#but i got back into these fucks . like . right after it all ended

[shouyuus]

What about... Vi teaching you how to trib, as a friend of course... I don't know why I'm obsessed with the idea of her being all flustered when you ask her to show you since you've never done it before.

with friends like these

violet; super duper 18+, smut/fluff, lesbian pining, college roommate!vi au (kinda)

"f-fuck -- fuck, vi -- mm -- ngh --"

"j-juuuust like that -- c'mon --" vi is panting, her cheeks so warm her head is starting to spin, and she's not quite sure how she got here -- well no, she knows exactly how she got here -- but she can't quite think for the way she's got you trembling beneath her, your sodden cunts sliding against each other as you dig your nails into her arms, your head thrown back into the lumpy material of her pillow, her name on your lips like a curse or a prayer.

she groans, rucking her hips against yours, shifting her leg to find a better angle. you keen, mouth falling open in a soft pant, your finger scrabbling at her arms. she grins -- a half-feral thing, as she leans down, if only to watch you fall apart for her from as close as she can possibly get.

"vi, vi, vi!"

"yeah? gonna cum for me, pretty girl? gonna show me how good this feels?" she breaths, grunting as she hoists your thigh over her hip and fucks herself down over you all the harder.

it'd been a strange sort of conversation to have on a thursday night, you and her, drunk and high (respectively), sprawled out on the old couch in your living room, vi chuckling as you stutter yourself into a deeper and deeper corner --

"it's just -- i've never understood how it works --"

vi takes another long hit of her j, blowing out smoke, "what? scissoring?"

your blush darkens as you crinkle your nose.

"y-yeah! like how --" you place your mug of box-wine on the table and hold up both of your hands, two fingers extended as you try to simulate the motion, "it just doesn't seem like it'd be -- pleasant?"

vi grins, a bit too wide, reaches out with one of her hands to catch yours, tugging you closer.

"it's not like that -- chill -- chill -- relax your fingers, or -- legs -- whatever --" she giggles, head tipping back as she tries to wrangle one of your hands between both of hers, trying not to think too hard on the way you let yourself be manhandled into her lap, how easily you give into her instructions, how your skin smells just a bit like pastry bread, sweet and buttery and utterly, mind-bendingly delicious.

she swallows, frowning at your hand in hers --

"usually, you're like --" she tries to show you with her fingers criss-crossed with yours, "face to face, but like -- your legs are crossed --"

you giggle, watching as she tries to slot her fingers between yours.

you grab her hands in yours, shaking your head, tipping back even as she tries to yank you back into her.

"at this point, it'd be easier for you to just show me --"

your breath cuts off as vi's hands tighten around you, hauling you up and over her lap, so that somehow, you end up straddling her, your arms propped on her shoulders, your thighs on either side of her hips, her palms warm on your waist as you fight for a breath that she's long-since stolen.

there's a storm brewing behind the horizons of her ocean eyes, and lightning strikes against the flintstones in your stomach, setting your body ablaze as she bites her lips and looks up at you, her eyes going dark in the static-ridden light.

"yeah? you... you want me to show you how it's done?"

you swallow, saltwater and caramel, slick and sweet down your throat as you search her eyes for any sign of uncertainty.

you find none -- only the hard-lined want you'd become oh-so familiar with as the days went on. the way you'd catch her watching you sometimes, right after you shower, the way you'd find yourself watching her, when she's trying to show off how well she a can flip a pancake in the pan, in nothing but boxers and a tank top.

"i-is that weird?" you ask, chewing on your bottom lip.

vi lets out a soft groan, her eyes darkening as she catches the gesture.

"no -- i mean -- we're friends, right?" she asks, her voice so laced with want she can almost taste it.

you nod, your eyes caught in the net of her gaze, almost in a trance as you let your eyes slick down to her lips.

she leans up to kiss you; you lean down to let her.

it's simple after that -- and so, so easy -- her hoisting you up easy as anything, the pair of you tumbling into her bed, her asking in a voice that's almost a whisper (as if she's afraid she'll wake one of you up from this tender, tenuous daydream) --

"is this okay?"

you nod, eager, fingers sliding into her hair as she groans and peels the sleep shorts from you, tugging down your underwear along with it.

it's only been ten minutes, but vi thinks that it's been centuries, or perhaps only the span of a few seconds. she can't think when she's got you pinned beneath her like this, and she knows she must look a bit unhinged from where you are, sweat shining on her skin as she works her hips down over yours, intent on finding just the perfect angle.

"vi -- oh -- that feels --"

"a-ah fuck, princess -- holy shit --" vi jerks above you, a familiar coil tightening in her stomach as she tries to slow down her pace, to draw it out -- she wants to savor this, to remember this --

"vi -- vi -- mmngh -- th-that's s-so good -- you're making me -- oh god --" you're tugging on her arms, fingers looping around her wrists like bracelets, squeezing her tight as your head tips back and vi leans down to sink her teeth into the bared skin of your throat.

"shit, shit, shit -- no one's gonna -- gonna make you feel this good, hm? pretty g-girl -- no one but me -- fuck --" she rolls her hips, a breath hitching out of her as she feels your swollen clits catch, and then you're squirming beneath her, wetness slicking down your puffy pussy lips, the slick of it nearly throwing her off-pace as she sucks a dark hickey into your skin.

"o-only you, vi -- fuck, please, please, please --" you cum with a hard spasm, fire eating through you as vi whines into the crook of your neck, her own orgasm hitting her half a second later. and it's all you can do to reach out and hold her to you, letting her ride out the waves of her pleasure in soft jerks and heavy pants against you.

"h-hoooly shit..." vi puffs out a laugh against your collarbones as she pushes herself back up. you blink blearily up at her, a tired giggle bubbling out of you as vi pulls back and you both grimace at the soft shluck of your bodies coming apart, sticky with cum and sweat and whatever else.

"w-well --" you say, "i -- that was -- i think i get it now --"

vi stares at you for a second before breaking into a fit of laughter. you join in a second later, reaching for a wad of tissues from her bedside table and handing her a few. she takes it from you with a wide grin.

"and you thought it wouldn't be pleasant."

you crinkle your nose, making a face as the pair of you try in vain to mop up the mess between your bodies. vi holds out her hand for your tissue and you hesitate for a second before dropping it into her open palm.

"thanks," you say.

vi shrugs, biting her lip, her nose ring glinting in the warm glow of her study lamp. she turns to toss both wads into the trash bin by the door. you whoop as they fall in, one after the other.

"what are friends for, right?" she asks, turning back around with a loping grin. there's a kaleidoscope of color caught in the rings of her eyes, and a sadness that you don't have the time to unpack. so you shove back the wince that threatens to shake apart your composure at her words and smile right back.

"y-yeah -- right -- friends."

but you're pretty sure friends don't do what you and vi just did. and friends definitely don't wander back to their own room later that night, the smell of her still on your skin, a pulsing want echoing between your legs, a threading need ticking beneath your ribcage at the thought of her name.

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

fashion photographer!gojo part 1

paris fashion week was as exhausting as it was exhilarating for you.

trying to make it to three shows in a day, squeezing in castings in between, attending countless parties, and meeting new people made you feel like you were truly living life to the fullest.

especially that arrogant and handsome photographer… he never missed an opportunity to invade your packed schedule and fill it with himself.

after the shoot with fashion photographer!gojo in paris, you had ended up in his massive hotel suite and lost count of how many times you fucked. not a single corner of that hotel room was left untouched.

of course, that wasn’t enough for him. whether you had free time or not didn’t matter—there wasn’t a single moment he wasn’t stuffing his cock into your pussy, either before a show, in the car rushing to the next one, or even at the after-parties.

“models for the runway, please gather near the photographers’ area backstage,” the backstage coordinator’s shout made your fingers tighten even more in gojo’s hair.

“gojo… i need to go, ple-nghhh please stop,” you whimpered as gojo harshly sucked on your clit, pulling yet another moan from your lips.

right now, you were in a spot a little away from the backstage area, somewhere you didn’t know how gojo had found, and where no one else was around. he was among the guests invited to the show and would be watching from the front row. the moment he arrived backstage, people flocked to him, showering him with attention and making him the center of it all. but gojo wasn’t there to mingle or admire the new collection.

you knew exactly what he wanted.

gojo lifted his head from between your legs, his lips glistening and his face slick with your juices, looked up at you. “how many times do i have to tell you to call me satoru?”

“fuck off, satoru, i need to go.”

“and i don’t want you to go,” he replied, sliding his fingers along your drenched folds, making you gasp. “besides, i think you don’t want to leave right now either. please, baby, let me help relieve your stress, hm?”

the show you were about to walk in was the most anticipated event of fashion week. your legs were trembling with nervous excitement, and you were terrified you might stumble and fall on the runway. gojo, however, had promised to help you turn that around, and now here you were, pressed against a wall in some hidden room, letting one of the most prominent figures in the fashion world eat your pussy.

your grip on his snowy white hair loosened slightly. “i don’t want to embarrass myself.”

gojo pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh before looking back up at you. “you won’t. remember, if you’ve proven to me how amazing a model you can be, everyone else already knows how good you are.”

arrogant bastard. even in a sentence meant to reassure you, he managed to stroke his own ego.

“instead of using your mouth to praise yourself, use it to make me cum. wasn’t that what you wanted, to help me relieve my stress?” you smirked.

gojo seemed to enjoy your bold words because he wasted no time responding. “whatever my favorite model wants.” and with that, he got right back to work.

as his two fingers pumped into you, his tongue kept pace, swirling over your clit. his tongue was relentless, flicking and drawing circles on that sensitive little spot, making your eyes flutter shut.

“so good, keep going,” you tilted your head back, moaning and craving more.

gojo curled his fingers, finding your g-spot, while his tongue drew intricate shapes on your swollen bud. as if that wasn’t enough, he sucked your clit into his mouth, his lips relentless.

“fuck, fuck…” your legs shook, and your hands gripped his hair with a strength you didn’t know you had.

gojo briefly pulled his lips away from your dripping clit with a lewd pop, his fingers still working inside you. “you’re so fucking beautiful. this pussy was made for me. god, it’s trembling around my fingers just like your legs.” he growled before diving back in, sucking harder.

“i love—i love when you touch me. you make me feel so fucking good.” it was true. every touch of his made you feel like a goddess. people weren’t wrong when they said satoru gojo had a talent for elevating others.

whether it was through his photos, his mouth, or his cock.

gojo released your clit again, though his fingers never faltered. he whispered into your dripping pussy, “because you are perfect, my muse.” then he sped up his fingers and brought his mouth back to your clit, sucking with a fervor that had you seeing stars.

his nose brushed against you as he worked, and the sensation sent a deep moan ripping from your throat. you didn’t care if anyone outside heard the mix of moans and cries spilling from your mouth. right now, all you cared about was finding relief before the big show.

“goj-satoru shit, my legs are t-trembling,” you stammered, pressing his face closer, signaling how close you were. the only thing shaking more than your legs was your voice as his relentless mouth and fingers drove you to the edge.

“cum, baby. soak my face, cover me in your sweetness. fuck, you taste so good.”

as he growled those words into your pussy, your trembling turned into spasms, and you shut your eyes. the orgasm spread through your body, yet gojo’s fingers didn’t stop. as you grew more sensitive, you begged him to stop. at first, he didn’t listen and kept going, but eventually, the movements of his fingers slowed down. finally, he stopped and slowly withdrew his fingers, now coated in your sticky juices.

“let me clean you up,” he murmured, licking the juices that had trickled down your thighs. “can’t have you going on the runway like this, right?” his tongue lapped at your thighs as he peppered soft kisses along your skin.

“you’re insane, satoru gojo,” you muttered, your hand brushing against the nape of his neck—his favorite spot to be touched.

he pressed one last kiss to your sensitive pussy before standing up. he fixed the designer skirt that had ridden up your waist, then leaned down to capture your lips with his still-wet ones. “you look relaxed now. when you walk the runway, remember this—I’ll only be watching you.” he pulled back, smoothing his hair before heading for the door. just as he reached it, he turned around. “oh, and after the show, come to the back entrance. my car will be waiting. sorry you’ll miss the after-party, but trust me, i’ll make up for it in the car and the room later.”

once he left, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. with all the stress drained from your body, you were finally ready for the show. a few minutes later, you emerged from the room, ignoring the frantic chatter of people saying they’d been looking for you everywhere. “i just needed to relax,” you said, brushing past their confused faces and taking your place in the lineup.

after the show ended, you quickly changed, bid everyone goodbye with a rushed excuse about missing the after-party, and headed to the back entrance. opening the door of the sleek black car, you found that cocky, talented photographer sitting there in his cream-colored suit and vintage sunglasses. without saying a word, you climbed into the car and sat beside him.

you said nothing, just looked straight ahead. but you knew he had that smug grin on his face.

just before the car started moving, gojo pressed a button, and the black partition separating the front and back began to rise. you turned to look at him, and before he could say anything, you climbed into his lap, tossing his sunglasses aside and crashing your lips against his.

fashion photographer!gojo may have made you miss the after-party, but he made sure to give you the best one in the car and the hotel room. again. and again.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[caitvi1room]

PLAY FIGHT

VI , NSFW , WLW.

summary / cw | fingering , sloppy eating out , spitting , squirting , soft and rough |

| you an vi are best friends , yet have some tension while you were playing wit pillows hitting each other , yet she hits you quite hard and you ended up on her lap , the tension was palpable |

there you were , sitting on your best friends lap looking down at her , a slight red mark on your cheek from being hit with the pillow , but it blended in with the blush on your cheeks , but vi had a slight smile on her face , it was more of an awkward smile than anything.

"are you okay there , you look a little um.. yeah" vi subconsciously moved her hand to your hips so you would stay on her lap , she didn't know why but this feeling of you being on her lap was almost .. arousing? but it couldn't be y'all are best friends , you guys couldn't have sex that was like a best friend rule .. right?

fuck , the look in your eye was mesmerizing , she was slowly giving in , but why the hell would a bit of play fighting turn into sex? whatever . Vi honestly has wanted to do this for awhile , have sex. sometimes she was lay in bed after you have let her house and she would strip of her clothes , fingering herself thinking of you as she grabbed onto her tits , running her fingers over her hard nipples , moaning your name at time , but she was took out of her thoughts as you leaned down , kissing her.

of course she had to give in , but you on her lap - she could feel your wetness seeping through your panties right onto her pants leg , and fuck she wanted to eat your pretty pussy right now but she had to take it slow .. take it slow violet you guys are only kissing right - your shirt was off? so was your bra? oh god the sight of your hard nipples basically had her drooling

she brought her hands up , her fingers rolling over your hard nipples while needing on your breast. "fuck- god I need you so bad" she basically moaned out , she could fucking help it anyone

she needed to flip you over and mouth fuck you until you squirted into her mouth , and as she did. she looked up at you , seeing the need and desperation one your face. Fuck she couldn't take it - she took off your pajama pants along with your lacy - teasing underwear , revealing your dripping .. wet pretty pussy.

"god your pussy is so pretty , I could eat it all day and night love." as she finished speaking she spat on your clit , her thumb going straight up and rubbing circles on your clit. Her other hand scissoring your folds , slightly pulling on them. "mm baby you're so wet for me aren't you ?

you want me to mouth fuck you" instead of it sounding like words she mumbled it against your pussy , her tongue moving up and down as if she was licking a ice cream cone , you tasted as sweet as one to her , she was addicted to it , your pussy was like nicotine.

"mmph - baby you taste so sweet .. like a cupcake" her tongue was moving in circles , she was loving the sound you made , the pleasure sounds she was getting out of you .. was she in heaven? She slid her digits into you , slowly pumping in and out as your wet-ness was going onto her fingers , making it easier for her to pump them in and out , as she heard that cry.. from you she curled her fingers , smiling against your clit. Her fingers moving faster as she had found your g-spot.

"fuck princess you like that ? hm?" She was addicted to you , the taste of your pussy , how slick you were for her and how she was making you moan and .. you arching your back. "fuckk- vi I'm gonna cum .. I'm gonna-" you got cut off by the pleasure , waving over you as you came all over her fingers .. but did vi pull her fingers out? no. she kept pumping them in and out as she slid her mouth down.

She slid her mouth down , her tongue cleaning up all your cum , not even caring how messy her face was getting , she was gonna get you to squirt , she was determined to make you squirt .. she was helping you ride out your high but she also kept going , her fingers moving in and out your pussy , making sloppy - wet noises as your cum as still dripping out. "fuck - mmph vi I'm so again vi".

She kept pumping her fingers in and out , and she slid them out , your cum falling out with it , but she set her mouth back down - sucking your clit , she heard your moans getting louder and more whimpers that only means your -- her face , was filled with your juices , squirt dripping down her chin as she looked up at you , licking her lips.

"good job mama you did so good." she said , as she grabbed a tissue and slowly wiped your cum off of your pussy , and cleaning your juices off of her chin.

[holdmytesseract]

One Night or Forever?

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering

Set in Season 1!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.

Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Booyah!"

Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.

You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.

Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.

After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.

Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.

This wasn't your room.

You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.

"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"

You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...

With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.

"Daryl?"

You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.

"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.

Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.

In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.

You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!

"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.

The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.

Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.

Some might say this escalated quickly...

"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.

The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.

"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.

Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.

"Pf, yer bluffin'."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, ya 'r."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."

"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"

"Nah, jus' statin' facts."

Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.

You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.

"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.

Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...

It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."

You did.

"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?

"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.

Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.

"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...

The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.

Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.

Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.

"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...

You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.

"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.

His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.

"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?

The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.

More friction.

More pleasure.

More of Daryl.

The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.

Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.

Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.

Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.

Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.

Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.

"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.

A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.

A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?

"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?

You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.

To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.

When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?

Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.

You could barely manage to look into his eyes.

You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...

Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.

It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.

"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.

"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.

"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"

That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.

"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?

You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."

A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."

Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...

"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.

He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...

"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.

You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."

As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.

He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.

Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.

You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.

Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.

When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.

His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.

He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.

"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.

Yeah... He was definitely whipped.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

[artyandink]

———————————————————FRAT.ᐟDICK THOUGHTS ᝰ.ᐣ

PROCEED WITH CAUTION, LADY KILLER AHEAD.ᐟ

From your first kiss slash make out with your pussy session with your best friend since childhood, things had been getting a little out of control, let’s say. You could never walk anywhere without the between of your thighs being sensitive from how he’d randomly invite you to his dorm or to a side closet to yank up your skirt, get on his knees and wrap his lips around your clit so you’d have to clamp a hand over your mouth so no one heard you.

Honestly, he was taking a whole new meaning to oral fixation.

“That’s it, just— just stay right there,” He mumbled against your cunt, and it’s not like you could move, especially when he’d made it so your legs were spread by his hands like you were the former acrobat here and his mouth was practically making out with your pussy, chin glistening and dripping as well, moaning shamelessly.

It blew your mind, how he could be more vocal than you right now, his own deep sounds followed up with high pitched ones harmonising with yours, backwards cap abandoned next to you. “Dickie, mmh,” All this had come to you sexualising the nickname you’d always had for him. The Dickie that had once engaged in pillow fights was now a big fan of getting surrounded by your thighs and making sure you couldn’t speak words.

Your shirt wasn’t even fully off, just unbuttoned enough to pull down your bra and suck on your tits, though your jeans were fully off— on days where you wore a skirt he wouldn’t even bother to take that off, it turned him on to eat a girl (you) out with his head under her skirt.

At this point you’ve narrowly avoided getting kicked from the library five times.

“C’mon, sweetheart, give it to me.” He mumbled, sucking on you, which produced wet noises that set your nerve endings on fire and— give it to him? What did he want you to give— oh.

Somehow your orgasms got more and more intense the better he learnt your body from the inside-out, this time your eyes rolled back and you pulled his hair sharply, which only made him moan as he licked you clean and drank you like a fucking glass of water.

“So fucking good, baby.” The praise sent a shiver up your spine, as did how his own eyes briefly rolled to the back of his head at how good you tasted, still suckling at your clit and pulling soft whimpers from your throat. His eyes flicked to the clock, and your hand shot out to grab the towel you already had as preparation—

His hand gently guided yours back into his hair. “Not so fast, baby, we have fifteen minutes.”

Your eyes widened slightly, unable to stop the small sounds from spilling past your lips as his own lavished attention on you. “What?”

“Lay back, c’mon, cause shit, I ain’t done.” His grin was devilish, and you knew right then that you weren’t gonna walk right after this, not when Dick Grayson’s eating your pussy like he’s on death row.

This wasn’t good.

This didn’t even have a label.

[aj-norizz]

Let Me Entertain You- Charles Leclerc x reader

Where the teammate girlfriend of Charles Leclerc thinks the new FIA swearing ban is awful. And when Charles crashes she decides to show the FIA how much she cares

Warnings: use of y/n, swearing (duh), Charles crashing

Drop a message to be on the tag list and please follow, like or repost guys ❤️

Back to Masterlist!

“Hey mon amour,” Charles piped up as you drove together, your hand unconsciously stroking Leo’s golden fur.

“Yes darling?” you replied.

“Have you seen the new swearing rule?”

“Of course i have…everybody on social media has been tagging me in it for the irony…”

“Are you going to abide by it?”

“You goody two shoes darling…am i fuck.”

“Point proven i suppose.”

“Ricky where’s Charles?” your name crackled statically through the radio.

“Second right now Y/N, pushing Max for first.”

“How far am i from Max?”

“Around 5 seconds. You’re too far to push for first but you should be able to hold third unless we need you to defend Charles’ second place.”

You sigh.

You were always used as a ploy for the constructors bid and Charles’ championship challenge.

Despite the fact the man was the love of your life you couldn’t help but know that even you had better chances of winning the championship this season then your boyfriend.

“All heard Ricky…”

You kept battling lap after lap.

You weren’t sure why Ricky had said you couldn’t push for first, there was still around 30 laps to go. You knew deep down inside though.

Ferrari and good team strategies didn’t mix well.

As you were racing past the main straight you noticed something glistening.

“Ricky…there’s some debris on the main straight…they need to stop the race before somebody runs it over.”

“Noted. We’ll see what we can do.”

It wasn’t long before you found yourself on the main straight, staring at the front mirror.

“Ricky! For fucks sake when is the debris being moved? It’s a fucking front mirror as soon as that’s run over it destroys tires!”

There was no response for two minutes.

“Y/N the FIA have given you a penalty for foul and abusive language.”

What the fuck.

You switched your radio off with no intention to turn it on until the end of the race.

That was until you heard of a problem coming through from Ricky.

“What’s going on?!”

“Leclerc’s ran over the debris.”

“Charles…fuck’s sake…”

And then Ricky went deadly silent. Never a good sign.

“Ricky?”

“Y/N you can’t freak out.”

Your heart dropped.

You’d only ever been told that when you had found out Toro Rosso were dropping you.

And fine you had met Charles and become happier than you ever were with Horner but still, those words were never good.

Especially because they were so condescending.

“What is it?”

“Yellow flags, slow down.”

You instinctively slowed down as you passed by the area seeing a car fully in the barriers.

A red car.

“What the fuck! Ricky is that Charles?”

“Y/N-“

“Is it Charles?!”

“Yes…”

“Why are they not stopping the fucking race?!”

“Don’t do anything irrational.”

That was her last straw.

“Red flag! Red flag! Leclerc’s car is on fire!”

AJ parked up- not caring where she was. She saw the RedBull of Max Verstappen do the same ahead of her and the McLaren of Lando Norris behind her slowly grind to a halt.

The flames were blinding.

The 19 drivers all stood together on the grass, Lewis listening to coverage to try and hear the latest.

“From what we can hear the flames are tame and are only in the back of Leclerc’s car…but here’s the question. Where are the marshals and where are the FIA?”

You stood in silence.

“Max you know where the FIA office is the best…i need to pay a visit after the race.”

“Are you sure?-“

“Franco you’re so innocent man…” Max laughed. “AJ is more or less the reason the fucking stupid swearing ban got put in.”

“Oh shit!” Carlos yelled.

The fire had spread- engulfing the whole car.

No.

No.

Your first instinct was to lunge.

To rush to Charles’ car.

But Max’s grip was too hard to escape.

“Maxie! Max! Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed- a mixture of agony and annoyance coating your voice.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

And that’s when the FIA finally arrived.

Charles was pulled out of the car and that’s when Max let you go.

“Charles! Charlie!” you called out, hoping for some sort of response.

Silence.

You tried to follow the medial car but an FIA superior stopped her.

The fucking audacity.

You couldn’t wait for that media pen

You were waiting in the media pen when the first interviewer walked over with a slight smile.

“Miss Y/L/N. How do you feel about your penalty for swearing and the new introduction of the rule?”

“It’s fucking bullshit. This isn’t fucking Disney Channel- we are grown adults. If they’re so worried about us swearing in life or death situations then maybe they should invest more into the kids channel.”

“I see…and how is the team feeling about Charles’ crash?”

“We’re quite worried…i’m hoping to get all my media buries wrapped up quick enough so that i can go and see him wherever he is…hopefully the team will announce a statement as soon as we know…” you answered, a slight smile appearing on your face as you knew the interviewer had a script to follow but was also being as respectful as an interviewer can get.

“Well i won’t hold you for much longer…but any final message for the FIA?”

“If you think this new little rule will stop me from swearing then you can suck my hairy cock.”

The interviewer choked as you smirked and flaunted off- ready to see your boyfriend.

Charles laughed as you explained to him what had happened in the media pen as he slowly sat up in his hospital bed.

“You are crazy mon amour.”

“Crazy in love.”

“You are so corny.”

“That’s what you love about me,” you quipped with a smile.

“Who am i to deny that?”

“I was so worried Charlie…” you whispered as you softly rested your forehead against his.

“Oh mon amour…”

“I know Charlie…”

“Know?”

“I know you’re scared of the fire…”

You smirked as you walked into paddock, the media eagerly awaiting your arrival.

“Miss Y/L/N!”

“Y/N!”

“Over here!”

“A minute please!”

You just skipped past into the Ferrari garage.

Ricky smirked. “What a little performance you put on him?”

“I did do GCSE drama.”

“Grade 9?”

“Grade 8 actually but i was robbed-“

“The FIA are furious.”

“Let them be.”

She noticed the Netflix cameras zooming in on her and Ricky’s conversation especially after Charles wandered over, his arms engulfing your shoulders as he kissed your hair from behind.

“What are you going to do mon amour?”

“I’ll let them complain.”

Ricky laughed- a proper laugh.

“They want a statement.”

“A statement?” Charles echoed in confusion.

“I’ll give them a statement,” AJ laughed. “FIA, let me entertain you.”

“Yes?”

“If you stop my swearing i’ll stop my driving…i’m not 16 anymore…stop treating me like one.”

Charles smiled in pride.

“If they want to treat me like a child i’ll drive like a child.”

“Come on you two!” Fred called out, rushing them to get into the cats for quali.

AJ smiled as Charles wrapped his arm around you.

“Ready to put on a show mon cheri?”

“I’m always ready to entertain.”

[bktempted]

Get under my desk. I can't wait another minute. Doesn't matter that I've got a meeting, doesn't matter that my colleagues are on the line. None of that shit matters because I need your mouth on my cock. Right. Fucking. Now.

You're such a good little office slut, crawling into position without a second thought. Your hands find my zipper, sliding it down with practiced ease. My cock is already throbbing, and you waste no time wrapping your lips around the head with a needy moan.

Fuck, your mouth feels incredible. Warm, wet, perfect. I want to moan but I clamp my jaw shut, trying to keep it together as you get to work. Your tongue swirls and dances, teasing every ridge and vein. My colleagues continue their boring ass presentations, no clue their boss is getting his brains fucked out from under his desk.

You're relentless, kitten. Bobbing and sucking, worshipping my cock like it's your job - and well, it is your job today. Damn, you're good at what you do. So fucking good. I'm getting close already, and before you know it I'm exploding hot cum down your greedy little throat. And you swallow it so eagerly - can't leave a mess after all.

You sit back on your heels with a smug grin, lips swollen, slick with spit and cum. I zip up and straighten my shirt just as the meeting mercifully ends. Perfect timing, slut, perfect timing. Did I mention you're good at what you do?

[ippipo]

self aware caleb

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

it was crazy. but it was fun. every weekday as soon as you were back home, you would call him and go about your day. doing the laundry, making dinner, cleaning the house, it just came to you naturally with caleb. it was all so domestic.

"yeah, and she was deranged the entire summer," you gossip with him. "and he kept spreading rumours that he was being abused by his ex to get her attention."

"weird way to get a girl," he remarks. "so fucking weird," you add.

"anyway, how's life in your gameland?" you ask, earning a sigh in response. "it's alright, playing out of script is so much better," he replies.

"i wish you were here," you let it out, the longing for a companion getting to you. "me too," he frowns.

the weekend was slow and slightly relieving because you got all the time in the world to relax. holidays were on their way in a bit, and you were so excited to spend it by doing nothing with caleb.

caleb would sometimes monitor your phone, using it to listen to music from your world and play games. sometimes he would search random things about humans on earth on google just for the sake of it. he couldn't care less about anyone except you.

but one day, he stumbled upon your notes app. he didn't know you used it as a journal, and accidentally opened a note of yours.

it was a note from when you were 13. the language wasn't too advanced but for a 13 year old, it was pretty great. he felt bad for invading your privacy, but he noticed the word 'boyfriend' and became curious.

p.s. this is an actual entry of mine from when i was 13 lmao

"dear notes (idk what to call you lol),

i finally got a boyfriend after a thousand years of waiting. he's a little ugly but he's funny, so it's okay. he is shorter than me but he looks pretty, so plus point. we nearly kissed today but i wanted to wait until i turned 16. but in case i end up realising he's too boring for me, this is what i want in a boy.

he should be taller, hotter, stronger, and waaaay more intelligent than these bozos at my school. please make him rich and fancy. i want generational wealth, not trauma. but even if he isn't rich, don't make him ugly and boring, guys at school already do that. if the spirits can see this, i swear to never kiss anyone until i turn 18,

thank you."

he was giggling like a school girl after reading it. he was so invested in reading some of your other notes until he heard your voice. you were arguing with someone, and he couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"no, i told you that i don't like her. she gives me the heebie jeebies," your voice booms in the room. "but she taught you in 6th grade, be nice and just meet her. her son is your age too, maybe you'll finally find someone to date!" an older woman's voice spoke.

caleb felt uncomfortable with the idea of you looking for someone to date. it didn't sit right with him. he shakes the thoughts away and focuses back on the conversation.

"her son is literally dating my friend," you deadpan. your mom, as he assumes her to be, is dumbfounded. "but be respectful and meet her for the love of god," your mom snaps at you. "she used to literally pick on me, if she died, i would wish everyone a happy new year," this remark of yours makes him snort.

".....y/n, do you have a pig in your house?" your mom questions you suspiciously, making caleb freeze. "no? uh...that was just- i farted!" you immediately cover up. caleb was trying so hard not to laugh. "i keep telling you to exercise to control gas but you never listen. did you know how happy i felt when you left for college because i didn't have to bear with the constant farting at home?" your mom nags.

you panic internally, not wanting caleb to hear about this part of your life. you wanted to crawl into a coffin and bury yourself alive. "it's just a natural process, mom. please, just go home now. i need to complete some work."

as soon as your mom leaves, you pick up your phone. "now listen here you piece of shit, you heard nothing, not even a single damn word," you aggressively tell him. "yes, ma'am," he responds from the other side. "but, i recently heard about someone having a farting problem, although i don't know who."

"caleb!" you warn him. you bury your head in your hands from the shame. he laughs out loud at this.

a few minutes later, he remembers what he did, guilty consuming him. "hey, uh, listen," he nervously calls out. "i might have accidentally read your notes, i didn't mean to. i'm so sorry," he frantically apologizes. great, another reason to kill yourself today.

"...what did you read?" you ask helplessly. "just something from when you were thirteen, about your boyfriend and stuff," he replies casually, as if he didn't just read about your inner demons. "it was cute," he remarks.

"caleb, my love, snoop around the notes app again and i'll make sure you don't see the light of day," you threaten him. he apologizes again, but was slightly amused. "i just hope nothing more embarrassing happens after this or i might just jump off the terrace," you groan.

later that night while caleb was once again, unfortunately curious, snooping around your phone. he was just finding out about different apps. he was about to listen to some music when he heard a gasp. alarmed, he began paying attention to the sound, thinking you were in trouble.

"oh, fuck!" you moan out loud when your vibrator's intensity increases. your body convulsing at the stimulation your clit was receiving. your soft gasps were ever so clear to him. his entire body begins warming up, his pants making him uncomfortable.

he intently listens to your whimpers and whines, imagining how it would be to eat you out. devour you fully and deeply till you're nothing but a beautiful mess, all because of him. his boner getting more painful as time passes by, but he just can't stop listening.

it gets worse when he hears your moans getting louder, indicating your climax. good lord, he was so in trouble right now.

if you knew he could hear every little sound you were making, you might have just gone along your earlier statement.

[signanothername]

I– I need to ask.

HOW DO YOU DO THIS?? Like, share your thoughts with everyone. Because I've been working on my universe for about three years now, AND I STILL FEEL LIKE IT'S NOT READY. At the same time, I’m still afraid to share these things...

So. How do you do it?D:

Alright my answer will seem a bit harsh and/or cruel, but know that I mean it in the most kind, genuine, and gentle way possible, i just don’t know how to word it any other way

With that in mind

Anon, you’re never going to be ready to share it, and the fear will always linger, you will never be 100% confident of what you share

And that’s ok

Again, I know that i make it seem super easy, but I promise that I’m just as afraid to share my ideas as anyone else (I’m a perfectionist, and that also contributes to my fear to share things)

It’s just, I think of it this way

I have an idea, and I got two choices

Either

1- I keep overthinking it, and succumb to my worries and fears when it comes to my idea, and keep my ideas with me, never to see the light of day

Or

2- I acknowledge that I’m afraid, acknowledge that my idea might not be perfect or ready, acknowledge that there might be flaws that I will probably notice later and even feel stupid about it, and still share my ideas anyway regardless of the voice in my head telling me to “wait a little more”

I usually go for choice number 2

The art and writing process is complicated, it’s so not easy to write something and feel ready to share it, no matter how much time it takes, you will never ever feel truly and utterly ready to share it, you’ll have that worry in your mind that maybe it’s stupid, or incomplete, or inconsistent or whatever else

And guess what? Sometimes, the worried voice in your head is completely right

But what matters is how you tackle it

Even if you share an idea, remember that you can always change your mind about it, you can absolutely go back and say, I don’t like that idea anymore and so I’ll remove/ change/ replace it

Ideas are never set in stone, you change and grow as a person as so do your ideas, they grow and change with you as you learn more and more, and sometimes they don’t, they don’t change at all, and that’s ok too

You can’t keep worrying about whether the story or idea you’re working on is ready or complete, because all you’re going to do is just walk around in circles and end up never sharing anything at all

It’s ok to be worried, but you can’t let your worries control you, of course, it’s not easy to ignore your worries, but it’s better than feeling stuck with your ideas

I myself do deal with these worries a lot, most of the time i just tell my brain “shut up” and share my ideas anyway, other times my worries do get the best of me and i tend to keep some ideas to myself

But sharing your ideas is actually essential for you to actually be able to work on them and refine them, because people might start asking questions or giving really good feedback that you actually sit with yourself to think about

But what if they ask you a question and you don’t know the answer to it? That’s actually a good thing, it’ll make you sit down and think of how to connect the dots and answer it, not only does it mean you’re actually making progress on your story/ideas, but these kinda questions help you understand different perspectives and by that, you learn and grow in your writing

It’s ok to be worried and to keep ideas to yourself sometimes, but don’t let them fester, because believe me, eventually your passion is gonna burn out because you kept overthinking it to the point it became just a worry than something you enjoy doing

In fact, to give you a bit of motivation, imma actually share one of the ideas I never shared cause I was afraid it’ll be a bit stupid and out of character

And I’m very worried about sharing it, but fuck my worry I do what I want

Remember when I mentioned Dream received one gift from Nightmare, and never received anything after? My idea for that gift was an echo flower he gave Dream, and it echoes one thing “I love you”

There, I shared it ouuughh the stress of sharing it is killing me actually, but I mean I can keep worrying about it forever, or actually share it and refine it later if I wanted, I choose the latter

And your ideas are never going to be perfect anyway, but you can improve them with time, even after sharing them

That’s all I do really shzggz

So go out there and start sharing anon, fuck anxiety, you can do whatever you want, you’re unstoppable

[drag-ula]

SO IT GOES

rockstar!matt x fem!reader

content warnings : smut (p in v), fingering, oral (fem!recieving), strong language,

being in a relationship with one of the most popular musicians was exhausting. the actual relationship was amazing but the package that comes with it? literal torture.

she could cope with the fans begging for photos and autographs, in fact she was happy that they did that because of how much it meant to her boyfriend.

the worst of it was the parties. matt was always invited to these big events where he talks with other stars and guests. she was used to her boyfriend being busy throughout the night but when she has to watch another woman try and flirt with him…she’d never felt to jealous.

this has happened lots of times before and of course it would, he’s in a band but those little giggles coming from her mouth and the smile on his face were enough to make her blood boil.

she didn’t want to cause a scene, especially in front of all these big names. it was hard not to go over there and confront them, so to distract her mind, she went off to get another drink.

after a couple more drinks, matt walked up behind her, giving her a kiss on the neck as she ever so slightly pulled away. he gave her a confused look, knowing something was wrong instantly.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, lightly grabbing ahold of her chin so she’d look at him.

she gave him a harsh glare, “i don’t know, maybe ask your new friend.” her words came out with a hint of poison as she tried to avoid his gaze.

again, he was having none of it. “could you just tell me what i did wrong?” he practically begged, watching her start to walk away.

he took a step forward and pulled her back to him. matt held onto her hand as he took her through the crowd and into a quiet, empty room.

“who was the girl?” she questioned, crossing her arms, making matt let out a small laugh.

he shook his head unbelievably, “that’s what this is about?” matt continued to smile. “wow, i didn’t think of you as the jealous type.” he began to tease her.

she blushed at his words, embarrassed to admit that it was the truth but he saw right through her.

“c’mon, you got nothing to worry about. you’re it for me, okay?” matt stepped closer, making her back touch the wall.

his hands began to move from her waist, down to the end of her dress. she let out a gasp at the sudden movement, feeling her face heat up.

“but there’s people outside.” she said, gesturing to the party still happening.

“then we’ll just have to be quiet.” he shrugged his shoulders, his fingers reaching the bottom of her underwear and slowly going up until he felt her wetness.

she let out a gasp as his fingers pumped in and out of her. “fuck.” she moaned, her eyes already rolling back from pleasure.

“you like that?” matt leaned closer to her ear, feeling himself hardening in his jeans at the sight of her.

“i’m gonna-“ she began to say, only for him to pull away from her.

he began kissing down her neck, not caring about leaving marks. “not yet, baby.”

matt crouched down onto the floor and lifted her dress again. he pulled down her underwear and immediately buried his face into her wetness.

she moaned loudly as his tongue moved up and down repeatedly. “yes, right there.” her hands went into his hair, pulling at it.

her hips slowly grinded into his face, feeling even more pleasure than before. “yes.” her moans grew louder as she went into her orgasm.

matt looked up at her and smiled, her cum dripping down his chin. he pulled off his jeans and underwear, revealing his cock dripping with pre cum.

“go sit down.” he insisted, pointing at the couch in front of them. she did as he said and watched as he sat down next to her.

she took his cock in her hand and started to pump him. he leaned his head back against the couch and groaned under his breath. “fuck, you’re so good at this.” he panted, watching as her hand moved.

matt grabbed her hips and placed her on top of him. she lined her entrance up with his cock and sunk herself onto him. she started to ride him at a fast pace, moans and groans coming from both of them.

“baby, i’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” matt told her, his hands going up her dress and squeezing her breasts.

she rode him faster, watching as he came undone. “fuck, yes.” he whimpered, guiding her hips as she started to get tired.

her eyes rolled back, “god, you feel so good.” she almost yelled, feeling herself orgasm.

they both panted, trying to catch their breath. matt pulled out and kissed her on the lips. “you did so well, baby.”

[simonskitty]

cw: mentions of religion, self punishment, daddy issues (reader), and age gap (legal!)

john price starts going to church, and meets a pretty little thing like you to comfort :( i wanna write more of this because it ends sorta abruptly :3

After retirement, John Price began attending church in an effort to bring his life back to a more tranquil state, heal from past trauma, and escape the sinful thoughts and surroundings he had spent nearly his entire life in.

Surprisingly, things begin to improve. He feels more—holy, if you will. The pastor does not appear to be a total jackass, and he has even begun putting a small portion of his money to the tin tray when it is his turn. Basically, things are getting better.

Until he sees you for the first time and all of his newfound principles are thrown out the window. It's not like you're just any ordinary person attending church to grow closer to God or to recover from traumatic events that have left you damaged, like other visitors to Jesus' sacred sanctuary. You are the pastor's daughter. You attend church every Sunday and occasionally on Wednesday nights, whether you're religious or not, and eventually you run into John.

You two have a friendly meeting at first, you introducing yourself, informing him that your the pastors daughter. Though, you didn’t tell him that took on major responsibilities that you didn’t even know you could handle. That you were obligated to come to a place where you didn’t feel anything in your heart for. A conversation that you and your father had many times before that always ended in tears and a scratchy voice that needed chai spice tea to soothe before the night ended. So, the conversation ended at that.

That was until John overheard a conversation, or perhaps it was an argument between none other than you and your father, something that happened more frequently than when you were his good little girl that he used to tuck into bed with a kiss to the forehead.

And, as any decent human being would, John consoled you as you left the church's wooden doors that afternoon. Face still damp from tears, which inevitably fall when things like this happen. It began with a hug, warm and deep, like the fatherly love you had longed for years. Then, a trip to the downtown ice cream parlor, which your father used to take you to. Watching the sunset as you lapped your vanilla cone with a small bit of delight on your lips. And John found out that he liked that look on your face, and knowing that he made it happen made it all the more enjoyable to witness.

The feeling of a calloused thumb, grazing your bottom lip. John with a small smile of his own on his lips. “Got some ice cream on ya lips, love.” It’s low, and gravelly, his voice. Like he had done years of professional yelling all his life, which he probably had, considering his past profession. It’s like your heart was heavy, but in a good way. Like this man, though same age and the same wrinkles near his eyes has your father—the man that had made you cry more than laugh—was making your body warm and fuzzy. The feeling when your feet are cold as hell and your finally get to wrap them up in a blanket.

However, when you got home that evening, you experienced the identical emotion you had with your father—just a different man was to blame. Then followed the regretful thoughts. Maybe you shouldn’t have kissed John in the car. He was probably just doing something good because you were all sad—anyone would, wouldn’t they? You felt so fucking good while doing it, and you hated yourself for that fact. That you enjoyed the feeling of man’s lips on yours. And, before you got married? God, that had to be a sin, right?

Whatever thoughts that your father has put into your brain—even years ago when you were a mere child, doing something naughty like screaming to stay up late that night, just a a little bit after your bedtime—were still implanted safe and sound. That when you did something bad it was the devil’s work, that you needed Jesus. And before you knew it, your great grandmothers holy oil was being drawn into your forehead, the shape of the cross.

Punishing yourself had to be the only rightful option to do, for committing such cruelty while being just miles down the road of the home of God himself.

Did John feel it too? Could he feel the immense amount of remorse as you? Or did he decide from right then and there—when the words “We can’t,” fell from his lips, that it was a mistake. That you screwed something up again, with a man that was just trying to do a good deed?

John himself felt guilt, reasons separate from yours. Kissing a girl, someone so innocent and much younger than himself, was wrong. It was morally wrong in every way, especially a girl who followed the book of God. That didn’t keep him from enjoying it, and the nasty things he began to imagine—trying but failing to ignore—consumed him.

He’d just have to indulge from a far.

© simonskitty

[ambiguous-avery]

When He Slides In...

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2768

Summary: ...And says “Fuck, I missed you.” After a hookup with the (in)famous Dean Winchester, you figured that would be the end of it. Too bad you could never seem to get him out of your mind. People always told you that you got attached too easily. And they were right. You were just another notch in his belt. He couldn’t possibly remember you...

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI, no use of Y/N, she/her pronouns, femme nicknames (sweetheart, pretty girl), reader is AFAB, oral (f receiving), P in V sex, PWP (Plot? What plot?), pining, pure filth because I have no chill, no beta we die like men

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long. This was the title of an audio I listened to, and the line lives in my head rent-free. Plus I figured this would be a great birthday gift for our one and only boy! Thanks to my bestie for reminding me of this momentous day!

The first time you met the Winchesters – and subsequently ended up beneath the eldest – was when you had called for some back up with a vampire nest you had found in a rural town in South Dakota. It was a routine hunt, but the nest had taken up residence on a farm with far too many places to be ambushed from. Thankfully, there was enough practiced experience between the three of you that the hunt only left you with several bruised ribs, Dean with a too-close-for-comfort almost bite, and Sam with a bloody gash cutting across his cheek. All in all, it could’ve been much worse. You had joined the two of them at a bar in town, eager to take a well-deserved moment of reprieve. And you left the bar with Dean. Just Dean.

After you parted ways, you fully accepted that it would be a one night stand, and your paths would never cross again.

Fate had different plans for you.

It was a standard haunted house case that pulled you to a small town in the middle of bumfuck, Iowa. Something something father killed his family when he was discovered having an affair before turning the weapon onto himself. And now he was killing other cheaters in the town. You’d have been tempted to leave him be – was he really doing harm by getting rid of those kinds of people? – if it weren’t for the fact that he would go after the affair partner as well who wasn’t always aware of just who they had gotten in bed with. It was a cut and dry case. Except you couldn’t find where the damn body had been buried, so you were having a hell of a time salting and burning the bones. The extended family had been so ashamed of what their son had done that they had buried him in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of town. 

You had just about hit the end of your rope when two very familiar Winchester boys rolled into town in a sleek Impala that purred like a kitten. And there he was. The one and only Dean Winchester, all swagger and bravado, and fuck, had he gotten hotter? Seriously, God hadn’t played around when chiseling him from marble.

“Hey, sweetheart, long time no see.” He grinned at you, his voice rumbling. 

Leave it to the grave-desecration-brothers to pinpoint where the cheater had been buried. It took several hours in the library pouring over a convoluted family tree before the three of you eventually found a living descendant and another hour talking with her and convincing her to let you guys go through old family books she had stored in her attic. Cheater’s sister happened to jot down which grave was his in her diary. Bleeding heart saved the day. You had ‘cheers’ed to that before knocking back your beer and excusing yourself from the bar with Dean in tow. 

Despite the long span of time you had spent apart, Dean was still familiar to you. The way his lips felt as he kissed you. The way your body seemed to slot against his just right. You couldn’t forget how he felt. Not when every touch of his had seared your skin and left imprints in its wake. Dean had ruined you for anyone else. Because he didn’t just leave his marks on your body. He had carved out a piece of your heart and taken it, leaving a hole in it that ached with every beat. Dean was a heartbreaker, and you were just another name on a long list of casualties. But you were on that list, and you lied to yourself, convinced yourself that it was good enough for you. 

“Dean,” you sighed against his lips, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Glad you didn’t forget me, sweetheart,” he said quietly, kissing you again. You could never forget him. Could never forget the way his hands felt as they teased at the hem of your shirt before sliding up your side. Could never forget the scent of leather and bourbon and cedar that encompassed him. Could never forget the way he looked at you and you let yourself believe just for a fleeting moment that maybe, maybe, you were something more than a hookup in his eyes. Dean’s touch was a flame, and he was going to kindle your entire world to ashes. And as long as he kept looking at you like that, you would let him. Over and over and over again. 

He trailed kisses along your cheek, across your jaw, and further down the side of your neck. His lips left your skin just long enough to slide your shirt over your head and make quick work of the clasp of your bra. He sucked a bruise just below your collarbone then soothed it with his tongue before dipping lower. Dean was attentive, leaving no part of you physically untouched but all of you still wanting. His nose dragged between the valley of your breasts, leaving another mark there. 

“You’re gorgeous; I hope you know that, sweetheart,” he murmured, and your response died in your throat as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, toying with it with his tongue.

There was so much you couldn’t say. Couldn’t tell him how much more you wanted from him. It was silly. You barely knew him in the bedroom and even less outside of it. But there was an undeniable spark between the two of you that you couldn’t shake. An unspoken pull. Something that kept the two of you in the other’s orbit. You were doubtful Dean felt it. It was just you and your silly little heart looking for anything to quell the loneliness that threatened to consume you. 

Dean moved lower, deftly ridding you of the last of your clothing so you were bare for him. And then his mouth was on you, stubble scratching lightly, and all thoughts were wiped from your mind in an instant. His fingers dug into your thighs, all lips and tongue on your clit and folds and fu-uck. You carded your fingers in his short hair, nails scratching against his scalp. He groaned, a low and guttural sound that sent vibrations through your core, and your answering cry was breathless, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his head or the bed sheets or anywhere. The sigh you let out when he slid a finger in you must’ve unraveled some of his self control because a second one joined it none too soon. He curled them, and your back arched.

 If you could form coherent thoughts, you might have had the wherewithal to wonder about when or where or how he learned his talents. But such wasn’t the case as everything tightened. Your tension collapsed into a litany of moans and gasps, and Dean was a solid presence between your legs. He was a maestro, and you were his instrument. He plucked at your strings until you came shuddering around his fingers, your nails biting into his skin. He coaxed you through your release, gently sucking and keeping a steadying hand on your leg. Your head fell back against the pillow, chest heaving. There were too many words that threatened to be the next to spill from you, so instead, you pulled Dean up by the hair and put every word you wanted to say to him in a kiss. It was deep and longing and you tried so hard to tell him just how lucky you felt that you got him for the night with it. If that’s all you ever got of him, it would be enough. It wouldn’t really, but you could delude yourself long enough to convince him.

He met your passion, one hand tangling in your locks and the other slipping beneath you to press against your lower back to provide counterpressure as he rolled his hips against yours. Your jaw went slack as you felt the length of him pressed against you, hot and heavy and hard beneath his jeans. You tugged at his shirt, desperate to get more skin to skin contact. Gasoline coursed through your veins, and if Dean didn’t set you ablaze this very instant, you were sure you would spontaneously combust. Thankfully, Dean was a smart man. He picked up on your desperate plea and stripped out of his shirt before briefly standing up to strip out of the rest of his clothes. 

As he looked down at you, his green eyes met yours, and you could see him searching for something. Acceptance? Approval? Adoration? All three? You’d give him all of those. Whatever it was, you could only hope that he found it as you looked up at him, sprawled out on the bed and propped up on your elbows. You took your time taking him in. The cut of his jaw. The broad expanse of his shoulders. The tattoo that sat just above his left pec. Your gaze dropped lower, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip before dragging your eyes back up to his again.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at the edge of your lips.

Dean pounced. He yanked you into a kiss, messy and primal, crushing you into the bed with his weight. You responded in kind by dragging your nails down the length of his back, needing to leave a mark of your own on him so maybe he’d remember you for more than a fleeting night. Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound ringing in your ears. There were no barriers left between you two, and you arched your body up into his, looking for all the contact you could possibly find. His hand dropped down to your ass and pulled you against him, his cock frotting against the junction of your hip. You raked your fingers in his hair and pulled it, pressing your mouth to the side of his neck and biting and sucking there until Dean was cursing under his breath.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Dean bit out. You released him, eyes locked onto the angry red mark you had left. He fumbled with his discarded pants for a brief moment before pulling a condom from the pocket. 

“Smart man... smarter than me." 

It was good that he had his wits about him because you were more than ready to throw caution to the wind. You were a hunter. You risked your life every day. What was one more risk? You knew you’d be thankful when your brain wasn’t drowning in lust, though. He rolled the condom over himself before kneeling between your legs again. He grabbed the backs of your knees and spread your legs wide, lifting your ass off the bed before settling it on his thighs. Dean took a moment to guide his cock into place. His gaze met yours again, waiting and pleading. You gave him a subtle nod.

Dean rolled his hips, sinking into you with slow thrusts. You audibly sighed as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He said your name, reverent and sincere. He said your name. Not sweetheart. Not baby. Not some nickname he probably used to mask the fact that he forgot the name of the woman under him. Your name. You whimpered.

“Dean... I missed you too,” you admitted. But he didn’t understand the depths of your words. He couldn’t. He kept a hand on your knee, keeping you splayed open for him. You braced a hand on the headboard and turned your face aside, biting the knuckle of one of your fingers and panting into it.

“No, no, pretty girl. Keep your eyes on me,” he said, leaning forward to grab your chin and guide your eyes back to him. The shift caused him to sink just a little deeper into you. You squeaked when your eyes met green ones. There, behind the lust and desire, there was Dean. And for a moment, you could see the vulnerability there. The lonely man who wanted to be needed. Needed to be wanted. 

“Move, Dean. I need you.”

And that’s all it took. Dean surrendered to what felt good and snapped his hips, pounding into you, thrilling at the way you moaned and moved with him and accepted every aggressive stroke like you were made for it. He lowered his body and leaned forward onto his hands so he could drive himself deeper into you. His hands found yours, and you entwined your fingers with his. He pinned you to the mattress, caging you beneath him. You shouted in response, your legs clenching against Dean’s sides and the drag of his cock setting every nerve alight. 

“There you go, pretty girl. You can take it. You can take me. I know you can.” His words were fuel for the inferno that threatened to devour you. You were trembling. Aching. He was the musician; your body was the instrument. You were a violin string. You were tuned too tight. You were breaking.

Your groans and cries turned to fervent whimpers, and you fought against his hold as your release danced just beyond your reach. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Dean clicked his tongue, commanding your attention. You stared up at him, eyes wide and bright, drinking in the sight of him as though it would be your last.

“Please,” you begged. Your voice sounded so utterly wrecked in your own ears, but you didn’t care. You had abandoned your dignity long ago. “Dean, please. Need more.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He let go of one of your hands, and his thumb found your clit, drawing tight circles around it. “Come on, pretty girl. Need you to come on my cock.” His breaths mingled with yours, and your answering cry was high and thready as you lost yourself in him. Your voice, so needy and desperate, must’ve been enough to be Dean’s undoing because the hand holding yours tightened as he rutted into you until he came in hot, throbbing pulses that sucked the energy out of the rest of his body. You clenched around him, and he let out a strangled groan as his whole body shuddered above you.

He pressed his forehead against yours, brushing stray hairs out of your face with his free hand. His other still clasped yours tightly, fingers still laced together. You leaned up to kiss him, and your lips met in a tender way. An unburdened, unhurried kiss. A kiss for the sake of kissing.  You could’ve stayed like that forever, but all too soon, Dean broke the kiss and peeled himself off of you, his hand leaving yours. He stood, moving to discard the condom before grabbing a towel from the bathroom. You sat up, watching his retreating back and taking pride in the red lines your nails had left in their wake. You could only hope he would remember you.

When he returned with a damp washcloth, he coaxed you back against the pillow as he wiped the sweat from your brow, muttering sweet nothings all the while. There was silence between you for a long while, and you realized too late that your time with him was coming to an end. He had set you aflame, and now you would have to find a way to rebuild. But you’d do it all again if Dean asked it of you. But when he spoke, you hadn’t expected the words that came out of his mouth.

“Do you maybe wanna... you know... stay?” he asked quietly. “For the night,” he added. You swallowed.

“Um... isn’t Sam due back sometime... soon?” Why were you making excuses? This opportunity didn’t even show up in your dreams. Dean wet his lips, not quite meeting your gaze.

“Well... not to be presumptuous or anything... but I might have told him to get his own room for the night.”

“Oh.” Oh. He had planned on you staying with him? You were done for. 

“Yeah... Uh, nevermind. You don’t have to. You’ve probably got somewhere better–”

“I’d love to stay,” you blurted out. “With you,” you clarified, as if it weren’t obvious. The smile that split across Dean’s face was blinding, and it became your new life’s mission to do whatever it took to see it directed your way time and time again.

“How about I order us some food? We can watch a movie and cuddle?” And really, you were only human. A request like that from Dean Winchester was as easy to fulfill as breathing.

---

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[stinkysam]

Choi Subong “Thanos” - Touches.

Warning : reader smokes, drug use

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “thanos with a reader who's love language is physical touch??? Like, he always prefers to at least touch their fingers together sometimes, whether for self-comfort (maybe during the game) or just to show his affection.” - anon

Reader : male (he/you)

A/N : bold is in English // saw in some headcanons that he puts cologne to hide that he doesn’t shower. I prefer to think that if he smells, it’s because he has shit ass tastes in perfumes/colognes lol.

He knew early on you were a touchy guy. Even when you were just friends, you were always touching him or other people in some ways.

It never bothered him because he likes touching as well.

While you put a hand on his shoulder as you speak to someone else, his hand is on your back, between your shoulder blades, rhythmically tapping.

Or when you tried to show your inexistant rap skills.

His hand in your hair, keeping from turning away as your head moves up and down slightly while you try to rap. Focused on finding your next words.

He laughs his ass off at you, so much he nearly coughs up a lung, holding on to you as you’re now trying to ignore him, pushing him away.

“Why are you laughing at me ? You asked me to show you, I’m only delivering.”

He has trouble responding, laughing too much it ends up making you smile.

“I never said I was a rapper.” You sighed walking away, crossing your arms. “It’s your job dude.”

“Wa- wait wait wait !” He goes after you, still laughing, grabbing your shoulders to make you face him. “Do it again, pl-ease ! My boy, come on !”

“No way.” You laughed pushing him away.

“Do you know how to beatbox then ?”

“Do I look like I know how to ?” You placed your hands on his shoulders, suddenly serious. “Bro, seriously, stop speaking nonsense. You’re worrying me.”

He cackled at your response, holding your arms.

“I’ll teach you.” He winked.

“Oh my god, you will ?! Really ?” You said, shaking him, squealing, faking excitement, before walking away again. “Fuck off dude.” You raised your middle finger at him.

“Whatever.” He chuckled, following you. “My offer will forever stand.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows, expecting you to change your mind.

You hummed in response, rolling your eyes.

There’s also moments when you’ll sit behind him, leaning against a wall as you smoke, while he’s on his phone, music loudly playing, using your legs as a backrest.

This position evolved the closer you got.

Right before dating, he’d be between your legs, elbows on your knees and then as it turned into a relationship, Thanos was directly leaning on you, his back against your chest, your chin resting on top of his head.

“Babe.” He said calmly, hands frozen in the air. He had paused his music.

“Mh.” You raised an eyebrow and took a drag of your rollie, keeping the smoke in.

“You’re putting ash in my hair.”

You looked down at his hair, exhaling all the smoke before replying.

“No, I’m not.” You lightly tapped your cigarette with your index, ashes flying away. “There’s nothing.”

“You-” He turned around. “It’s not a reason to spit your smoke in my hair instead ! My god, babe ! Seriously…” He complained, brushing them quickly with his hands to get rid of the ashes that still weren't in them.

You snorted, letting out a ‘sorry’ before putting your chin on his head once more and taking another drag.

“I’m serious, don’t do it again.” He clicked his tongue. “Don’t wanna fucking smell like tobacco.”

“Aw.” You grimaced, rubbing your cheek against him as you squeezed him. “But that smell is so much better than your recent cologne.”

“What ?! Are the nerves in your nose rotten ? Are you crazy ?” He turned around once more, a hand dramatically on his heart.

You laughed.

“Perhaps. But whatever you’re using, it’s soooo bad.” You grimaced, closing your eyes in disgust. “Price doesn’t mean good.”

He sighed, putting his music back on before resting once more against you. He had decided to ignore you.

“Rotten nose.” He muttered.

“Smelly bitch.” You whispered back.

He grabbed your rollie, crushing it on the ground as you gasped, quickly trying to stop him. But it was too late.

“Boom !” He threw his hands in the air.

“Asshole !” You gave the back of his head a light slap as you groaned. “It was my last rolling sheet too…” You let out a displeased sigh. Crossing your arms to put some distance between his back and you.

He just shrugged, rolling his eyes but happy you were no longer ‘putting’ ashes in his hair as he styled some strands carefully.

“Stink bug.” You whispered, resting your head against the wall behind you, your feet tapping the ground.

Sometimes you’re the one laying against Thanos, resting between his legs.

A lot of times he will ask you to not lay on him so he can use your back as if it was a paper to write on with his fingers.

His phone is in his other hand, lyrics being written in the note app or directly sending them to you. He has the autocorrect on yet he still writes certain words on your back.

You try to guess the words and spell them for him, though he doesn’t always touch your back completely or touch too lightly for you to feel it properly.

“Alright, I’m done.” He says, pushing his phone in his pocket as you lay against his chest.

But you know he’s not done, although it’s silent and your eyes are closed, you know he’s still thinking about making the perfect bars. You know because you can feel his arms move around you, hands flying, you could also hear a few breathed out words every now and then.

You raise your hands up, blindly reaching for his, when you feel them with your fingers you stop, just touching his wrists or palms is enough. Your fingers are wiggling, tapping lightly against his skin occasionally.

After a few seconds he lowers his hands so your fingers could fit in his palms fully, hands holding yours and waving them around as he continues to mentally rap.

There are times where it’s more subtle, sitting next to each other but only your feet are touching, mainly in public when there’s a lot of people. Or when you two visit his dad.

Which doesn’t happen a lot, quite rarely to be honest. And you understand why.

Each time you saw him, the man was drunk.

He doesn’t even know you two are a thing because Thanos knows he won’t react well to the news.

There’s almost always an awkward silence as you sit next to him, your shoe against his as you both listen to his dad rant angrily about something, beer in hand. A couple times Thanos couldn’t help but clash against him, almost getting into a fist fight that you had to interrupt.

You’re not sure who would win between the two and don’t wanna find out despite Thanos telling you he would obviously win.

But he’s not like this at your parents’ place. Where it’s more peaceful and open than at his dad’s. They know you’re in a relationship with Thanos though they don’t know about his addiction or debts, only finding him a bit eccentric.

His arms wrapped around you, or your hand on his thigh as you sit next to each other or he is directly laying on you when you’re resting on the couch.

“Stink bug.” You whispered to not disturb your parents watching TV on the second couch.

Thanos said nothing in return, refusing to acknowledge the nickname. He just focused harder on falling asleep to not hear your annoying voice.

“Stink bug.” You called again, a bit louder. “Your stench is suffocating me.”

He scoffed.

“Stop breathing then.” He quietly replied, eyes still closed.

“But I’ll die.”

“Not my problem. I won’t come to your funeral, annoying brat.”

“Aww. I’m hurt.”

He didn’t reply, no longer wanting to engage with you.

“No but seriously, you stink.”

He’s had enough, getting up to nap in your old room. He knew you were joking though you didn’t really like his cologne.

“Your cat appreciates my smell.” He said quietly, before walking away, flipping you off behind your parents’ back, sticking his tongue out.

“It’s because you smell like fish.” You replied, getting up and following him.

As he reaches the first door frame behind the couches he turns around, stopping you.

“Why are you following me ?”

“Because, my love.” You dramatically placed a hand on his shoulder. “Although you smell like fish, my heart still beats for you.” You said, making a heart with your fingers.

“Get lost.” He said, pointing behind you after pushing your hand away from his shoulder.

“But baby.” You tried to look sad, though you couldn’t get rid of your smile.

“Fuck. Off.” His hands went on you make you turn around, but you fought back, trying to push him aside so you could walk with him to your room. You did this for a good minute, struggling while trying to remain silent to not attract your parents’ attention.

But alas it didn’t work.

“[Name], did you clean the table ?”

“He didn’t clean it ?” Your mom asked.

“No, I don’t think so.” Your father replied.

You sighed, pulling away from Thanos who smiled, flipping you off again with both hands. You did the same before pointing at him menacingly.

“You. Lucky ass bastard bitch.” You whispered.

He just shrugged before going up the stairs, almost dancing. Finally, away from you !

“Stink bug !”

“I’ll lock the door !”

“No !” You rushed up the stairs to stop him as he quickly ran to your room, closing behind himself.

“[Name] ?!” Your dad called and you quickly got back downstairs to clean the table.

He honestly adores your touch, don’t get him wrong, but there are times where it isn’t welcomed. Mostly when he’s too focused on something.

You never really know when your touch will become too much when he’s thinking or working. He can like it like he can find it annoying. Stopping him from thinking, losing his ideas, forgetting his words.

So you try to not touch him or only very lightly when he’s working but he’s the one taking his laptop and sitting right against you. Yet he’s gonna glare at you when your arm rubs against his as you go to grab something.

But most of the time he’s vocal about it, telling you to stop touching him. He’s a bit rude about it and the first few times were a bit surprising.

“Stop it.” He muttered, raising a hand up to stop you from resting your head on his shoulder.

You stared at him, confused.

“Huh ?” You raised an eyebrow.

He doesn’t look away from his screen as his hand closed into a fist, only leaving his index up. ‘Shut up.’ ?

You raised another eyebrow, getting more confused and slightly annoyed.

Then he pointed at his screen, quickly, before continuing typing again. You leaned closer to watch what he was writing.

Lyrics. Oh !

You quickly understood he needed space to work.

You hummed a ‘sorry’ quietly, pulling away a bit to lay on one of the pillows instead.

Though he doesn’t want you to touch him doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you around.

It also happens when he takes his colorful pills, getting sometimes overstimulated by them.

It had always been like that, even when you were friends, so you knew about it.

When you landed on that island with him, your guts quickly made you worry about him.

Your guts were proven right. That girl died and Thanos took one of his pills, getting high and rather unpredictable making it harder for you to find a way to de-stress in between games. Each death, and there were a lot of them, made you more queasy, trying to reach out to him.

Unsuccessfully.

Though he could be with you, sitting next to you, a hand on your knee, as time went on he’s too out of it to notice you’re drifting away from each other. Zoning out or too energetic to stay in place and remain with you. Sometimes leaving you on your own.

You didn’t know what to do, whether you wanted out or not, voting O or X. You no longer knew if you were on the same wavelength or if he would accept you voting X.

He really loves you and your touch, finding it grounding and a constant reminder that you’re with him. But that island made his greediness come out more than ever, seeing himself invincible and lucky enough to survive all games.

He has to repay his debts or he’ll die trying. Whatever happens.

[red-doll-face]

Heeyyy! Soooo I have a fun request idea that I totally came up with on my own with no help from anybody else, from my own mind and not some super creative person that answered my question about Arthur proposing to reader 🤣 it goes something like this:

-takes three months to work up the nerve and like another one to pick out one ring.

-chickens out at least two times bc the moment isn't right

-asks Hosea for advice 19 times (Hosea is tired)

-he's the trope where reader starts crying and he's like ohh goddd i fucked up of course you don't wanna marry my ass

-the way he would ride around for a week looking for the perfect spot to do it

-marks it on his map with a heart

-the essays he would write in his journal about this situation

-he's so cute i love him pls marry me Arthur Morgan

-awww once you say yes??

Hehehehe no pressure though!!!!! I just looooovvvveeeee this idea so much!

Yes !!! Yes of course I’ll write this!!! ❤️❤️💕💕🥰🥰😵‍💫😵‍💫😩😩As always it ended up running really long even though I didn’t even really flesh out a back story. 🥲 I’m glad you enjoyed my response ☺️☺️ I definitely had high honor Arthur Morgan in mind for this when I read it, I hope it’s ok and that you like it!!! I was so happy to see you in my inbox !!! @zae-heeyyy 💓💓💓💓💓 writing this was so cathartic and I loved the rdr1 setting so much so that I made this pre black water heist or whatever 😭🫶 from Arthur’s pov hope you like the characterization 🥹

Tags: established relationship, marriage proposals?? Arthur being a major weenie. Like huge weenie. He is soooo sooo sweet it’s almost like too much and I love love love sweet Arthur so very fluffy!!!! Pre black water !! Dutch being a jerk 😒 but cute dad Hosea moments ☺️

Arthur wants things to be perfect for you.

(High honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur knows he’s made up his mind when he’s in the tailor’s shop in Blackwater, looking like a lowdown cattle rustler among all of the fancy fabrics on the wall. He and his spurs, his boots scuffed to hell and a leather satchel slung over his chest. He’s out of place and he knows it. But he’s here to buy a new shirt.

Yesterday, he had nearly driven himself insane looking for a shirt of his that wasn’t ruined, ripped and mended, dirty, stained irreparably. None of them were good enough for what he wanted, something nice to get down on one knee and ask his girl to marry him. And so he kissed you goodbye and rode into town in search of something better. He makes an effort at pretending to be interested in any of the fancy stuff, silk and linen suits that he sure will never be fitted for him. He clears his throat as the attendant drags his eyes away from the sunday paper.

A tight lipped smile consumes the man's face. Arthur already can sense the assumptions he’s getting but he pays little mind to it. He’s getting this shirt and that's that.

“How can I help you, sir?” Obnoxious and nasally, the thin and short man's voice already gives away his air of superiority. Arthur's eyes narrow but he isn’t too irritated yet.

“Here to get a shirt.” His words are simple. The attendant raises a brow.

“Just a shirt, not… pants or shoes?” the attendant lowers the paper to scan over the rest of Arthur’s clothes. Arthur can hardly ignore the burn of insecurity.

He gives a look that conveys how quickly he is losing his patience. “Excuse me?” He can only tell his posture changed when he observes the man's attitude change, clinging to the counter between them like it would make any difference.

“No, well sir, perhaps I’ve overstepped, I apologize. What kind of-of shirts were you thinking?”

“Listen, I ain’t here to cause no trouble, just show me what you’ve got,” The attendant hurries to show him some options, tries to sell him a vest but that isn’t happening with his budget.

In the end, he picks a blue french dress shirt. Costs a real pretty penny but he wants it to be special. Because you’re special. He stuffs it away in a saddlebag after thanking the attendant, who no doubt heaves a sigh of relief after he leaves.

-

He’s been collecting rings. In a special bag is a collection. A few plain gold bands, some with stones set in them. They’re pretty blue and red gems, some have filigree detailing. But he still can’t find the right one.

Worse then, is that they’re rings of all different sizes which he gets from his more sordid activities. Debt collecting or train robberies. It’s all stolen goods. It feels wrong to give you something like that but when he told Dutch his intentions, he clapped him on the back and told him to look in the collection box for more rings. He nodded then but it was half hearted. Somehow that was more souring. Did he really want to give you something he took from someone else? That someone else bought for their loved one with the express purpose of giving them something to symbolize how they loved each other? His own thoughts swirl circles in his head, why he had these scruples about it, he didn’t know.

It’s riding with Hosea that he asks for advice. They’ve been working on a job in Tumbleweed, trying to con some poor fool into giving money he shouldn’t by pretending to sell land deeds. They ride all the way from the yellow grasses of Hennigan’s Stead and it’s been mostly quiet over the stretch of passing though Armadillo. Arthur decides to speak up after they pass through town. The sun is beginning to dip a bit lower in the sky but they’ll be in Tumbleweed before then.

“I been-”

“This about you n’ the girl?” Hosea already has a knowing smile and Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should do it! You two would make quite the couple, she’s a sweetheart, that girl,”

“Yeah, she-she’s… I’ve been lookin’ at rings to give ‘er,” He grips the reins before going lax, riding easily along the path. Hosea murmurs, letting Arthur continue. He guides Boadicea down the dusty road. “I don’t think I wanna give her something I got robbin’, don’t seem right,”

“Then get her something new, I don’t think she’ll mind at all. But you do what you think you should. You could probably fence all the other rings you thought about and get her something quite nice with the cash,”

“Yeah, I could do that,” why hadn't he thought of that?

“That’s a wonderful thing, getting married. Don’t be afraid to, y’know, go through with it. If you’re thinkin’ about it. Maybe, once Dutch and I find the perfect spot for the gang to settle down, we’ll build you two your own little thing on the land,”

“You that confident she’ll say yes?” Arthur has an awkward and disbelieving laugh but Hosea keeps his earnest smile.

“Why wouldn’t she? Arthur, somehow, she has gone for a man like you, you should be over the moon, you should be whistling tunes everywhere you go,”

“Like me? What's that supposed to mean?” He knows what he means. A man like him had very little to offer you, a young woman who could easily charm some other well established man into giving you a home. Leagues away from his cot and the weathered canvas he put up to give you some small amount of privacy.

“You remember what happened with that Mary woman. This time, things oughta turn out better. This one’s got no old man to chase you around with a shotgun,” Hosea figures himself very funny and laughs, ending it with a shallow cough. Arthur furrows his brows.

Of course he reminded him of his disaster with Mary. He could never escape that woman, even when he severed ties with her. But how he had wanted to, especially with you. Yes, it was true, he had loved Mary. But now he loves you. He needs you. His idea of the rest of his life always includes you, laying in bed with him, gently stroking his chest, leaving him love notes in his satchel, telling him what happened in the camp while he was gone. He always listens, always wakes up smiling with you tucked under his arm.

“I remember just fine,” he grunts,

“Good, because you’ll forget about her soon enough. Month from now, I suppose. Where are you going to tell her?”

“Where? I didn’t think we was gonna go nowhere, just tell her when I was ready to…” he hadn’t even imagined a place when he first set out to do this.

“So you wanna propose; with Uncle standing behind her, drunk off his ass in just his soiled union suit?”

“I-”

“Take her somewhere special, somewhere to make her feel special! Women like to feel special, Arthur, you know that,”

“I do?” He says, with a sarcastic edge to his voice, though he tries on his attempt at sounding uninvested.

“You should. I didn’t do that enough. I should have before, well…” Arthur nods, bowing his head a little as if in remembrance. He hopes to always have you by his side. Otherwise he would be much like Hosea: carrying a torch for a woman who passed through his life too quickly.

-

He starts his journey looking for something special. Special like you are. Keeps his eye out, marking potential things in his map, and makes a list in his journal. Aurora Basin maybe, a pretty lake deep in the forest but getting attacked by bears doesn’t sound romantic in any way. There are some sweeping vistas overlooking the San Luis River in Rio Bravo. He isn’t quite sure about anything though, thinking it over deeply. He just wants things to be perfect.

He’s still thinking about it when he comes back to camp, close to Lake Don Julio, sighing. Thinking much too hard obviously, he doesn’t notice that you’re sitting on his bed, biting your nail nervously until you see him first. You look worried, happy to see him but worried. You stand, hugging your arms around yourself and then placing them on your hips to make you seem more upset but you just drop them when he’s close enough.

“Hey, darlin’,” He utters, opening his arms to give you a hug but you just look up at him. He drops them, mentally kicking himself before taking his hat off and sitting down on his bed.

“Arthur, you’ve been gone three days,”

“I know,” you’re disappointed in his answer. You take a breath and a pause, looking off to the right. He stares down at his scuffed and weather worn boots. He hates to disappoint you, hates when you’re upset. It takes a lot to get you there, too. You’re a forgiving soul when he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He looks away, like a dog who knew he shouldn’t have chewed those leather boots up to bits.

“You know. I asked everyone where you were and they didn’t know,”

“Honey, I ain’t gonna leave you, I’m not-”

“You leave other men out of this, Arthur,” you already predicted he’d bring another man’s failings to make up for his own. Maybe bringing up John’s shortcomings while you’re upset is a little below the belt but it worked better in his head. He puffs some air out in a laugh. God, he just can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Is something funny? Is how much-how much I worry funny to you?” You look like you’re gonna cry, squeezing your arms tight around yourself. Your eyes flick around, thinking of all the people watching, never any goddamn privacy in this place. You start to back up, looking for a place to hide your tears.

“No, no, I- I’m sorry, don’t go walkin’ away,” You let him pull you back. Let him tug you into his lap. You sniff and tuck into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says at least 5 more times. His hands pet down your hair, holding you. He hadn’t wanted to come back to such a harrowing fear in the pit of his stomach, the thought of you walking off without him. He thinks himself lucky that you haven’t had enough of him and decided to leave already.

Arthur pulls you in real tight, doesn’t let up til’ you start to calm down a little. “Shouldn’t cry for me, sweet girl, bastard like me ain’t worth them tears,” he wipes a few away. Seeing you like this could make him cry if he thought about it too much, how he had let you down. His nerves almost make him tremble, the slightest shake in his fingers when he brushes them under your eyes, shiny with tears. If anyone else made you cry, he’d knock their teeth out. But what is he supposed to do when it’s him? Sickness roils around his abdomen.

“Where were you, anyway?” You shake your head at his words. “Mac and Davey said…” he perks up at that. Those boys are a terror. His face screws up in an anticipated anger. He’d be angrier with them, they’re the ones who need to see it, not you.

“What’d they say?”

“No, they were just messing with me. I don’t think it’s true,” You look away. But he knows exactly how nasty those boys can be. He gives you a look and you give him a defeated one in return. An embarrassment leaks into your words. You can’t meet his eyes, twiddling your fingers.

“They said you were at the saloon in town. They said things that aren’t true and I know it but it isn’t nice to leave me here with nothing to say about it,”

“I know, darlin’, next time, you’ll be the first to know where I’m goin’,” You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulder while he pats your back, grabs your thigh so he can pull you to sit across his lap fully.

“Are you gonna answer my question or should I take their word?” you tease and he reassures you about those boys. They’ll be hearing from him soon enough.

“I’m gonna have a word with them, don’t worry about it,” he scratches his beard. How is he supposed to say that he went riding around looking for a place to take you so he can ask you to take his sorry hand in marriage? He had already disappointed you and saying it’s a secret is a laughable idea.

“Well, I was out, uhh- huntin’?” You frown and lean away.

“Arthur, you’re an awful hunter and an awful liar,” you look really hurt. You almost stand but he pulls you back. He needs something to tell you and fast.

“I was out lookin’ for somethin’ real special to give you. It’s supposed to be a surprise…but well, I can’t keep no secrets from you, sweetheart,” You fuss a little, a wariness in your posture. You study his expression. It isn’t a complete lie, makes it a bit easier to pull off. He really does have a surprise for you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch up when yours do to, a small smile shining through the clouds of your emotional turmoil.

“What surprise?”

“I didn’t find it, guess a surprise, it’s gonna have to stay,” You pout and wiggle, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Ok, but once you find it, you better take me to see it right away,” You kiss him, soft and sweet, holding his prickly jaw in one hand. He can feel how your pout gives way to a smile. The feeling of your soft lips on his is one of those things he’ll never get sick of, never get over.

“I will, promise,”

-

He’s found the perfect ring, really, by chance. It’s a little thing but it’s the right color, goes well with you. The rock on it isn’t very big but he saw it in a window while in town. Some big fancy jewelry store, showing off all the finer things that he never paid any mind to. Unless it was to steal it of course. But he had bought it. With money that may have been also robbed but it was from hitting a Del Lobo stash. A good deed, probably in a backwards sense.

The girls had ‘oohed’ at it, Mary-Beth had an excited tiny clap and Tilly rejoiced. Jenny nodded with a small smile.

“We’re happy for you Arthur! Oh my god, Arthur Morgan, gettin’ married…” Tilly giggles, putting her hands to her cheeks and clasping her hands in front of the skirt of her yellow dress.

Karen laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day,”

“Don’t listen to her, I mean we was hoping when we saw you two huddled up all the time,” Mary-Beth takes the ring from him, holding it closer, so that Jenny and Tilly can get a closer look.

“Hey, be careful with that,” he murmured, trying not to sound too desperate. He scratches his neck instead of snatching it back like his instinct wants him to. Evening is coming soon, purple dusk and soft coyote yipping and howling far in the distance marks the sun's descent. Meaning you’re probably finishing up whatever it is you’re doing. He hopes you don’t come around the corner at an inopportune time. Arthur turns his head this way and that.

“Where’d you get it? Looks new, ain’t scuffed to high heaven like everything else around here,” Jenny points out and the girls nod.

“Bought it in town,” playing it off doesn’t work so well.

They ‘ooh’ some more. “Fancy. Only the best for Arthur’s sweetheart,” Karen coos teasingly.

“Gimme that,” grumbling, he takes the ring back, bowing his head so they can’t see the embarrassment plain on his face. He meanders off after asking how things have been. Of course, they only give him updates about you, Karen jokes that that’s all he wants to hear about anyway. He scoffs and wishes them a good evening.

But the perfect spot is yet to be discovered. Evades him like just about nothing else. He almost gives up on the idea. He’s been taking you out, trying to get you in the almost perfect moments. Taking you out on the town in Blackwater was a good time, he bought you dinner and took you on a stroll down the cobbled streets, watching your face light up when you saw something pretty in a window, clutching his hand and pulling him in more. He almost proposed on the veranda at the Blackwater saloon. Only for a fight to break out at the poker table to interrupt.

Then he took you out to see the poppy fields in Great Plains. But he had let his anxiousness and his nerves overtake him. He had tucked the ring away. You had looked so beautiful standing among the flowers, it was perfect but he just…couldn’t. Instead, he wrote in his journal about his own cowardice. Wrote about if he should lock you to him for the rest of your life. If he’d end up leaving you a widow. Or if you were to be taken from him like Annabelle and Bessie. Leaving behind lonely men who longed for a woman gone from this world. Then he scribbled pictures of you, trying to draw the motion in your hair and in your dress and the beaming most enchanting smile he had ever seen.

Boadicea munched on the long wheat grass, waving in the wind while he kept a watchful eye on you, picking flowers in your pretty dress fluttering against the bright blue of the sky. You have a bunch of candy orange poppy flowers held together by your palms, a bright smile on your face. You walk to where he sits, leaning against the tree, next to a small broken down stone fence. Your smile falters when you see his pensive expression. You come close enough to touch. You dangle one flower above him before you tuck it into the frayed ropes banded around the crown of his hat. He lowers his head while you fuss. Smiling like a fool. You smile again too, sitting beside him. You both listen to the sound of the quiet plains, breeze in the branches above him. The shade is cool, light filters beautifully over your features, speckled like the back of a doe.

“Something has been going on with you, Arthur,” you state as pure fact, knowing him all too well. You had only really known each other a year and have only been together as a couple for six months but you knew him better than anyone else. You had let him be himself, let him just…be. He didn't need to say anything for you to understand him.

“I’ve just been… thinkin’ bout some things,”

“Really? I thought you said you weren’t very good at that,” you smile a little, nudging his shoulder. Hoping to lift his spirits with his similar brand of humor but when he hardly huffs a laugh, you frown. “Is it about you and me?”

“Yeah, in a way,” he says, unable to hide anything from you. Why should he bother? Saying no would make you more suspicious. Arthur closes his eyes and can feel the panic rising in you. He could have been better about saying it but he’s quick to deflect it away from his secret. “You happy with me?” low and grumbled, the severity makes his tone go way down.

“I don’t understand. Do I not seem happy? Arthur, I’ve never…I’ve never been happier than I am with you. You’re the kind of man any girl would be lucky to have,” You smile, leaning to face him. Softening up, your eyes track over his face.

He wanted to ask you right then and there. Tell you just how much you complete him. How lucky he was to have you, how there never was a happier time in his life. He doesn’t believe in that sentiment you have, he had failed the women in his life. But he had wanted to make a vow, to never leave you alone. It’s his own nerves that wrap tight around his hands, don’t let him reach in his satchel for the little treasure that will be your wedding ring.

“No, I just know I been gone, I don’t wanna ignore you. I just been busy,”

“You have things to do,” You sigh heavily. “I wish the other men would be as helpful as you. Sometimes, I watch Sean, Uncle, and Bill lay around all day while you’re out working. It doesn’t seem fair,” Your brows pinch in a small dissatisfaction with the idea. He smirks.

“I don’t know how much I trust Sean to get things done right. We’d probably eat nothin’ but leaded rabbit meat and whiskey if we left it up to that boy,” You giggle and nod. Happy to see him back in his joking mood.

“Arthur… You know I love you, don’t you?” God, those words make him shiver. Make his heart rattle in his chest. Could swear his insides turn about 3 times. So sweet, you look at him, hands on his thighs, leaning into his side. He opens his arm for you to tuck into, grabbing your waist to pull you close.

“Yeah, I do. Love you more,” he can feel heat flush up his neck and cheeks but he doesn’t care if he looks like a lovesick idiot. Your joy is worth it. The wind blows your hair over your shoulder, you let him sweep it back some more. Your pretty laugh when he bows over to lay you down on the grass makes him chuckle.

-

He’s finally found it. Montana Ford. A shallow spot in the river he discovered, looking for a short cut trying to cross from New Austin into West Elizabeth. He hated riding through the Del Lobo populated Thieves Landing, especially after they were catching on that it was Dutch and his boys robbed their stash two weeks ago. He sighed and then he veered off the road, looking for somewhere to cross. And the shaded river was perfect.

He stays there a moment, looking at the pretty grass growing alongside the water, the light glittering over the surface. The sound of the river rushing by fills his head pleasantly. You’d love it, you’d toss your boots aside and wade into the river, lifting your skirts high enough to hopefully not get wet. But you’d be wet anyway. He’d do it too, you made him feel like he was twenty despite his thirty some years on this earth.

He decides to sit and sketch it and write about you. Just how excited he was at how everything was coming together. He feels like a kid, sappy but too devoted to care very much at the small heart he puts on his map. He’s almost embarrassed of himself. Even with no one to see. He folds his map up and stuffs his journal away, whistling his horse over. With a soft word or two, he mounts up and continues on to his destination.

-

It's been three days since he found the spot he would take you to and he’s had a ring in his satchel that glares up at him every time he opens it to pull out a cigarette. Of course, just as everything comes together, Dutch insists he go scouting for some new venture, looking to follow a treasure hunter so they could rob him. It ends up being a whole lot of nothing from a bad tip but Dutch has a ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ speech to try and lick his own wounds at Arthur’s expense. Arthur rolls his eyes. Feels his hands knot into fists.

“Maybe next time, it’ll be you runnin’ all over New Austin on some wild goose chase! And I’ll give you this bullshit. Wouldn’t that be just fine, wasting your goddamn time-”

“Arthur, calm down! I don’t have time for your complaining. Where is that girl of yours? Why don’t you blow some of that steam off with her? It’s obvious to me-”

“Dutch…stop pushing the boy,” Hosea remarks from where he’s reading a book nearby. Arthur postures to continue arguing and Dutch shoots a glare before waving him off. He looks to Hosea and backs away, huffing. But before he can go for a smoke to hopefully calm himself down so he could be with you, Hosea calls him over.

“So… have you popped the question?”

“No, I ain’t got time most days,” He sighs in defeat, dropping his weight on the seat next to him, resting on his knees, leaned over. He takes his hat off to adjust his hair before putting it back on. He hadn’t seen you in another two days on account of this stupid ploy to rob a treasure hunter who didn’t know left from right and east from west. What an idiot. But not nearly as foolish as he.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell Dutch to leave you out of these plots of his. I’ll even tell Miss Grimshaw that she’ll be gone. Take her and ride away for a couple of days. I hope to see a ring on her finger when you get back. In fact, I’ll be expecting it!” Hosea has a smile on his face, the excitement is genuine. Arthur nods.

“And what if she says no?”

“Well you keep at it. Perhaps a little persistence is all you need but why do you insist on imagining the worst?” It’s as if after asking, he considers why Arthur might not want to change things irreparably, might have already put his heart on the line and had it thrown away before.

“Arthur, the sting of rejection must be pretty…pretty lamentable. But you wouldn’t be trying this hard if you really thought you didn’t have a good chance,” Hosea sets his book down. “Go get some rest… leave first thing in the morning,” Hosea pats Arthur lightly on his shoulder. Arthur looks up as Hosea wanders in the direction of his tent.

His heart does yearn to see you at his side, wearing his ring on your finger. To hear you referred to as Mrs. Morgan. But all he can see is an incredulous look on your face. ‘Marry? Me? Arthur, you must be joking,’ you laugh and laugh. You’d never be so cruel but whatever part of him hates his own guts imagines the scenarios with great fervor. The anger from the rest of his day and the anger at himself grit against each other. He growls low before marching off to his tent.

You’re already inside, looking very lovely, one of his mended shirts serving as something of a robe to wear over your underthings. You look up and smile. He could forget the whole world just by looking at you. You hum, scooting over in bed.

“Arthur…” the way you call his name, you hardly need to give him any pet names, just Arthur will do.

“Come out with me tomorrow. First thing in the morning,” He states. More like a command, the residual anger drips off his words. You look at him strangely.

“Alright but I’d like to know what all of this is about first,” You set whatever you were working on, perhaps brushing your hair as you set a horsehair brush aside. You give him a concerned look.

“Found that surprise,” he grumbles, sitting down and tugging his boots off. “Hope you’ll like it but…” he stops to tug his gun belt off, his suspenders too. Arthur rests his hat gently on the side table. “Can’t be too sure til I show it to ya,” You smile softly.

“I think if you think I like it, I’ll love it,” God, he hopes so. Anticipation bounces around in his head and in his lungs. He’s practically short of breath. How he’s going to sleep, he has no idea.

“Yeah?” you hum in agreement. Looking sleepy, he’s endeared by how your eyes blink slowly, how you wiggle onto his chest the second he lays down. Your hands rub down his chest and belly. You’re asleep in a matter of minutes. He almost wishes he had you for company still but he’d never wake you for something so selfish. Instead, he pets down your hair and listens to your breathing, the natural hush that covers the camp once it’s too late for much of anything but small chatter.

-

Like clockwork, he wakes early. He can’t remember falling asleep but you're softly murmuring, you won’t wake unless he expressly wakes you. He gives himself time to put on that shirt he bought and rub his hand over his face at how nervous and silly he feels buttoning it up. He pulls a jacket over it to hopefully hide how ridiculous he looks. The morning is a pale blue when he steps out, thinking to bring you coffee to wake you.

You dress, half asleep, when he comes back to you, humming into the cup he brought you. You wear something nice but not overstated. You put kisses on him to wish him a good morning after you’ve decided you’re cleaned up enough.

He helps you up on his horse, Boadicea already very used to you. The ride isn’t too bad and you certainly make it better, he’s quiet with nerves, responding as much as he can without getting lost in his thoughts. The sun has climbed up and blazed down on you for a while by the time you get there. But your face when you see his surprise is too precious, eager to slip off the back of his horse.

“Arthur, it’s so beautiful!” The summer sun is high in the sky, perfect for your plans as you tug your boots off. He ambles after you, hitching his horse to a tree. You’re already sighing and knee deep in the center of the river. Your stockings lay haphazardly tossed over your boots. You’re some fabled creature, come from somewhere else. He could see it. No woman shined like you did, at least not how he saw things.

Just like he imagined, he rolls his pants up and tosses his boots aside, the spurs jingle when they hit the ground. The light catches the river’s surface, shades of yellow and green, the earth's gentle brown. You’re excited to see him join you, taking his hand that he holds out to you, pressed to his belly and chest, just where you belong.

“You like it, sweetheart?” He mumbles, really fishing for compliments. He knows you do but he’d love to hear you say it.

“I love it, Arthur, how could you say I wouldn’t? Sometimes, you’re a silly man,” you laugh, sway with him in the river. Birds sing, the water is cool, it’s perfect. He pulls you up to a shallower part of the ford, the sun forms a halo around you, reminds him you’re pure heaven and he couldn’t let you go.

“I have something else for you,” his voice is shaky instead of the easy confidence he likes to portray himself as. You look up excitedly but the dazzling smile slips off your face, you're shocked as he pulls a ring from his satchel and kneels down in the river.

“I-uhhh…I-“ he had really planned all of this and didn’t think of a single word to say. He can't bear to look up, he’s sure he’ll lose his nerve. “I haven’t loved…anyone like I love you,” the ring looks tiny and pathetic in his fingers. They’re also calloused to hell but he continues anyway. “There ain’t anyone else for me in this world but you. I just wish I was a better man, you deserve more than I can give but… if you would have me,” he looks up and your hands cover your mouth and tears leak over your fingers.

He really had ruined everything, hadn’t he? How was he supposed to go on living with you? What would he tell Hosea? His face falls and his heart cracks but he’d be glad to take you back home and disappear for a few days.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, don’t know what I thought,”

“Arthur, just please…” you hold out your left hand. You wipe your tears, trying to compose yourself and when he sees your smile, your hand over your right cheek, he lets himself ease. “Nothing would make me happier than to be- to be your wife, Arthur, you are…you’re the best man I know,” you wiggle your fingers excitedly and he slips the ring over your ring finger. He stays stunned, kneeled in the water, his pants soaking it all up but he couldn’t care less.

The ring looks so perfect on you. He holds your hand, kissing it like a knight of old, looking at him down on his knee, still crying but that brightness in your eyes is all he needs. Your giggle makes him smile at you too. And you drop to embrace him, tucking into his chest, arms around his neck. You murmur his name, rub his back. Tangle your fingers in his hair. He settles with you, surrounded by your unmistakable presence, basking in it. Holds you tighter, trying to not squeeze the air out of you. He breathes you in, holding you through your overwhelmed clinging, wiping your tears on his shoulder.

You pull back a little, enough to kiss him, his relief is groaned into your mouth. He loses track of himself and slips, sitting in a river with you in his arms, giggling more into his kiss.

You sit with him on the banks, trying to dry out after he tipped over. So much for his fancy shirt. He thinks the both of you will look half drowned by the time he brings you back to camp but he isn’t sure he wants to go back. Just you and him for a few days sounds rather enticing. You keep looking at your ring, leaned into his shoulder. A pleased little smile blooms over your face. How can he not smile at how beautiful you look, hair wet at the ends, warm light casting its glow over you.

You look up at him, with a look that says you’re gonna cry again but you just give him a teary smile.

“I’m a lucky bastard, get to call you mine,” You wrap one tiny hand over his neck when you kiss him slow and deep, letting him consume the very air in your lungs, grip over your body to feel it. You moan just softly enough to pull on his need for you. But you part ways for you to continue.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” you give him a sad frown. As if upset that he would think such a thing of you. You brush your fingers against his skin. He looks away.

“You wouldn’t have been the first,” you sigh.

“Who could say no to Arthur Morgan?” You ask no one in particular but he huffs a small laugh.

“Many people,” a joking tone tinges his words. But then he dips towards the sentimental. “Don’t even remember, really, all I think about is you, darlin’…” You laugh before coming closer, unable and unwilling to part from him. He knows he’s a hundred and one percent sap but he lets himself melt in your presence.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” you wiggle your left hand in his face. He chuckles a little at your cute little fingers. “I’m glad…it means I get you all to myself,” The joy is boundless in his chest, he could light the night like a lightning bug with the flame in his heart.

“Arthur, I… I… sometimes I don’t have the words to tell you how much I love you,” you lean onto him. He shakes his head with what he’s sure looks like a stupid grin on his face. He wasn’t sure this would be in the cards for him but here he is, with you.

“Every part of me loves you, honey,” is all he has to say, paling in comparison to the pure power of your own words over him. They tumble clumsily from his mouth but you pull him down for kisses anyway. Your teasing ‘do you?’ has him nodding between your giggles and wet kisses.

-

Thank you so much for leaving me this request, I loved writing it!! It was so much fun and I really had fun including some parts of rdr1 map that were really special to me and brought me back to when I was a kid playing that game 🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️ any feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading 🥰🫶

[damnfeelings09]

Animals AU - Shadow's version

A.N: Hello! Chapter 1 is finally here and I'm really proud of it. I decided to use the inspo from the video I posted days ago and this is what I got. I'm planning around 10 chapters for this one. Also RED PARTS ARE STALKER THOUGHTS, and GREEN ARE YOURS. With that I'm out and don't forget to lock your windows at night, he might be watching.

NFSW: blood, stalking, fear, weapons, fighting, bad lenguage, smut. +18

“Baby I'm preying on you tonight

Hunt you down eat you alive

Just like animals…”

“So... you got a boyfriend?” said the voice on the other side of the phone. You had no idea who you were talking to. Stupid? Probably. Exciting? Hell yes!

“Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?”  you asked in the most captivating tone possible.

“Maybe…” he said, a smug, seductive smile forming on his face. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“You never told me your name.”

“Why you wanna know my name?” you laughed. This conversation had been the most interesting part of your week. You had no idea who you were talking to; it was a stranger. An unknown number, written on the front page of the psychiatry book you had checked out from the library, along with a note that said, "Call here to have fun." Too tempting not to try. You were in your last year, your grades were perfect, and you had been accepted for an internship at the GUN Hospital next year. Everything was going grat, a little fun couldn’t hurt, right? Mailo had tried to convince you that it was a bad idea to call, but in the end, your curiosity won over your good judgment. The first time the call came in, you hung up after a second. Scared, your heart racing, before you could do anything else, the incoming call screen appeared. Soon, you found yourself trapped in his deep voice. Damn, anyone with that voice had to be fucking hot, and if not, you could always close your eyes and listen to his voice until you came.

“I wanna know who am I looking at” You froze, cold sweat dripping down your neck. Quickly getting up from the bed, you looked out the window. Outside, darkness reigned, only the trees and the other side of the sidewalk were barely visible. It was impossible, but when your skin tingled, you knew it was real—there was someone out there. He was out there, watching you. You heard laughter coming from the phone and immediately hung up. With your heart racing, you ran through the house, making sure all the doors and windows were shut, all alarms and lights on. Going back to your room, you locked yourself in the bathroom. This would be a long night.

The alarm woke you up, sore and with a swollen face from the bad night, you got ready for the day. You hated Mondays, but this Monday, in particular, was terrible. You hadn’t slept at all and had hidden like a coward in your bathtub. You had allowed the psycho phone man to gain power over you, and even more, secretly, you’d enjoyed it.

“Someone didn't have a good night,” said Mailo as you both were walking down the main hallway.

“I slept in the tub” you mentioned as you craned your neck to the side trying to find that sweet spot that would make your vertebrae settle or end your life, whichever came first.

“Ouch why?”

“Ah...” You couldn't tell him what had happened. You'd be branded stupid, and scolded by your best friend, it would be a humiliating “Let a friend crash last night” you lied.

“Which friend bunny? The imaginary one?” you heard as he laughed at you walking into the gym, slamming the door in your face. Stupid, sexy Shadow.

“Fuck you sombrita” You abhorred the day your paths had crossed. 2 years ago Shadow had arrived, with a glowing recommendation letter from Commander Maisland they let him enroll in any course he wanted because he would be “the salvation of the world”. Yeah right, that moron couldn't save anyone.

According to gossip, he had been on the resistance team back in Angel’s Island. Surprising to many, even to you until you met him. You were coming back from vacation, in a hurry to get to your anatomy class, you missed breakfast and had to run from the parking lot to the classroom in less than 10 minutes. When you arrived you sat next to Mailo, but during the whole class you could not pay attention, the class was too boring and your attention could not focus on the vascularization of the femur. You settled into your seat and taking advantage of the fact that the light was off, you closed your eyes, heading for dreamland. A hand wrapped around your hair pushing you, causing you to knock onto the table and woke up. You turned around, behind you was a hedgehog with jet black fur and red tips, looking at you with amusement, covering his mouth to keep from laughing.

“You have something on your forehead,” he said, letting out a laugh. You raised your hand and took your pencil; it had stuck to your forehead after the blow you had given against the table. That day you had earned a scolding, an extra job and an enemy.

Shadow was a bastard, with airs and graces. Taunting you whenever he could, pissing you off and competing with you every chance he got. It wasn't like there was much of a chance, he was the ultimate lifeform, at least that was what every professor called him. You hated the moment you found out you would be together once again. The self-defense and advanced martial arts class had run out of instructors, so they had put the two groups together and now you were forced to see him 3 times a week. “It will only be 6 months” you said to yourself as you and Mailo walked in.

Your group consisted of 12 people. 7 for self-defense L1, including you, Mailo, Grant, Susane, Alissa, Roger, and Dalia. The other 5 were supposed to be from advanced martial arts. The instructor, Agent Rios, called them to the center of the gym where the mats were. Quickly, you took off your shoes and tied your hair in a high ponytail. "Listen up, the university doesn’t have the budget to hire more instructors, so I’ll be teaching both levels. However, you’re not the only groups I have, and to make things easier for me, I’ve decided to pair one advanced person with the level 1s. I’ll call out your names and you’ll pair up with your partner on one of the mats, then I’ll tell you what we’ll do next."

"Oh hell no…," you thought. “Alissa and Rene, Roger and Rouge, Dalia and Ivana.” "Hello, God? It’s me again. I know I haven’t been very good, and I really don’t care what you think, but please, don’t let me..." You begged. You really didn’t want to be with him. Anyone but him.

“Susane and Richard, Miss Moon and Shadow, Mailo with me. Alright, that’s everyone. Now, pair up and start warming up. I’ll be back in 10 minutes."

“Excuse me, professor, is there a possibility of changing my partner?" you said, walking behind him. "It’s just that Mailo and I…” “Listen Miss Moon, I saw you last semester. You’re terrible and have no strength. That hedgehog is your best option if you want to pass the year, now if you excuse me" Agent Rios walked past you. Now you had no other choice but to try. The self-defense class was mandatory for all students, even if you weren’t planning to pursue a career in the battlefield there was no getting out of it.

“Great, now I’ll have to worry about two psychos.” You thought as you walked back to the mat where Shadow was waiting for you.

[tuesdaykiss]

“touching toes”

rafe cameron social media au

“he’s over more and more, had to give him a whole drawer. to be honest, kinda like seeing his trainers by the door.” — olivia dean, ‘touching toes’.

synopsis: after finishing her fashion studies at college in nyc, y/n moves to outerbanks to live with her grandparents. she worries about the loneliness that comes with being in a new place, knowing only her cousin topper and other relatives… that is until she is acquainted with a certain cameron.

part - 26 | 27 — authors note at the end!

masterlist

hard launch: officially announcing that you’re in a relationship; an explicit and purposeful announcement of a romantic relationship, usually on social media.

rafecam

liked by sarahfan101, sarahupdates and 126,092 others

rafecam cats outta the bag 🤔

view comments

sarahcameron fina-fucking-llyyyyyyy!

yourusername i love u

rafecam i love u most

sarahfan101 crying

sarahupdates congratulations 👏

heywardpope what? really? i didn’t know that!

jjmaybank are you serious rn

heywardpope sarcasm idiot

topthornton okay maybe you’re cute

user I KNEW IT

user2 i feel like i’ve been cheated on

your story

sarahcameron replied to your story:

what made him so lucky to get YOU EVERY NIGHT 😩😩😩😩

itscleo replied to your story:

you’re actually adorable i’ll cry

after the public announcement of your relationship, your life finally started to fall into place with rafe right in the centre of it.

within weeks you’d given up one of your drawers in your wardrobe, for the blue-eyed boy to keep his clothes. he’d basically become a permanent resident at your grandparents’ home; helping them around the house wherever possible.

the pogues grew more and more fond of rafe, and he eventually settled in nicely into your hangouts every now and again.

everything was perfect.

a timeline of your instagram since (over the course of about a year)…

yourusername

liked by sarahcameron, itscleo and 65,725 others

yourusername she got a boyfriend

view comments

sarahcameron girlfriend***

rafecam excuse me

johnbr yeah excuse me

user if you look closely im crying in the back

user2 i acc love them

yourusername

liked by jjmaybank, rafecam and 92,732 others

yourusername black and white

view comments

rafecam my baby

user ARGHHHHHH

sarahcameron OKAYYYYYY

heywardpope y’all are cute

boykelce rafe so whipped we ain’t played golf in 3 weeks

sarahfan101 poor golf deprived kelce

your story

liked by rafecam and 65 others

yourusername

liked by rafecam, sarahcameron and 150,625 others

yourusername 🍼

view comments

sarahcameron omg i am crying

sarahcameron i can’t wait to be an aunt

yourusername you’ll be the best aunt ever

jjmaybank me and pope gonna be uncles right????

heywardpope please y/n, please rafe

rafecam gonna get my baby stealing from the country club

jjmaybank you bet

kiaracarrera congratulations beautiful ❤️

itscleo i can’t believe it!!!!!

jjmaybank baby pogue baby pogue

topthornton someone tell him this baby ain’t a pogue

user WHAT OMG

sarahfan101 we lost him gang

sarahupdates omg congrats!

rafecam

liked by yourusername, sarahcameron and 253,072 others

rafecam baby mama

view comments

user that should be ME

sarahfan101 STOP

sarahcameron y’all gonna be the best parents ever

yourusername i love doing life with you

rafecam i love you

boykelce congrats bro

when nan and pops found out the news they were more than ecstatic. tears flooded their eyes, at the idea of welcoming a great grandbaby.

their happiness radiated throughout the home, and they invited rafe to move in…

your grandparents were the best help along the way, making sure everything was perfect for the arrival of your baby.

a/n: you’re probably sat there thinking what was that!?

in all honesty, i’ve really fallen out of love with this smau, and i’d dint want to just post saying ‘hey it’s over!’, so i thought i’d give you the happy ending you all deserve.

thank you for supporting me through my first piece of writing, it’s been a rollercoaster. there’s been highs and lows, and i’m so grateful for the experience.

for now, i’m going to dabble in one-shot writing, making sure my next fic is actually a lot more prepared and thought out!

thank you all for reading… this won’t be the last you’ll hear from me!

massive thank you to my taglist also!!!

taglist: @my-name-is-baby @yesshewrites1 @urbrunettebombshell @leather-n-velvet @fruitcakerafe @littlefreak-liz @wdwbts101 @akobx @lossfairy @marleymarleymarleymarley @jjmaybankmylovee @mbella607 @scream4mami @mrsdrewstarkeyy @honeyluvsatj @rafegetinmybed @hypnotizedstarkey