped polos were in fashion and incredibly popular for teen boys and girls in the 80s. Paired with his tight jeans, he was pretty much the image of what was fashionable among high schoolers in the mid-1980s.

Also, this is a fic thing, but I hate the way people act like Steve would be obviously out of place or get denied entry to gay bars because of the way he dressed. The amount of fics I've seen with him being made to wear either Robin's or Eddie's clothes, or he gets turned away at the door by security ("this is not the place for you" or he gets told to go to a normal bar) or questioned about his intentions by any member of staff. It's not hard to find photos from pride parades in the 80s, or photos from inside gay bars, look through a few on google images and it won't be long before you start seeing guys in polo shirts. And unless it was a place that had a specific dress code, like a leather bar, they would have had no problem with what he wears. (And again, people are writing gay fashion as it is now, not what it was in the 80s.)

i see people complaining about steve’s clothes all the time and it’s kinda annoying! like, if it was just people within the fandom complaining, sure, not everyone has to like 80s fashion, but people have characters in fics do it! and it’s like… steve dresses like a little popular boy in the 80s because that’s what he is! i could understand, like, eddie making jokes about steve looking like a normie or something, but it really doesn’t make sense for the other characters to take the piss out of him as much as they do. anyway, i think steve looks cute in his polos and so does everyone else in the st universe <3

i’ll admit, i don’t read a lot of those fics because i do not like them lmao. but i have seen a couple that do that kind of thing and it is stupid!! steve dresses like boys did in the 80s, and yes, even gay boys wore polos. it’s weird, like, have these people honestly not interacted with any older media? they watched stranger things and that’s it? steve would be welcomed into a gay bar, it doesn’t even make sense that they would turn him away because he’s wearing a polo.

[ouroboros-hideout]

WIP WHENEVER

@chevvy-yates tagged me for this. Thank you a lot 💚

This will be a huge wall of text aswell, since I am not really of the „visual“ side of creating atm.

Writing // Worldbuilding

I'm still writing the next two chapters for my fanfiction, but would rather briefly introduce my other OCs here (yes, Aon isn´t the only one by now). Maybe I can create all of them ingame at some point, depending on how stupid I´ll act with modding etc. when I start. Since things can change quickly in the story while I'm writing, I wouldn't say that everything is 100% set in stone, a lot of it isn't finished yet. But it's a good base. Most of them appear in my „Like Napalm“ fic. Some of them will be in my main GARMR fic aswell. So prepare for half backed character data entries and some rambling.

Gan

Gan Tomobataar, or Iron as he is usually called, is a mysterious man. Many stories surround the Mongolian giant and it always depends on who asks him whether he affirms or denies these tales. It is therefore uncertain which of them are true or fictional and he really enjoys keeping his past in the dark. He is said to have served in an elite military unit. The metal teeth that earned him his iconic nickname are said to have been lost in numerous boxing matches as he tried to turn pro to make a better life for himself and his family, and he is allegedly a descendant of Ginghis Khan (which is probably one of his favorite rumors). One can assume that his closest confidants have more clarity, but none of them would dare say a word about it. Undeniably true is that he has two brothers, of whom he is the second-born. Together with them, he leads one of the largest nomadic clans in eastern Europe and Asia. The Tomobataar nomads are divided into three large families, each led by one of the three brothers. Iron's family stays mainly in Mongolia and Russia, but he would also travel to more distant parts of the Soviet Union for profitable contracts. He doesn't have many vices, but one of them is definitely greed.

By sheer luck, at least that's what he claimed, he picked up Aon on the street when she was trying to flee Moscow on her own. He promised to protect her from the Secret Police and other bounty hunters if she proved to be a useful member of his clan. However, his methods for testing her worth would put the young woman to the test.

Yakov

Yakov always had problems finding his place in the world. He grew up in St. Petersburg, studying or an education other than working in his father's car repair shop were never an option financially, but the young man always yearned for something greater than being stuck in the alleys and streets of his childhood. He decided to join the military when he was old enough, but was discharged immediately after basic training for insubordination and general unsuitability. What remained for him was to work in his father's garage until he died after a long illness. Yakov tried to keep the store running on his own for a while, but he found it difficult to do good business without proper management and eventually had to sell the store. This was followed by a relatively dark period. He saw himself as a failure, was unable to find a new job and drank away the money he had received for the workshop in the bars in his neighborhood. One evening, a man came into his local pub. His car had broken down outside, he wouldn't get any further that night and kept him company for a few hours. The next day, Yakov repaired his car for the man called Gan and left the town with him to live with the Tomobataar nomads.

Gregori

Gregori's mother, a singer from New York, came to the Russian capital for a gig and met a military officer there. The two got together and the result was little Greg. Shortly afterwards, however, the couple fell apart and she took her son back to America, where he spent most of his childhood and youth being raised by babysitters and nannies, while the singer preferred to spend her time on tour or in the recording studio. Gregori at least inherited much of her creativity, starting to make music himself at an early age and drawing a lot. Just what small children do when they need to keep themselves busy.

When he was 16 years old, his mother died of an overdose. As she never bothered to write down a testament or anything similar, her entire fortune goes to her greedy manager, who leaves Gregori penniless.

The boy, who has spent his whole life sheltered without much contact with the outside world, is left with nothing and doesn't know exactly what to do. So he scrapes together the last of his money and buys a ticket to Moscow, where he tries to find his father, but in vain. He quickly goes off the rails, barely speaks a word of Russian, is recruited by a gang and gets exploited. An arms deal with a group of nomads goes wrong, a shootout ensues and Gegori is the only one left of the gang because he hides instead of fighting. Yakov, who was on the other side of the deal, takes pity on him and eventually takes him to his new family where he tries to find his place within the group.

Anna

Anna grew up with the Tomobataar nomads from an early age. Her parents were killed in a botched mission when she was just four years old. Iron, who in a way blamed himself for this, took on a guardianship for her and looked after the little girl like the apple of his eye. As the years passed and Anna grew older, the relationship between her and her foster father changed. He became increasingly demanding, punished misbehavior and put the still young girl under pressure. Aon, who had already earned her place in the clan by this time, could not tolerate this behavior as she herself had grown up under similar circumstances. No one else in the clan interfered with Iron's "parenting methods", which is why she ended up doing it. Anna and Aon then became inseparable and she naturally followed her later when they left the clan along with many others.

Anatoly

Anatoly, or Tolik as Aon calls him, belongs to the Russian working class in Moscow and cannot claim to own much. As a boy, he dreamed of studying mechanical engineering in order to open his own workshop or business. A dream that his father would never have been able to afford in this life. So after school, Tolik started working at his father's scrap yard on the outskirts of Moscow, not an easy job. He regularly drives into the city to pick up old components and scrap metal from SovOil and other big corporations, where he meets Alyona one day. The two strike up a conversation, exchange banter and hit it off straight away, which over time develops into a teenage love story. Aon spends a lot of time with him at the scrapyard, where she can test and improve her skills on old machines and has a place to hide from her hated stepfather. He, in return, benefits from the knowledge she brings with her from university, and his dream of building his own big thing soon becomes her dream too. Together they consider leaving the city at some point and make plans for the future

unnamed_chromed_up_terrifying_SovOil_Secret_Police_agent

Yea well, I don't know yet how to call him. After Aon has fled Moscow, the officers of the normal police force give up the search for her, as it theoretically no longer falls within their area of responsibility. However, since Kristof claims that Aon stole the data he wanted to sell to Petrochem, SovOil is naturally very interested in finding her and the data chip. So they send a Secret Police agent after her, who, together with a small unit, tries to track her down. He actually already had a kind of "Easter Egg" appearance in my other AU. He would have been the agent sitting next to Kurt if he hadn't switched the cards on the table. Funny how differently things can go. Anyway, he doesn't really have much of a backstory other than he used to work for the KGB and is a bloodthirsty hound dog who chases Aon halfway across the country (spoiler: and finds her). If I were to compare him to another character from movies etc, he would probably have the closest vibe to Hans Landa from Inglourious Basterds. The character was very well written, even though I would probably make my namesless_pig a bit younger than him. But since he'll be pumped full of cyberware anyway, it probably doesn't matter much in the end. It's just supposed to be a fucking horrible character and Aon's nightmare.

Robert Walker

Robert is one of the key-characters in my main fanfiction. I haven't thought about him in depth yet, but the general concept is there. He's a British journalist and photographer who wanted to go high by exposing wrongdoings in society. For him, there is nothing more exciting than achieving "fame and notoriety" as a whistleblower. He's not necessarily stupid or doesn't know what he's doing, he's just unlucky. He gets into trouble with the wrong people and upsets the even worse ones, which is why he has to flee the UK and ends up in NC. There he tries to start over and stay out of trouble. However, he soon develops an "unhealthy" obsession with Kurt Hansen. He is incredibly fascinated by him and spends every free minute in Dogtown so that he can perhaps take a photo (or two, or ten) of his idol. At some point, he goes so far as to seek direct contact and wants to interview him. Kurt is flattered at first, but has little desire to reveal information about himself in some strange blog or gossip magazine. But that didn't stop Robert from continuing to stalk him and even trying to become a member of Barghest. At some point, Hansen got too pissed off and gave him the choice of leaving Dogtown or catching a bullet. Robbie chose the second option. After all, he hadn't forbid him to camp outside the gates of Dogtown, had he?

Technically I could tell something about Aon´s mom and her stepfather too, but I don´t have that much yet. So will keep em for the next WIP together with the other OCs for my main fic. There will be three more. A general, a corpo guy and the last is still up for discussion with my brain. Considering somekind of warlord or a netrunner.

Art

I tried to do something different than a full rendered piece of artwork. I am not yet confinced that I like it. I like, that it was finished really fast lmao but...I dunno.

Aon and Tolik - 2055

But happy that Aon is actually recognizable in the end. During the process she looked so much like So Mi at a point that my brain went: WHO ARE YOU GIRL. But I like the long hair. Will give it back to her in her 2078+ appearance. Not exactly like this, but longer than her normal style.

Not quite sure about Anatoly tho. I mean, he looks like this in my head, but I will reconsidere if he will get some cyberarms. He is poor like a mouse, so probably can´t afford expensive tech like this, but he feels kind of „empty“ without anything.

Congrats and huge thanks if you read this far. Brainrot stronk!

Tagging some ppl aswell. Everyone else is invited too to show off some awesome stuff ofc, no pressure as always!

@blackrevell @olath124 @cyberholic77 @cybervesna @pinkyjulien @theviridianbunny @therealnightcity @wanderingaldecaldo @miss--river @barghestapologist @kdval @streetkid-named-desire @aggravateddurian @androgymess