#dusty splinter

[bulletcasing]

sorry these two do not have any manners

[burinazar]

i reread my own MiA fics constantly but i've actually been scared to reread the one single published LOGH fic because i'm absolutely convinced it's going to be, like, embarassingly bad on a second read and i will become Ashamed, especially because the person i gifted it to is very much what i would call a Very Good Writer, in both prose quality and the fic-specific parameter of understanding and building off of preexisting characterization and canon for the same exact characters i wrote

but hey i went ahead and finally reread it and it was, like, fine! it was fine! maybe not up to the standards i would like future LOGH efforts to be, but like, it’s fine! anyway i think i never mentioned it on tumblr so yeah my Elfriede x Dominique LOGH fic is here

[clover-the-awesomest]

Fucking pop off Splints!!

part 23

⇇ | ⇽ | index | ⇾

[acapelladitty]

I need Cooper Howard leaving bruises and marks on a partner for reasons. Marking up his girl all pretty like~

Mornings Echo

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

(tw for: rough handling, grinding, biting, threats of violence, skin marking, groping, filthy talk, mild nipple play, jealousy, possessive behaviour) [1.6k words]

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Crashing through the thin wooden door of the shed, a splintering noise squealed free of the old planks as Cooper kicked them shut with an aggressiveness that made your heart flutter. Random tools lined the wall opposite you, the wall to your back completely clear of debris, and a cheeky comment about his actions died in your throat as you quickly found yourself slammed against that same wall with a single fluid shove.

Stars dancing before your eyes as a surprised gasp fills the small area, your body remains stunned for a moment as Cooper stands before you, his hand still pressing harshly into your shoulder as he stares down at you with most of his features hidden by the shadows of his hat. You wrap a hand around his wrist, fingers clawing into the leather coat as you grip at him with equal aggression.

"Fucking ouch." You hiss, attempting to stamp at his foot with the ball of your own as petty revenge guides your movements. "The hell was that for?"

"Ain't sensible to tease a man like that." His eyes ablaze, the anger in Cooper's features is different to his usual rage as something much more muted yet complicated touches at the way his eyes narrow and his face tilts. "It'll get you into the kinda trouble I don't think you're ready to handle."

Tease?

A confused look furrows your brow.

Fresh off an exchange of caps for meds, you hadn't actively payed him enough attention during the transaction to tease him. All you had done was-

Oh.

Ah.

The trader, a lecherous old fuck with jerky fingers and a face that vaguely resembled rotten jelly, had shown an obvious interest in you that hadn't went unnoticed by yourself or, apparently, Cooper.

Never one to pass up the chance for a better deal, your rejections of his advances had been much less violent than you would have liked; but the resulting tolerance of the lingering touches he delivered with his disgusting hands has ensured an extra few capsules tossed in to the exchange.

So no, this wasn't anger that was pinning you to the wall.

This was jealousy.

"You're jealous." You accuse, never one to back down from the truth as his mouth visibly tightens in irritation at the words. "You didn't like me letting that filthy motherfucker think he had a chance! Damn, Cooper, didn't think it was that serious."

"You're free to do what you like and I don't pay your intentions no never mind. But what I can't abide is folks touching things that ain't theirs."

"I ain't anyone's." You reply, matching his tone and accented words with a mocking quality as your free hand shifts up to poke rudely at his chest. "So you can shove that possessive shit right up your ass until it comes pouring out of your jealous mouth."

He's on you in a flash, his quick movements catching you unaware as you squeak out your surprise once more. His mouth is hot against your own, forcing your lips open to claim his prize and steal a filthy kiss which he didn't deserve. A fact you make him more than aware of as you bite down on his lower lip with enough pressure to make him pull away, hissing violently and cursing you out as he does.

"You sure you ain't feral, darling? Biting like a rabid bitch? Better check to make sure."

His gloved hand forces itself within your shirt, accidentally ripping the top button free as it bounces along the floor to disappear under some dusty shelves. It does nothing to deter him though as his fingers drop enough to grope roughly at your left tit, pulling it free of your shirt as your feeble protests die in your throat - heated arousal making any denials difficult.

Fuck- you loved him like this. All business and action, decisive and determined. It was an attitude that had left you screaming louder than the wild dogs which roamed the abandoned wastelands.

Cowboy hat still lovingly perched atop his head, his face dips to your chest to replace his hand and blunted teeth roll across your nipple, the nub quickly peaking due to the cruel attention. His other hand still on your shoulder, both of your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him closer as he steals the breath from your throat.

Wordlessly panting, a low grunt escapes you as his teeth sink in to the flesh just to the side of your nipple - the skin there feeling sensitive and raw as he sucks it into his mouth, his intent to leave a livid mark in its wake clear. It's an uncomfortable sensation but hot as hell as you rub your thighs together, feeling the growing moisture there with a lightheaded frenzy making your thoughts fuzzy.

"Fuck, Cooper. You're gonna tear a chunk from me."

"A mighty fine idea. Maybe I will." He mutters into your breast before righting himself, looming to his full height once more. "I bet you'd taste just fine, all raw and bloody. Wouldn't even need to season you like all the others."

Grimacing at his cannibalistic tendencies, a facet of his personality that you didn't indulge in with quite as much enthusiasm, you glance down at the red mark on your chest - the imprint of his teeth visibly denting into the abused skin as Cooper continued.

"I'm sure I also saw that chunky son of a bitch eyeing up your neck so let's see if I can leave an impression there too."

Again moving too quickly for you to protest, Cooper presses his body into your own in such a way that you are utterly unable to move; trapped beneath his heated frame and the definite scent of leather and coppery blood which never seemed to leave him. He wasn't a jealous man typically but you were eager and more than interested in seeing how far this little game would go.

His roughened tongue licks across your pulse point, tasting the accrued sweat and grime which coats your skin and the wet sensation forces a shudder to run down your spine. He could say what he liked, but when it came to being a tease, he would always be the offending party. He seemed to delight in pushing your buttons with casual, lewd comments and finding particular ways of brushing his body against your own - regardless of who was around to witness it.

Tilting your neck to allow him easier access, he accepts the small boon with enthusiasm as his teeth join his tongue in marking up your skin. Soft kisses are interspersed with savage, quick snaps of his teeth and the dual sensations of pain and pleasure are almost enough to drive you insane as you writhe against him. Taking the hint, he pushes his knee between your legs and you instantly start to grind against his thigh - the stimulation enough to allow you to endure the rough treatment of your neck.

Your hand drops to his groin, cupping his hardened length through his trousers as he growls his appreciation into your skin.

"I think I like you when you're jealous." You taunt. "Maybe I should- fuck, Coop!" You cut off as he bites you once more, this time over the sensitive juncture where your neck meets the shoulder. "Maybe I should make you jealous more often."

"Dangerous game, sweetie." He rumbles in response, running his teeth along your earlobe. "I'm being Mr. Nice at the moment and marking up my property just a little bit, but there's always other ways to get the same results."

"Mmm, and what are you going to do, cowboy? Pulling at his head until he was facing you once more, the jealousy in his eyes is replaced by a burning arousal which you knew meant you were in for a solid ride. "Gonna rustle me up in that lasso of yours? Ride off with me in tow."

"Lasso's too nice for one as fiesty and spirited as you. Won't do shit. Any good rancher knows that a quick brand," his hand drops to your chest once more as his fingers poke at the sensitive mark he had suckled into the skin earlier, "would be best at reminding you who you belong to."

Already littered with scars and markings which showcased your journey through the wastelands better than any story could, the thought of a brand wasn't as off-putting as you might have thought and you rub as his cock with renewed vigour through his trousers as you give a contemplative hum.

"Sounds hot. Maybe if you're good and fuck me til I forgive that little shove into the wall," you lean into him and run your own teeth against his ear, "I'll even think about it, handsome."

[3minsover]

Steddie who keep missing each other. Who aren't in love at the same time. It's neither of their faults; they're just not quite in touch, in tune with each other.

Sure, Eddie had a stupid huge embarrassing crush on Steve throughout junior year, senior year and senior year 2.0. Sure, it was made so much worse when in Steve's first and only senior year, Eddie found himself sat in math class diagonally behind the fallen king. He'd watch the way his hair moved when he ran his hands through it in frustration. He'd see the shift of muscle under his shirt when he bent down to pick up a dropped pencil. And every time Steve would smile, flutter his lashes and pinch his eyebrows, say; "I'm sorry sir, I just don't know", Eddie would find himself shifting in his seat, nipping at the skin on the side of his finger, knee bouncing under the desk. They didn't really talk beyond 'hey's in the corridor, beyond 'did you do the homework?'s - to which Eddie would without fail stutter out an 'Uh- so, no. I meant to- Just, uh. No.' and Steve would without fail flash a soft smile, bump his shoulder into Eddie's and whisper 'Me neither.'

It got easier, after Steve graduated. Eddie still saw him around, still recognised his car in the lot when he was giving Robin Buckley from band a ride to school. But it wasn't so immediate, wasn't so raw. And after a while, the butterflies would fade. He'd be able to meet Steve's eye across the Family Video counter without feeling his mouth go dusty and his heart leap into his throat.

Steve hadn't realised his feelings for Eddie were anything more than friendly, until he graduated high school. Without the daily glances across the classroom, the moments he'd always take to make conversation, it felt emptier. It gave him time to think about the way his chest would tighten at Eddie's shy smile whenever they talked. Steve hadn't realised he might be allowed to feel something softer than 'dudely bro-ship'.

That is, until it fades so the only time Steve sees him is when he drops Robin off at school, or when he comes in to family video to rent Halloween again. Steve's heart prickles at the sight of him, but after a while, Eddie's visits drop off.

Steve tries to keep himself busy, grateful for some time without inter-dimensional battles or Russian agents trying to kill him. Thoughts of Eddie drift to the back of his mind, for almost six months. And then in the spring of '86, Steve finds himself thrown against the splintered wall of a nondescript boathouse on the outskirts of town. And it's Eddie Munson from Math that has a shaking, jagged bottle held up to his throat. It absolutely doesn't awaken things in him that he never knew he could want, absolutely not.

But regardless, he's staring half-terrified into the dark, watery brown eyes of Eddie Munson from Math, and all he wants is to reach out and smooth a palm over his cheek. He wants to curl his hand around those trembling fingers and tell him it's all gonna be okay. Of course, it isn't. Steve doesn't get much of a chance to talk to Eddie over the next week, what with some vampire soul-sucker guy terrorizing the town, and Max getting possessed and the whole thing going entirely to shit. But he finds himself drawn inexplicably into Eddie's space, splits off with Eddie and has the girls pair up and then Eddie calls him 'big boy'. And his entire world stops spinning for a moment. For just a second, it's just the two of them, and Eddie's face is so close to his, his smile so wild and beautiful.

The whole world stops, before it rockets back into thrilling, terrifying motion.

In the fear and the panic of the final Vecna showdown, Steve has to thrust his feelings back down deep. He can't let shit like a crush get in the way when the lives of the people he loves most are at stake.

It all happens so fast, and before he knows it, Max is in a coma, Eddie's been torn up to within an inch of his life, there's no certainty that Vecna's even gone, and he doesn't know what to do.

For days, Steve sits by Eddie's bedside when he can - when he's not with Max - only sleeps when he does. He silently begs for Eddie to be alright, feels guilty for every thought he has that isn't about Max. He begins to resent how desperately he pines for the moments when Eddie's awake, and after a week, once it's clear that Eddie's going to recover, Steve doesn't visit him anymore.

With all the feelings that are getting jumbled amongst the multitude of all the other horrible nasty fragile things that are writhing around inside, Steve forces himself to shove any thoughts of Eddie down, to get over him. And before he realises, it's been weeks. He's still worried for Eddie, of course he is. The guy almost died in Henderson's arms. But now the world's not actively ending, now he has a moment to breathe, he wonders whether the sparking, shimmering thing that had his mouth going dusty and his heart leaping into his throat was the same thing that had him saying all that shit to Nancy in the upside down.

He can't trust that it's not just a trauma response.

After Eddie recovers, slowly and with more help than he'd ever admit he needed, he sees Steve again. But he's distant. Friendly, but impersonal. An acquaintance. Things are as they were before. It hurts, but he knows all too well that any of the flirtation, the playful teasing and longing looks can only be chalked up to the fear of the end of the world.

It's a couple months before Steve tells Eddie he's going to college out of state. He's leaving in a week. And everything that had been laying dormant for so long comes bubbling up to the surface.

"Shit, I wish you'd given me a little more notice, Harrington," Eddie says, trying desperately to keep the heartbreak out of his voice.

"I'm sorry man, I just. It all happened pretty fast and like if I didn't do it now, it wasn't gonna happen, yknow?" Steve shrugs awkwardly, runs a hand through his hair.

If I didn't do it now, it wasn't gonna happen.

"It's gonna be a damn sight harder to like you this much when you're that far away," Eddie's mouth says before his mind can catch up.

"I like you too, man, but hey, I'll be home for Christmas. You can catch me up on everything I miss, huh?" Steve bumps Eddie's shoulder, just as he used to when they were leaning against the lockers back at school.

"No, Steve. I- You're, I mean. I like you. In a- Like I have, I totally have feelings for you, dude," Eddie forces out, watching his sneaker as he kicks at the ground.

"Eddie..." Steve says softly, and it just breaks Eddie's heart even more. Because that's a let-him-down-gently 'Eddie'.

"No, no it's- Don't sweat it man, just sorta had to tell you before you- Anyway. Have fun at college. I'll- I'll be here when you come home."

"Eddie, wait. I'm sorry. I just..." Steve begins, looks so pained, reaches to take hold of Eddie's shoulder. He avoids it, ducks out the way. And then Eddie leaves, before Steve can try to do something awful like making him feel better or tell him it's okay.

Eddie doesn't see Steve again before he goes to college. Hears from Henderson over the next few months how he's getting on, all the babes he's dating, the assignments he's trying to actually do before the deadline, and Eddie forces himself to smile, crack a joke, whatever.

Slowly, he extricates himself from conversations about Steve. Doesn't want to hear it, but can't tell anyone why. So he finds excuses; he has to take a leak, just remembered he promised Wayne he'd pick up groceries, got band practice, whatever he can come up with. He doesn't even hear Steve's name, tries desperately not to think about him (and fails), until December.

Until the evening of December 24th, when there's knock at the trailer door. With Wayne already asleep, Eddie drags himself from the couch to pull the front door open.

Eddie's met with a coat-wrapped, scarf-muffled, bobble-hatted Steve Harrington standing on his doorstep. He’s rocking back and forth on his toes, arms crossed tight around his chest, hands tucked under his arms. His cheeks are pink, the tip of his nose pinker still, nibbled by the cold. He’s just as beautiful as the last time Eddie saw him, and it jerks his heart into frantic motion against his ribs.

He’d thought he was over Steve, that seeing him again would be just like what it is; welcoming home an old friend. Except all Eddie wants to do is take hold of Steve’s frostbitten cheeks, pull his face towards him and kiss him like it’ll erase all the months of pining that had gone before.

Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, he just balks, says "Steve? What are you-?"

"I had to see you. I’m sorry if this is like inappropriate or if you don’t wanna see me- Dustin said you seemed like, mad at me or something. And honestly I can’t blame you, really. I shouldn’t have- it’s not that I didn’t, that I wasn’t. What I’m trying to say, Eddie, is that I know it’s too late. I know I missed my shot. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you for the last four months."

"Steve-"

"I know I have no right to do this to you. But it was killing me, man. Because I think I might have- I think I might be-"

"Me too," Eddie interrupts. His mind’s whirring and tumbling, trying to gather up the pieces of Steve’s fragmented confession. Steve’s jaw hangs open just a little, paused halfway through a word. "I thought it’d gone away. Thought I’d gotten over Steve Harrington," Eddie continues with a sardonic little shimmy of his hands, "but uh, seems you’re a little harder to shake than I thought."

"D'you, d'you want to shake me? Off, I mean," Steve asks, dipping his chin and looking up through thick lashes, a shy, self-conscious suggestion of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"No. no I don’t."

"Oh thank god. 'Cause I don’t know if I’d survive that," Steve exhales, his small smile spreading into a grin. He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet again, and Eddie finds himself pulled into Steve’s orbit. It doesn’t matter that he’s just in his socks and the doorstep is damp with cold. Eddie crosses the threshold and curls his fingers gently around the lapels of Steve’s coat. Eddie’s struggling to breathe, little puffs bursting forth from his lips and clashing in the air, mixing with Steve’s own.

"Can I-?" Eddie asks, doesn’t dare say the word aloud in case Steve’s not on the same page; gives himself an out if Steve’s not where Eddie’s at. Where he’s always been at, really. It just wasn’t quite at the right time.

"Yes. Please," Steve breathes, sweet frosty breath swirling gray-white around in the thin, chilly air between their faces. Slowly, giving Steve plenty of time to back away, change his mind, Eddie draws Steve towards him, tips his chin until their noses brush. the very peaks of their lips touch, and Steve’s breath hitches at the contact. It’s the prettiest sound Eddie’s ever heard. Eddie sips in a breath, hardly daring to move, and lets Steve nudge their mouths together.

Finally.

Their lips press softly together, and Eddie feels Steve’s hands come to grip at the sides of his sweater, bunching it at his waist. He pulls Eddie towards him, moans softly, just the tiniest hint of voice slipping out and into Eddie’s mouth. A new prettiest sound.

Suddenly aware of their very public, very chilly location, Eddie stumbles backwards, pulls Steve inside with him. Steve follows enthusiastically, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel, lips never leaving Eddie’s for even a moment. They’re entirely wrapped up in each other, even as Eddie frantically unwraps Steve’s cold-proof clothing, lost completely in the feeling of their bodies pressing together.

They took their time, to get here. But now that they are, here is where they’ll stay. It won’t be easy, being apart for long stretches while Steve’s away at college, but now they’ll have a little something of each other’s to keep hold of until they’re together again.

They’ll have the promises they made each other that night, the words whispered against skin, the kisses pressed and breath shared. They’ll have the silent, precious exchange of one heart for another. And that will see them through.

[thewizardingpost]

Bound by Fate

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary ⌇ you’ve always felt a strange pull toward James, Sirius, and Remus, but since you’ve come of age, the bond between you and your three closest friends deepens, and you begin to understand that they are your destined partners, your mates

warnings ⌇word count  4.2k, ABO AU, eventual smut (penetration & oral), friends to lovers/mates, omega!reader, alpha!james/sirius/remus, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending 

Mates were a concept you’d only heard about in tales—an undeniable bond that grew between two souls, a connection so deep and instinctual it could never be ignored, no matter how hard you tried. It wasn’t just about attraction or desire; it was about belonging, about finding the person—or persons—that you were meant to be with. The kind of bond that shaped your very existence, binding you together in ways words couldn’t explain—like a key to a lock, a flower to rain, or the stars to the night sky. It was a force that simply was, and nothing could break it.

You’d always imagined the day your mate was revealed would be one of pure joy, a fairy tale come to life. The thought of having someone destined for you filled you with a thrilling, eager anticipation. But all that fervor, all that restless longing to discover who your mate—or mates—might be, came to a crashing halt. It felt as if your heart, once brimming with hope, had splintered into a thousand shards.

The realization of who your mates happened overtime, not some sudden onslaught of emotions like you had expected. It came through scent, intense emotional responses, and heightened physical sensitivity. It was late in the afternoon, the four of you hanging around in the library, when the “change” started. 

There’s a section in the library that the four of you consider your hidden nook. It’s not genuinely hidden, just tucked away in the far corner, behind a row of dusty old books and faded tapestries. Few people venture that deep into the library, and even fewer linger long enough to notice the secluded alcove. But to you, it’s the perfect little refuge—a space that feels entirely your own, like a secret world where time slows down.

The four of you are seated on the worn rug, scattered across the floor in comfortable silence. James sits with his legs crossed, leaning against a stack of heavy textbooks, his eyes focused on the pages of a book he’s half-reading, half-absentmindedly flipping through. Sirius is sprawled across from him, one arm resting on his knee, staring at the crackling flame of a nearby candle, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Remus, ever the quiet one, is at the edge of the group, his book in hand, but his attention more often than not drawn to the stillness of the room, as though taking in the peacefulness of the space.

The soft rustle of turning pages is the only sound that fills the air, a steady rhythm that matches the calm energy of the nook. It’s not the usual kind of gathering—no loud conversations or jokes, just the simple presence of each other in a shared, unspoken understanding. 

Then, without warning, Remus’s shoulder brushes against yours. It’s nothing—just the briefest contact, the kind of thing you wouldn’t normally notice, except... something about it makes your skin prickle. A spark of warmth, a flicker of something you can’t quite place. You freeze for a split second, feeling the pulse of it surge through you, and then just as quickly, you shrug it off. It must’ve been the wind, or the way you shifted—anything but what it really was. You try to ignore the slight tremor still lingering in your chest, pretending it never happened. The air in the nook feels the same as it always does. Quiet. Safe.

Yet, there’s no denying that something’s begun to stir beneath the surface, even if you’re not ready to face it yet.

Then one by one, like dominoes, it all began to spiral out of control. At first, it was just a subtle thing—Remus’s hand grazing yours while passing you a book, his touch sending a wave of electricity up your arm, leaving your skin buzzing. Then, it was Sirius leaning a little too close as he joked about something, his scent wrapping around you, stronger than usual, more intoxicating—like fresh earth after rain, something comforting and wild all at once. And James, always nearby, his proximity suddenly making your pulse race, the warmth of his presence a magnetic pull that seemed to draw you in no matter how hard you tried to fight it. Each moment felt like a spark, a jolt, until it was impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just their touches or the way their scents seemed to fill the air—it was the way everything about them felt more intense, more overwhelming. Their voices had a deeper resonance in your chest, their laughter echoing in your bones like an unspoken invitation. At first, you tried to pretend it was nothing, just your imagination, but soon, it became impossible to deny. The way your body reacted to them—too sensitized, too attuned—felt like the inevitable shift of something you could no longer outrun.

And then, in the middle of Potions class, it happened.

One of the other students—a nameless boy from Slytherin, someone you barely thought about—brushed past you. He reached across the table for an ingredient, his arm brushing against yours in a way that should’ve felt completely normal. A simple touch. But as his skin made contact with yours, nothing happened. No spark. No warmth. No shiver running up your spine like you’d come to expect. Just, nothing.

You blinked, confused at first. Normally, physical contact wasn’t something you’d really notice, not the way some others seemed to. But this time, you couldn’t shake the contrast. His touch felt so bland—empty even. You felt the coldness of it, a distance that was somehow more obvious than if he hadn’t touched you at all. It left you with a strange, hollow feeling.

Your breath caught as the realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: The Marauders. Every time their hands brushed yours, or their scent filled the air around you, it was different—alive, almost electric. They didn’t just touch you, they reached you. They made you feel things you hadn’t known you could feel. Now, at this moment, it clicked.

This wasn’t just some passing attraction, some infatuation or idle crush. It was something deeper, something undeniable. They weren’t just your friends—they were your mates. And the stark difference between their touch and this boy’s was all the proof you needed.

Your heart raced. The truth, like a wave crashing over you, was undeniable now. There was no escaping it. You didn’t just feel something for them. You felt everything.

What should’ve been an exciting day—the day you discovered who your mate was—only left you with a gnawing anxiety deep in your chest. These were your best friends, the three people you trusted most. The thought of a relationship with them was overwhelming, and the idea of all three? It made your stomach churn. Could this even work? How would things change between you? Would they accept you as more than just a friend? It felt impossible. The four of you were connected, destined even, but they already had each other. What could you possibly add to this bond? Was this “fate” really a thing, or just some cruel twist of circumstance? 

You pulled away from them out of fear of them realizing they’ll notice the strange connection between the four of you. It was easy to avoid them knowing their schedules and habits. If they were in Hogwarts, you went to Hogsmede. If they were in a class with you, you called out sick. If they started down the hallway you were in, you’d turn on your heel and speed-walk in the opposite way. Despite the tug towards them and how much you missed them, you decided it was better to run away and deal with the pain in your heart. 

It was impossible to keep running from them. They’d given you space, respecting your need to figure things out, but even they knew there was only so much distance you could put between yourself and them. Fate, however, wasn’t so patient. The Marauder’s Map marked your every step, your exact location, as if it were pulling them toward you—like invisible strings already tying everything together. You couldn’t escape them, not anymore. You couldn't outrun it—not when fate was already pulling you together, no matter how much you tried to distance yourself.

You stepped out from the entrance to your dormitory, expecting the usual quiet corridor stretching before you. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you froze.

There they were, standing in your path, as though they had been waiting for you. James, Remus, and Sirius—all of them, their presence unmistakable. The air was thick with tension, and you could almost hear the unspoken questions hanging between you.

Sirius was the first to speak, his voice sharp, laced with frustration. “You gonna keep running away?” he demanded, arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was a flicker of something else in his eyes—hurt, confusion. “We’ve given you space, but this… this is getting ridiculous. You can’t keep doing this.”

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid the topic you weren’t ready to face. You didn’t want to, confront it, not yet—not ever. Your fear of their response to finding out was too strong. “I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to brush it off, but your voice came out a little too quickly, too quietly. "It’s nothing. I just needed some time."

Sirius’s eyes narrowed at your words. His jaw tightened, frustration turning into something sharper. “Nothing?” he repeated, his voice rising just enough to show the tension in his words. “You think we’re that stupid? You think we haven’t noticed? You can’t just pretend like nothing’s wrong. You’ve been shutting us out for days. We’re not blind.”

Before you could respond, Remus stepped forward, his brow furrowed. He shot Sirius a brief glare, his eyes softening when he turned back to you. “Sirius,” he said, voice calm but insistent, trying to de-escalate the situation. “We’re just worried. Please, talk to us.”

You could feel their eyes on you, waiting for you to speak. But your mind raced, and all you could do was let out an awkward laugh, forcing a tight smile. “It’s really nothing,” you said, your voice shaky. “I just… need some space, okay? I’ll be fine. It’s fine.”

You tried to take a step back, hoping to end the conversation before it spiraled further. You wanted to escape, to not deal with it.

But James stopped you, his voice soft but laced with hurt. “Please, can we talk?” he asked, his eyes full of concern. “We can go somewhere private.”

You felt the weight of his gaze, the silent desperation behind it, and for a moment, it softened something inside you. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. You hadn’t meant to pull away from them like this. The sudden realization of how much his feelings mattered to you hit you all at once, and for a brief moment, you faltered.

But despite the softening in your heart, you still couldn’t bring yourself to stay. You didn’t have the words, didn’t know how to explain it.

Still, you nodded reluctantly, and with that, the four of you found yourselves back in your dorm room, the heavy silence following you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, and the room seemed too small for what was about to unfold.

You sat on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, your gaze dropping to the floor. The tension in the room was thick, the unspoken words filling the space around you.

Sirius paced, his footsteps sharp and purposeful, the restless energy in his movements clear. He looked angry—his jaw was clenched, and his hands were shoved in his pockets as he walked back and forth. His expression was hard and unreadable.

Remus stood a little further away, his arms crossed, brow furrowed in concern, though a subtle frustration lingered in his posture as well. He kept looking at you, his gaze soft but questioning, like he was waiting for you to open up. You could see he was trying to read you, trying to understand why you were pulling away, but there was an edge to his calm that you hadn’t seen before.

James, standing a little off to the side, looked almost... small. He was still, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze fixed on you. The hurt in his eyes was undeniable, and you could feel it pressing down on you. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t push, but the silence between you two seemed to speak volumes. His usually carefree nature was gone, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

You swallowed hard, unable to meet any of their eyes for long. The weight of everything was suffocating.

“I… I didn’t mean to shut you out,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur, but it felt like you were shouting. “I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this. Everything’s changing, and I—”

Sirius stopped pacing and turned sharply toward you, his frustration bubbling over. “What is changing?” His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a harshness to it. “You’ve been shutting us out, and we have no clue why. We’re here, but you just keep pushing us away like we’re the problem.”

Remus stepped forward, his voice gentler, but you could see the frustration lingering behind his calm demeanor. “Sirius, let her speak,” he said, a quiet plea for understanding. His gaze softened again, but there was a flicker of concern. “We’re just trying to understand. Whatever this is, whatever you’re feeling, we’re here for you.”

James didn’t say anything, but his arms dropped to his sides, his posture deflated as he moved a little closer, his eyes never leaving you. You could feel the weight of his concern and hurt all at once. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, as if everyone was waiting for you to finally break it.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but it was hard to find the right words. The reality of what you had been avoiding, what you had been pushing down, seemed to finally come to the surface. "I just… I don’t know how to deal with this," you said, the last word slipping out before you could stop it. "It’s too much.”

What if I’ve already lost them? What if this is it?

It felt like sand slipping through your fingers, everything slipping away from you as you stood there, helpless. You were losing them, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Remus, his voice gentle yet firm, broke through your spiraling thoughts. “Please, dove,” he said, taking a small step closer. His tone held an urgency that made your heart flutter, though it only added to your feeling of being overwhelmed. “Talk to us.”

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for a brief moment, trying to find the strength to speak. Your thoughts twisted and turned, and for a second, you almost couldn’t breathe. Tell them?

You exhaled shakily and gave a sigh, the words finally slipping out despite every part of you wanting to avoid it. “It started slow,” you whispered, voice trembling. “At first, I didn’t even realize. It wasn’t like anything changed overnight. But... when you touch me—when any of you touch me, I feel it. This electricity, this spark that... I don’t know how to explain it. The way your hand brushed against mine, it felt like something else. And then, when I smelled you… your scent—God, it pulled me in. It felt so right. So natural. And I started noticing it with all of you. It was like I couldn’t breathe right unless I was near you.”

You stopped, feeling the weight of the words you hadn’t let yourself say before. The words you didn’t think you could say. The words that terrified you.

“Then there was the day I realized,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “It was in Potions class. Another guy—he just bumped into me, reached over to grab an ingredient, and... I felt nothing. His touch was just... bland. Empty. No sparks. No pull. And it hit me all at once. It was like I couldn’t deny it anymore. I wasn’t imagining it. That’s when it all clicked, that I wasn’t just feeling this because I was going mad. I was feeling it because you—you three—are my mates.”

You blinked rapidly, and a few tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You looked away, embarrassed, but you couldn’t stop them. The dam had broken, and all you could do was let the words spill out, hoping that in some way, it would make sense to them.

“And I was scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Scared that if I let this happen, it would ruin everything. That I’d lose all of you, that I’d lose the friendship we had, that I’d mess it all up.”

James sighed softly, his voice full of compassion. “Oh, love...” he murmured, his tone so gentle it almost broke you further. You could feel the sincerity in his words, the warmth in his presence as he took a small step toward you. “We’re not going anywhere, alright? You’ve never had to be afraid of that.”

Remus nodded, his expression serious but soft. He stepped forward as well, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not alone in this. We’re never leaving you. We’ll face this together, all of us.” His words felt like an anchor, pulling you back from the whirlwind of your own doubts.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, but you didn’t feel like you were sinking anymore. Their presence, their words, wrapped around you like a blanket, calming the storm within you—at least a little.

But then, as if on cue, Sirius stepped forward. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze intense as he studied you. And then, without saying a word, he reached out. His hand brushed gently against your cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped down your face.

You froze for a second. The touch, light but deliberate, shocked you. It was like electricity coursed through your veins, a rush of warmth and something deeper, something you hadn’t fully understood until now. Something that made your heart skip a beat.

His eyes searched yours, a question hanging in the air between you two. “Did that feel like what you explained?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with curiosity. You could feel your breath catch in your throat, but when you looked up at him, something in you shifted. Your chest tightened, but not from fear. The tension inside you seemed to ease, just for a moment.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, leaning into his touch as if you’d done it a thousand times before. It was crazy—how quickly you just... let go. How quickly you could calm down under his touch, like the world outside of the room didn’t matter. Like everything was right again, for just a breath.

His thumb gently brushed across your cheek, the contact grounding you. And somehow, in that one moment, the tears halted–your spiraling thoughts stilled. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his hand, the familiar scent of him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it could all work out. The bond—the mateship you’d been avoiding, the feelings you’d been too afraid to admit—it was no longer just a weight, an anxiety-filled weight.

Sirius brushes his fingers over your neck, lulling over to your exposed right shoulder. His touch brings heat, making your mind grow dizzy from it. Its insane how much a bond carries control over you, your emotions–it’s scary, terrifying how much power it holds. 

He brings his hand upwards again, brushing your chin up. Sirius moved slowly, eyes trained on yours as he leans in–his breath falling onto your face. With a quick glance down to your lips, you knew his intentions. You nod, admitting your permission and his lips are on yours in a heartbeat. The brief brushes of your bodies touching brought upon was nothing compared to the feeling of his lips on yours–hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes had fluttered shut, your own hand reaching to tangle in his black hair and pull him closer. 

He ends on top of you on your dorm bed, body slotted between your opened thighs. His kisses travel down your neck, his voice breathless, “are your roommates returning today, beautiful?”

You have to pull your mind out of the dizzy headspace it had begun to enter into to hum your confirmation. When he continued his kisses on your neck, you’ve been sent into orbit. Your head is tossed back against the bed sheets, whines escaping you. You’ve let go completely, no more holding back your feelings against the bond–you’re trying to bring it closer to you, needing it to encapsulate you. It’s almost like you're trying to make time for all the days you spent avoiding them. 

When Sirius nips at your neck, at a spot where your pheromones are strongest–James and Remus step back in. You’re dazed, but you hear them talking in the back. You catch a few words–mating mark, where, need to choose different locations. It all spiraled from there. Clothes were almost ripped off, moans and the smell of sex filled the air. 

Each one–James, Remus, and Sirius–got a chance at fucking you. You took each one’s knot, your cunt sore–so unbelievably sore, red, and puffy from the way they all were feral. It was everything you wished for, everything you were pleading them for. Your moans of, “o-oh… Please! James, shit–please.” Your whines for more, begging Sirius to go faster–harder. Your gasps and tugs on Remus’ hair when he ate you out, pleading that he never stopped. It was a frenzy, one that didn’t even begin to slow down until the sun had begun to rise again. 

Remus, having taken you in doggy–his length pressing against your cervix–placed his mating mark on the back of your neck. 

Sirius, doing it in missionary, placed his on the right side of your neck–by your ear. 

Then James, letting you ride his length to your heart’s content, had his placed on the opposite side of Sirius’. The guys had placed theirs on each other, but you were too out of it to remember–maybe even see it with how blurred your vision was. 

Your earlier tears—those tears of sadness, of fear that they might leave you, that they might break your heart—shifted. They no longer stung with the weight of abandonment but softened into something more profound. They became tears of pleasure. 

Your heart, once clenched with fear and doubt, was now full—overflowing with something gentle, something unspoken, but undeniable. It wasn’t just relief; it was something deeper. The marks of your bond, the quiet promises that passed between you, were beginning to settle in your skin, into your soul.

The anxiety that had once twisted in your chest, the fear that they would eventually slip away, was transformed now. In its place, you could feel the steady, unshakable presence of their connection to you. Their touch, their scent, the weight of their bodies near you—it was all part of you now.

Later, you found yourself nestled between them, your body tucked close as the four of you curled up together in the small bed. The room was quiet, save for the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets. Sirius, who had been the most distant, now lay with his arm across your waist, his breath even and calm against your skin. Remus was on the other side, his back to yours, his warmth a comforting constant as you all found a rhythm together.

James, still close, shifted slightly in his sleep, his hand brushing across your hair. You sighed deeply, feeling the peace settle over you like a thick, soft blanket. Every part of you, every part of this moment, felt complete.

And with that, you understood. You understood the bond—how, in a way that was unexplainable, yet irrefutable, you were intricately woven into their lives, and they into yours. It wasn’t just fate. It was this—the quiet knowledge that, from now on, you would always be part of them. That you were theirs, as they were yours.

As you lay there, tucked into them, your body began to relax, the warmth of their embrace washing over you. Your skin seemed to hum with the connection, a gentle vibration of energy coursing beneath your skin. It was a bond, a promise—one that would last, that would hold.

The mark, invisible to the eye, burned into your heart—a symbol of the truth you now knew, of the future that had been set long before you could even comprehend it.

The weight of their promise to stay with you, to never leave, fills the space between your hearts, and you let out a shaky breath, feeling a peaceful purr rise from your chest, soft and content. There was no fear now, no loneliness. Only the warmth of their love, their touch, their presence.

You were theirs. And they were yours. And everything, finally, fell into place.

[snowluvvie]

the way i keep going back to ur JJ farmhand scenarios is insane. more please i beg 😭 u write him so well 😩

₊˚⊹ ♡ . FARMHAND!JJ and CALF!READER sneaking around

You peeked your head around the corner of the barn doors, eyes scanning the ground and the stacks of equipment that were lit up by the early afternoon sunlight. The peaceful noise of the farm was interrupted by a loud “RAHHH!” just as your shoulders were grabbed roughly from behind, shaking you.

With a shriek, you spun around to find JJ’s grinning and dirt-streaked face.

“JJ!” You exclaim, swatting his chest.

His hands don’t leave your shoulders, continuing to shake you around lightly as he backs you into the barn with him, your feet dragging over the dirt and bumping against the occasional object since you couldn’t see where you were going.

“How was church?” He asked, his voice tinged with mocking.

You gave a little shrug. “It was church. The bible’s the same every time, believe it or not.”

As you spoke, it looked like he was only half listening, and he was still backing you up, until your back hit hard wood. You glanced over your shoulder to find the ladder to the hayloft, and gave a soft laugh at JJ's expectantly raised eyebrows. Obliging, you turn and begin climbing the ladder, the wood rough against your fingers—you know you'll get a wicked splinter doing this one day, it's just hopefully not today.

JJ climbs up behind you and takes the opportunity to swat your ass under your dress from his place below you, a yelp falling from your lips. The sound amuses him and he reaches up to pinch you again, laughing. You scramble up the ladder to escape his prying hands, the dusty floor of the loft rough and prickly from the hay shoots littering it, and they dig into your butt and legs as you climb onto it. JJ's biceps flex when he pulls himself up to join you, clambering to hover over top of you as you scramble backwards from him, dissolving into giggles that only make him come after you more.

"Tha hell is this?" JJ yanks on the sleeve of your dress. "Vomit green?"

You sigh. "Mama says it's olive."

"It's ugly."

You laugh loudly at his words, at the way he always catches you off guard with the ridiculous things he says.

"It'd look better over... there. Buried in the hay. Forever."

You can't stave off the giggles that wrack your body as he dips his face down to your neck, nipping at your throat and pressing open-mouthed kisses to it. Your laughter dissolves into a soft, tiny moan when he runs his tongue over your skin, and JJ pulls back to tease. "I'm barely even touchin' you."

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, JJ claps his hand over your mouth. It's rough against your skin, and smells like soil and sweat, and the indignant cry you let out is muffled. His head whips up, looking back and forth like he's waiting for something.

A few moments pass before you hear it: "Boy? Y'in here?"

Your daddy.

JJ glances at your wide eyes, his lips quirking up into a smirk before he shouts down. "Yes, sir. Up here."

"Thought you brought hay down this mornin'?" Your father questioned him. You squirmed slightly under JJ, unbelievably nervous, but his hands were firm on you as he kept you where you were.

"Yeah, I did. Jus' got worried about the ventilation and thought I'd check f'mold."

"Ahhhh, gotcha. On top of it, aren't you?"

"Sure try to be!"

It bewildered you every day that JJ was doing manual labor and not working in the theatre—he lied so convincingly it shocked you every time. Not just lying, embodying. His personality with your father was totally manufactured, it didn't hold even one shred of his real self.

"Anyways, ya seen my girl around?"

Your eyes got even larger, and JJ's head snapped to look at you. The panic in your eyes was all encompassing, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter. You suddenly felt burning hot, and he felt extremely heavy and warm on top of you.

"No, sir!" He hollered down, giving you a smug look.

"Alright, then, I'll let ya get back to work. Have a good one, son."

"You too, sir!"

You hadn't heard your father approach, but you certainly heard his heavy footfalls thudding as he walked away from the barn. JJ waited a few more moments before he removed his hand from over your mouth, and the two of you looked at eachother wildly—you recognized the unmistakable look of adrenaline in his eyes. He loved this.

You smacked him on his chest for that, but he was unfazed. "You're a pig," you insisted.

"Oink oink." He mocked you, leaning in to fit his lips to yours in a kiss that became sloppy fast, his tongue sliding against yours demandingly.

His hands moved up your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh as he maneuvered you out of your dress inch by inch, keeping your mouths connected firmly the entire time. He only broke away for a moment to murmur against your lips.

"Now—let's get this god awful thing off ya."

[mydearlybeloathed]

── "𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄… 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐒"

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: mihawk has a time honored tradition, and you're the sorry soul who has to tell him it's being broken.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: platonic!mihawk x gn!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.5k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: reader is mihawk's assistant, inspired by the headcannon that mihawk is a baratie reg, named "the assistant of all time" in my docs

𝐚/𝐧: kinda really wanna continue this 🤭 if you have ideas of shenanigans mihawk's assistant can get up to i'm happy to hear them. i've got a few swirling around my brain already

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Waiting till your employer (and close friend, if you let yourself admit it) sat down, you stood before his desk rather stiffly. In your arm rested a number of papers, some correspondences from the government, others new wanted posters he might find of interest.

“Milord,” you began, “I have… bad news.”

Instantly, Dracule Mihawk’s shoulders squared up. You liked to think you knew him like the back of your hand. For the past four years, you’d shaped your every waking moment around your boss. Kuraigana had been your home since the day Mihawk found you, wounded and hissing like some feral stray, and offered you shelter on his ship.

“I don’t want charity,” you grunted, eyes pinched as he pressed a warm cloth to the gash on your arm.

He wasn’t having any of that, eyes flickering over your dusty figure. “Then work for me. I’ve been meaning to find an assistant to deal with the more boring matters, but no one ever has what it takes to handle my… line of work.”

You met his gaze, mustering up your strength. “I do.”

Mihawk knew that; he felt that you were cut from the same cloth, in a way. 

Family was too fuzzy to name what the pair of you were, but boss and assistant was too far removed. The paychecks never stopped rolling in, and your devoted work never strayed into the realm of favors, yet a layer of friendly understanding rested atop your companionship.

You always hated disappointing him, fighting tooth and nail to avoid doing so. Yet, here you were, stiff as a board about to do just that.

“I’m sure you remember Don Krieg.”

Mihawk’s brows met instantly, expression cool. “What about him?”

You picked at a splinter on the desk, making a mental note to sand it down. “He’s been—spotted at the Baratie.” You chanced a glance up at him. “I don’t think your table will be available tonight.”

Mihawk blinked, before all at once the exhaustion of the week flooded his features. He slumped over on his elbows, nursing an ache in his temples. “Every Saturday… we always get our table…”

His use of we and our had a soft spot deep in your armor buzzing with delight, quick to be snuffed out with a nod. “I’m aware. I have thought up several top-of-the-line establishments—quiet spots with the same flair as Baratie.”

The warlord raised a single, perfect brow. “You say that like we’re not going to settle this little disturbance.”

Again, we. You fought down the tiniest of smiles and nodded firmly. “I expected as much. Just leaving the option open. Shall I prepare your ship?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I shall do that. You sharpen your blade. I have a feeling things will get… messy.” 

You met his casual air and scant grin accordingly, allowing a smirk to slip past your walls as you left the room swiftly. Things had been getting quite dull in Kuraigana. Perhaps this will liven the adventure up.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s @kryscent @kultofkorii @dreamcastgirl99

[sage-green-matcha]

Can you do one in a treehouse with experienced ethan and fully virgin reader smut pls

(only if u want to)

PICTURE ME IN THE TREES - ETHAN LANDRY 🌬️

Losing your virginity with Ethan in your childhood treehouse <3

MINORS DNI!

Content includes: SMUT! P in V sex, sweet Ethan!

A/n: I love this request sm! Hope you enjoy my love 🫶

<3

<3

<3

Ethan’s hand was softly intertwined with yours, your shoulder slightly bumping into him with each step.

Dead leaves crunched under your feet, the smell of autumn filling your nose.

You had started going on evening walks with Ethan, just something small to appreciate each other.

“I didn’t know you had a treehouse” Ethan covered his eyes from the sun, looking up into the tiny house that was surrounded by forest.

“Yea, It was my little hideout when I was younger” You took his hand closer as you walked towards the forest, ending up in front of the tall, fragile ladder.

“Ladies first” His eyes were slightly scared, but you knew this ladder could hold anyone up. Your hands grabbed onto the broken wood, careful to not get any splinters on your hands.

Your knees hit the old wood, stepping inside while Ethan followed. Memories of your time spent here rushed into your brain.

It was really dusty, but it was nice. Your mom had it built for you, with a full bed and bookshelf. Ripped posters hung from the walls, string lights surrounding the ceiling.

“This is surprisingly nice” His eyes twinkled once you turned the string lights on, the warm hue making him feel warm inside.

You made your way over to the bed, shaking off the small amount of dirt that was on the throw blanket. Ethan sat next to you, his curly head of hair on your shoulder while he played with the rings on your finger.

“It’s so nice in here”

“Yea…my little self loved it in here. But I haven’t come up in ages”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why not?”

“The divorce was messy, it reminded me too much of my mom so I avoided it at all costs. What a waste though, I could’ve cleaned this place up and used it for something else.”

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a tingling sensation down your spine. Your skin was sensitive to his touch, even the slightest brush made you melt.

“Ethan…” You smiled, turning your head towards him. “What?” He knew what he was doing, and it wasn’t a horrible idea.

Just by the way you looked inside the small house made him realize how much you missed it. The only reason you stopped loving it was because of bad memories. If he gave you a good one…maybe you’ll love it again.

You pushed yourself closer to Ethan, his lips now sucking on your neck. You felt nervous, anxiety bubbling up in your tummy.

You weren’t very experienced, scratch that…you lacked it. You remember watching a video of how to please yourself, but you never felt anything so you gave up.

You moved yourself down to his lips, soft and sweet as he took your face into his hands.

You made it clear to Ethan that you wanted to take things slow. He respected that, and he knew it would make your first time that much more special.

“I like you a lot, Y/n”

“I know”

Your whispers traveled around the cold room, the sound of wet kisses on skin mixing with your voice.

His large hands grabbed at your skin, desperate to taste the flavor of your lips.

Gently, his hand ran up your shirt, his warm skin on your stomach.

“Can I take this off?” Your brain screamed, trying not to show how flustered you were getting. You nodded your head, but it wasn’t enough for Ethan. He needed to make sure you were definitely okay with it, definitely comfortable.

“Tell me”

“Yes,” You gulped, Ethan, pulling the fabric off your torso. Your nipples hardened under your bra, cold air brushing against your skin.

Ethan slipped his shirt off, a kiss placed roughly on your puffy lips. You took your hands to his chest, tracing his slightly toned skin. “You’re so touchy” You looked up to give him a small glare.

His hands held onto your hips as you closed your eyes, Ethan spreading apart your naked legs. Your core glistened in front of him, his cock hard at the sight.

“Ready?”

“Mhm”

You took a deep breath as you felt his cock stretch out your walls. “It hurts Eth” you mumbled, face slightly pained under him. “I know baby, I know. I’m sorry” He whispered sweet things in your ear as you took all of him, the feeling being good yet bad at the same time.

Ethan could barely breathe. Your cunt was so tight, milking his cock perfectly. He swore he could’ve busted right there.

Slowly, he pulled back his hips before thrusting back Into you, your pussy getting used to the feeling. The feeling of pain quickly dissolved as he thrusted, pleasure radiating all over your body.

He kept a slow and steady pace, but he was desperate for more. He didn’t know it, but you were too. Through broken words, your mumbled, Ethan was surprised. “Faster” He didn’t think twice, thrusting and pushing his hips into you in faster movements.

He didn’t go any harder, and you were glad. You probably would’ve melted right there.

A layer of sweat formed on your face, small moans and whimpers fell from your lips.

Sounds of skin slapping filled your ears, you were so overwhelmed, feeling yourself float in your senses.

You let out a small whimper as he touched your clit, applying hard pressure to your sensitive bud. You tensed up your legs, your chest rising up and down quickly.

You felt yourself go stupid on his cock, whispering words you never thought you’d be admitting. “What’s that sweetheart?” You gulped as he went inside you harder, seconds away from his release.

“I’m all yours, I’m all…yours” Your eyes rolled back, legs shaking as you felt a tight knot in your stomach stretch, so close to snapping.

Moans fell from your lips, your legs aching from Ethan’s harsh thrusts. But you couldn’t complain, it felt too good for you to feel the pain in the moment.

Ethan groaned in your ear, rubbing your clit faster as he noticed your breathing becoming uneven. Your back arched as you felt that tie snap, legs shaking as cum oozed from your hole, covering Ethan’s veiny cock.

Quickly, he pulled out of you, strings of cum being shot onto your stomach. You were too fucked out to care, your lips parted while you rolled to your side, trying to catch your breath.

He placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles on your skin. His lips made marks and kisses on your legs, pulling you closer to him by your waist.

He brushed the sweaty hair out of your face, kissing you softly. You didn’t say anything, instead burying your face into his chest, legs to your stomach while he hugged you.

[astralnymphh]

kneeling for her ⋆ | ellie williams headcanons

༺ ellie x fem!reader sucking her strap hcs/scenario! ༻ ☽���☾

(ellie image from kittaeria on pinterest)

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

AN: had the most random scenario blossom in my head yesterday so i wrote it per usual, went a lil more risqué with this one 😜at least to my standards

cw/tags: NSFW!! SMUT!! MDNI!! ellies a lil goofy in the beginning, blunt/straightforward-ish reader, not a fully wrote out fic, small time skips, sitting on lap, cursing, takes place in jackson but not specified to be before seattle (readers choice) soft-dom leaning ellie (except maybe less soft in one instance, nothing rough tho), guiding you verbally and with hands, praises, petnames; (good girl, baby, slut) sucking/choking on strap, clit stim (giving) strap-vag insertion, flatiron position, rewarding, gripping head/hair, deepthroating.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

setting the scene

༻⛧one dusty orange sunset, cooped up in ellie's makeshift 'garage house' relishing a simple meal she whipped up for the both of you, albeit can you really classify her attempts at the art of culinary as five-star cuisine? regardless, the two of you slumped into the gray sofas' sufficient padding and dined like kings; in apocalyptic standards. no conversation had been rustling the space between you until a rather, interesting, unordinary, dare say- scandalous? scenario had implanted its peculiar self into your thoughts.

"hey babe?" you quell the silence, tone arching in curiosity.

"mhm?" ellie garbled through shut lips, chowing down her food.

"you know.. we should- try something new-"

"ooh~ like what?" she instantaneously hunches her back closer to you and tosses her barren plate aside, avid to hear your words go from mind to mouth. she invariably dotes on your ideas.

"uh- it's like.. related to.. bed stuff."

"like sleepin- wait! can we pleaaasee build a display shelf for my comic books above my bed-"

"ellie." 

"sorry." ellie, even being an adult, is still crazy about her long-kept hobbies.

"uh- anyways. I'm talking 'bout like.. sex." you impenitently tell.

her eyelids dim, sloping her head to the side in adorned interest, "sex? that's one way to ask."

"no ..seriously, I have an idea.." you stow the plate atop a stubby heap of books, conveying a genuineness in your stare.

ellie sails her tongue briskly through her lips, anchoring her torso back onto the sofas' arm, lengthening her legs out with a faint bend at the knees. her palm drops to her thigh, patting it twice.

 "c'm over here." she coaxes sweetly with an alluring gaze, imbued with a pip of power in her vowels.

a suffuse of blush overlies your midface, crawling your body towards her beckon.

her hands steady your hips down on her lap, finding refuge on the back of your thighs thereupon settling.

"what's the idea, then?" the moods' been shifted, emanating one of sensuality.

you nestle near her headspace, whispering, "y'know ur' strap?"

"yeah.." ellie likes where this is leading, clearly by her rapt smirk and tune of chords rising in tempt.

"what if I sucked it?"

⛧ oh boy, that set off a night she wouldn't be forgetting for the inbound days ahead. immediately you found yourself levitating up from the couch by her arms and bouncing on the mattress. a makeout session leads to fated stripping and now, your kneeling in front of her at groin-level and a hunter green mass protruding towards your nose bridge.

her optics glare down at you, the sight of you so keen and willing to do this. sure, it's not the real thing but the sight should and will be fucking exhilarating. 

"c'mon, what're you staring at?" ellie's hand gently smacks your cheek and splinters your blurry-minded trance.

you deduct a reply from your mouth, instead, taking a solid grasp of the strap and wrapping your lips round' the tip, all while preserving unwavering eye contact.

"shit.." 

her hands ease and twine the locks on each margin of your head, massaging the pads of her fingertips tenderly. her arousals' climbing new peaks every second at this rate. she presses her pelvis further upon your lip, steering you to open up.

your lips part and welcome the rotund tip in, stroking along your front teeth. the weak grasp on your head pushes the strap languidly to a greater extent that bounds it to the back wall of your throat.

"ach-" you jab out a cough.

"good girl, take that shit in.." 

⛧she's one to be in control, but it's nothing rough. her hands guiding you back n forth gently as the strap summons spurts of tickles in your throat each time it prods the back of it. it'd be far enough to chafe the hilt against her clit, per usual any time she wears the contraption, so you'd always hear quaint whimpers, curses, groans, etcetera, from above.

"mhh~ fuuhhhhckkkk.." ellie draws out a long euphoric groan, straining her neck back and exposing the mild protrusion of her adam's apple.

catching up with the motion, you begin bobbing your head on your own accord. her hands dull their hold and hover above, letting you work your utter sorcery, mouth wide open and drooling for her.

her head recoils down, "such a slut- oohh~ fuck.." 

⛧again, she's not rough without consent and a special occasion, but she'll clutch your hair firmly enough. to you, it's like her non-verbal sign that says 'go faster'.

thrusting your head faster, her own moans begin to burgeon and crowd the room over your sucking and popping noises. she looks so fucking hot from your angle, a clement sweat, fucked out face, leaning slightly back so her pelvis projects closer to you, a solo hand supporting on the back of her thigh, the other latched onto the apex of your head and knotting strands of hair around her fingers. it's all getting to you. 

"oh- baby, fuck- keep goin'n.. uhn- shit!" the climax augmenting within her hips jitters the shit out of her knees, begging to just buckle underneath her and collapse on the bed.

"gh- hn.." your words fumble around ellie's cock, still putting your all into pleasing her. adding a grip on the strap and stroking it was endgame for her, the adjoined knocking against her swelling bud ruined her.

⛧ellie's definitely more of a groaner and a huffer when she comes, it's not growling level but it's certainly not fake exaggerated ones.

⛧i think she's also the type who'd want you to come as well, like, there is not a single night where she's the only one getting pleased, she has to see you unravel and lose your shit under her.

"stop, baby- stop.." ellie hastily hushes through heaves of breath, pulling your head from the strap to which it springs off your lips.

"huh..?"

"m'not cummin' without you- fuck.." her fingers take a grapple at your jaw, guiding you up onto your feet.

you give her a blank stare until it's washed away with a surprised one as you're cast onto the bed, stomach down, ass up. she shambles over you and flattens you out till your hips settle in the cloudy mattress.

she mounts your thighs and inclines her crotch to yours, slowly inserting into your cunt from the back. her nails chisel into your plush hips, thumbs notably indenting on your ass.

"oh-my gmm.. ellie.." 

"god damn-" she mumbles to herself, cuffing out a quick chuckle, "you earned this.." positively rewarding you for your work.

insert a loooong night spent railing.

⛧random conclusion hc but I feel like in this position where she's behind you she'll litter you with kisses and bites on your shoulder-neck region, especially for being so good and disposed for her. 

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

MASTERLIST

[lonely-cowboy]

one and only ↠ arthur morgan masterlist. main masterlist.

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader summary: although you left weeks ago, arthur still feels guilty for all he did (and didn't) do to you. he just can't seem to get you out of his damn head. word count: 3.7k warnings: none really? just sad arthur

author's note: AHAHAHA i'm finally back, and i present to you my first arthur morgan fic!! for more info on this request and a lil update on my comings and goings, look here <3

On a typical night, going to the saloon would’ve been a treat for Arthur. When he was able to spend a night out – some nights with the gang, other nights just with you– it meant he was safe. He didn’t have to worry about Pinkertons on his tail or whatever trivial chores Ms. Grimshaw had in store for him the next day. On a typical night, Arthur would’ve enjoyed the saloon.

But tonight was far from typical.

Arthur found himself huddled in a corner with a whiskey in hand, mindlessly fidgeting with the splintered wood of his lonesome table. Though his hat was tipped low to ward off any friendly patrons, Arthur’s eyes were focused on the bright moon outside. Its pale light filtered through the dusty window, casting shadows across Arthur’s rough features. 

Tonight, Arthur was not treating himself. He didn’t deserve such a thing after all the Godawful things he said to you. No, tonight, Arthur would punish himself. He would drink and drink and drink until he was so overwhelmed with misery that the only way to cope was with a good, hard fight. He’d find the biggest, sturdiest patron he could, sauntering over so audaciously that any right-minded man would already be angry with him. And without a word, Arthur would punch that man square in the face, waiting readily for a retaliating punch. After that, he’d let his hands drop to his sides, leaving him defenseless as he took punch after punch in punishment.

Tomorrow was sure to be one hell of a morning.

With a soft grunt, Arthur turned his gaze away from the moon. He didn’t deserve to look on something so pure, something with beauty only contested by yours.

Instead, he turned his attention to the crowd of rowdy drunkards and dancing fools, eyeing them for his victim. 

Lord, he deserved to be hit. Punched, kicked, bitch-slapped.

And still, none of it would be punishment enough for all he did to you.

Arthur cursed at the memory of that night only a few weeks ago, the night you finally left him. He didn’t blame you for leaving– oh, no, he could never blame you. You had every right to leave. Truth be told, he was surprised you stuck around as long as you did. 

But that night… he could never be angry at you for that. Not when you were oh-so-sweet, looking up at him with those big, helpless eyes and praising him with love he surely didn’t deserve. You were nothing but good to him as you confessed your fears of Dutch and where his needless obsessions would lead Arthur. You begged him to run away with you, leave the gang behind and quit risking his life every damn day. You were so desperate for him to leave, tears welling in your eyes as you clutched the front of his shirt… nuzzling your nose against his… peppering kisses along his lips and cheeks…

And what did he do?

Told you it was a nice dream, of course. Sure, he had his fair share of fantasies, mostly that involved a quiet life with you. But that was all it was to Arthur, a fantasy. He could never actually leave the gang. No, he could never. Surely you knew that, didn’t you? You knew Arthur well enough to know he’d never leave these good people behind. ‘course, you couldn’t understand, could you? You’d been with the gang barely even a year, you couldn’t understand the love he held for these people. These people who weren’t just his gang but his family. How could you ask him to leave his family?

And that’s when Arthur knew you were gone for good. The way you had stared at him then, pulling away from him as if he had just stabbed you in the heart– in a way, he had. The tears still trickled down your cheeks in steady streams, but your desperation was quick to turn to hurt, to anger. 

“Thought maybe I was your family,” you mumbled then. “I see I was mistaken.”

What a goddamn fool he was to watch you leave. Not a word of protest left his lips as you leaped onto your horse and galloped off into the night, so easily abandoning the life you had built there, your life with him. 

The first few days, Arthur was sure you’d return at any minute. He dodged Dutch’s requests to join in on whatever senseless plans he had, sending Charles or Javier in his stead and instead disturbing Ms. Grimshaw with questions of “Anything else I can do for ya?” Whatever it took to keep him busy and in camp, awaiting your return. 

Every minute of every day, his eyes were glued to the treeline, ears perked and waiting for the sound of horse hooves. One evening, Arthur had been fetching water from the lake when he heard the thundering of hooves, some surprised voices. Immediately, he abandoned the bucket, tossing it carelessly to the ground before sprinting back to camp. 

You were back! You had to be back, it had to be you.

Quickly was he proven wrong. It was only Charles, a large buck strapped to the back of his horse.The excitement hadn’t been in celebration of your return, no, only in glee that at least one of the men was finally doing his part around camp.

My, that’ll keep us fed for days!

Finally, someone’s puttin’ in the work…

Arthur turned away with a frustrated grumble. Where the hell were you? 

He made his way back to the shoreline to retrieve the forgotten bucket, though not without noticing the snickers and jeers from Bill and Micah. Arthur had made no effort to hide his desperation to find you; the two of them had seen him drop his bucket and rush to camp clear as day. 

Not that Arthur cared. So what if they laughed at him? He wasn’t ashamed for loving you the way he did. 

Eventually, Arthur could no longer keep himself busy with chores. Dutch oh-so-terribly “needed” him for this job, some train robbery that would take him far outside of camp. Reluctant as he was, the work kept him distracted for the week. 

Except at nights when he lay on his bedroll– listening to Sean’s snoring and John’s sleep talking– wishing you were there beside him. He’d lay with his arm slung around your shoulders, pulling you close as you rested your head against his chest. He would trace patterns along your soft skin as you rambled about an argument you had with a local seller over the price of peaches or the old letter you and Tilly had found from Uncle’s second wife. Arthur would watch you intently as you spoke, burying his nose into your hair while he pressed delicate kisses to the top of your head.

But then the job was done, and Arthur was back at camp thinking of you every second of the day, no longer just at night.

By then, Arthur began to doubt your return. He worried about never seeing you again, loathing himself for all the terrible things he said and wondering if those would be the last words he ever said to you. Arthur was never much of a religious man, but he prayed to God that wouldn’t be the case.

For a few days after that successful robbery, Arthur tried to keep a steady head. He tried to go about his business as usual, which only proved impossible when he was so distracted by you. So in a final attempt to put himself at ease, Arthur took a few days away from camp to just… spend some time on his lonesome. He occupied himself with hunting, fishing, riding, the usual. 

But mostly, he remained huddled in his tent with his journal in his lap. He focused on drawing but found that he could only draw you. He couldn’t help it. For Christ’s sake, he couldn’t even draw his damn horse who was standing right in front of him! When his attempts at drawing failed, he tried to write which proved equally as miserable. 

With nowhere to go and nothing to ease his worries, Arthur decided he needed to be punished for what he did. Maybe then you’d come back to him. And if you didn’t… maybe it would at least help him to not feel so guilty. He doubted it.

That brought him to the nearest saloon. And there he sat, scanning its patrons for someone strong enough to give him a good beating.

But his eyes were drawn instead to a young couple tucked away in a far-off corner, holding each other tightly as they swayed to the hum of music. Arthur watched as they clung to each other, away from the noise of the saloon and huddled away in their own little world. The moonlight fell beautifully upon the pair, revealing bright teeth that smiled lovingly and crinkled eyes as they shared a quiet laugh. Their love was radiating so purely off of them, making it as though they were the only two people in the world, the only ones they would ever need.

For a moment, Arthur thought he saw you. He could picture you sitting across from him now, the image so vivid with the way you would lean your elbows on the table just to be closer to him. You would watch him silently, though he could see hundreds of thoughts behind your eyes. And somehow, Arthur would know that one of those hundred thoughts was a desire to dance. So without another word, he would stand and offer his hand to you, the corners of his lips quirking into a smile as you beamed up at him and took his hand in yours. He’d pull you flush against his chest, one hand holding yours while the other found its place on your hip. You’d knock his hat back affectionately, complaining how you couldn’t see his pretty eyes. Arthur would laugh quietly, making some remark on how they weren’t that pretty, a claim you’d be quick to refute. 

But no, that couldn’t happen because now you were gone. His beautiful girl, the kindest soul had had ever known… The one so perfectly crafted to him he couldn’t even begin to imagine a life without you. Even now, when you were nothing but dust in the wind, Arthur couldn’t imagine his life without you. 

What an idiot, what a fucking idiot. 

Only he could be so foolish as to give up something as perfect as you. Goddamnit, he should’ve run away with you. He should’ve taken your hand and run. Run far, far away and never once look back. Sure, he loved the gang, but his affection for them could never outweigh what he felt for you. He knew then that he could never be as happy as he was when you were in his life.

“You fool…,” Arthur growled as he pushed away from the table and marched outside.

This late at night, the small town roads should have been empty but they were teeming with handfuls of people, workers scurrying to get home and families enjoying a cool evening walk. Arthur watched them from the saloon’s porch, leaning against one of its beams as he lit a cigarette. It was hopeless to think it would take the edge off. 

He released a billow of smoke from the side of his mouth as he glanced up at the moon. He could only hope that somewhere– wherever you were– you were looking up at it too, sharing this last peaceful moment with him.

“Thought that was you in there.”

Great. Now he was imagining your voice, the calming sound bouncing around his skull in a dull echo. Perhaps this was punishment enough, yearning for you in this way.

“I know you heard me.”

Arthur couldn’t help but be drawn to the sound of your voice, his eyes searching for its source despite knowing you wouldn’t be there.

Only… you were there. Standing in the road with your arms crossed protectively over your chest, there you were.

Jesus, he was hallucinating now? 

Arthur must have looked absolutely dumbfounded at the sight of you, your lips shaping into a small smirk. 

“I’m real, I promise.”

Arthur’s chest blossomed with warmth, heat creeping up his neck in a bashful blush. How was it possible you knew him so well that you could immediately tell– just from a look– he thought he was hallucinating?

Arthur watched intently as you moved to toe the dirt road, your nervous tension clear in the set of your shoulders and pursed lips. He put out his cigarette quickly out of respect for you, his eyes locked on you even as he tossed it to the ground. He wanted to move closer to run his calloused hands along the skin of your arms or even just to feel the warmth of your proximity. But he remained glued to the porch, his boots suddenly too heavy for him to lift his feet.

A long silence passed as Arthur stared longingly at you, your attention focused on a particularly fascinating pebble that you nudged idly. Arthur wished you would just look at him, but he knew he didn’t deserve to lose himself in the comfort of your eyes.

The silence finally ended when you kicked your pebble too far, just out of reach. With your only source of entertainment gone, you looked up at Arthur. He could see the way your shoulders sagged, though from exhaustion or disappointment he couldn’t tell.

The look on your face was expectant, waiting. He supposed you wanted him to say something. It was only fair. He was yet to say a single word, and with the way he just let you walk away all those nights ago… He owed it to you.

“What’re you doin’ out so late?” Arthur rasped. “It ain’t safe for ya.”

“You know I can handle my own just fine.”

“I know.”

And that was the truth. Arthur did know how well you could handle yourself, feisty as you were. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do everything in his power to keep you safe. You didn’t need him, but he would always be there if ever you did.

Assuming, of course, you would have him around.

A garbled noise left Arthur’s lip as he struggled to find his words. It was so difficult when you looked at him like that, your brows pinched together with confusion. You didn’t look at him coldly as you should have, only with concern.

“You’re, uh… you’re still around,” he said.

You idiot, ‘course she’s still around, she’s standing right in front of ya!

“Sure am.”

You moved to the side as a pair of young men squeezed passed you to get into the saloon. It was then that Arthur noticed how exposed the two of you were. Being just off the main road and standing so far apart– your voices echoing into the night– he was sure everyone in town could hear your conversation. 

Pushing off the porch beam, Arthur took a step back and gestured to a set of wooden chairs shoved up against the saloon wall.

“Why don’t ya come take a seat, sweet–?”

Arthur cleared his throat, hoping it was enough to hide the way he so desperately longed to call you sweetheart. But you had heard. He saw it in your knowing smile as you trudged up the porch steps, taking Arthur up on his offer and sitting down gracefully. Cautiously, Arthur took the seat beside you.

From the way you were sitting– with your legs crossed tightly and your hands gripping your knee anxiously– Arthur could tell you wanted to say something. He dared not speak, fearing that if he did you might never speak to him again.

“It was harder to leave than I thought,” you admitted suddenly, your words coming out in one quick breath. Another pause. “Guess I understand why you couldn’t leave the gang…”

Arthur sucked in a breath as he scratched his chin nervously. “Darlin’, I shouldn’t ‘ave–”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. I get it.”

For a terrible second, Arthur considered ending it at that, choosing to be silent. Again. 

No, he couldn’t do that to you, not again. You deserved better than that.

“No, it ain’t right. I did wrong by you. I shoulda been better.”

There was a flicker of hope in your eyes, mixed with the lingering pain. 

Arthur released a steady exhale as he took a moment to consider his words. Why was it so difficult to talk to you? You had only ever given him a safe, comfortable space to talk, to be vulnerable. Why was he struggling so damn bad now?

“Tell me what’s on your mind, cowboy,” you murmured, the same way you always did when his long silences persisted. “Why’re you havin’ a hard time?”

Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He deserved to be yelled at, he deserved your anger. But here you were, patient as ever, speaking in the kindest of tones. Lord, he didn’t deserve you.

“I guess… I dunno. I don’t wanna mess this up. I’m scared, darlin’… So goddamn scared.”

“Of what?”

“Losing you.”

There it was, plain and simple: he didn’t want to lose you, ever. 

He could barely survive a few weeks without you, how on earth would he survive his whole lifetime? However long it was.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” Arthur repeated in a whisper, turning away from you timidly. “I can’t.”

He let his hat hang low over his eyes, hiding from your intense gaze. Only seconds later did he see you out of the corner of his eye, peeking forward to meet his eyes under the brim of his hat. Carefully– as if trying not to spook a startled horse– you reached up and tipped his hat back.

“Can’t see those pretty eyes.”

Arthur risked a glance at you. You offered him a loving smile. 

In that moment, he let himself hope, hope that his worst fear might not come true after all.

“No need for all that, they ain’t–”

“Oh, hush now. They’re real pretty.”

“Ain’t nothin’ special…”

“They’re special to me. Ya know why?”

Arthur hummed in encouragement, his brows furrowing. He couldn’t believe there was anything that special about his eyes.

“’cause whenever I look in them, all I see is love.”

And when Arthur looked at you then, he looked at you with just that.

“Well… it’s ‘cause I love you.”

It didn’t matter if you left him, it didn’t matter if this was the last time he ever saw you. It wouldn’t change how he felt, would never, ever change the way his heart swelled with so much love at the mere thought of you that he didn’t even know how to handle it. He’d love you if you left, he’d love you if you stayed. He’d love you with every breath, even his last. And even then, when he was long gone, he’d still love you.

Arthur waited for you to speak, the anticipation clawing at his throat. He swallowed hard to avoid choking on his own words, but the longer you said nothing, the more he feared it would be of no use.

“I can’t afford to lose a love like that,” you whispered sincerely. 

Maybe you didn’t say it, but Arthur could see it in your eyes. The same love in his eyes was reflected in your own.

“Talk about my eyes all ya like… they sure ain’t as pretty as yours.”

Your smile widened, a visible warmth spreading throughout your cheeks.

Arthur shoved his worry aside as he stood from his chair, offering his hand to you. You didn’t take it immediately, staring at his scarred skin silently. Arthur was hit by a wave of insecurity; he was almost tempted to pull his hand away with a quick apology. But before he could, your soft hand slid into his, and you let him pull you to your feet.

Christ, how had he ever gone this long without your warm touch? Already, his heart was pounding faster. And you were only holding his hand! He was sure he might implode the second he pulled your body against his.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

You took a step closer to Arthur, your chest nearly flush against his. Your hand remained entwined with his, your other coming to rest on his shoulder. With some hesitance, Arthur snaked his hand beneath your shirt and placed it on your hip, pulling you ever slightly closer. His finger brushed against your skin, reveling in your warmth.  

Inside the saloon, music continued to play. Faint as it was out on the porch, that didn’t stop the two of you from swaying to the gentle rhythm. You then began to hum softly, so softly that Arthur could barely hear that sweet voice of yours. He leaned closer to hear you, his cheek coming to rest atop your head in a way that felt all too natural. He worried then that you might pull away, but you did quite the opposite.

You rested your head against Arthur’s chest, snuggling closer to his warm skin and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. Your humming slowly died down as you focused on the racing beat of his heart. This was a different kind of music to your ears. 

With your humming gone, Arthur took it upon himself to keep it up. He mumbled along the words to the muffled tune, pressing kisses to the top of your head between every breath. Together, you stayed wrapped in each other's arms. Every now and then, Arthur added a flourish that had you grinning like a little girl, his strong arms twirling you around and around. 

As he pulled you back to him, you stopped short to admire his rugged features. A smile tugged at your lips, one that Arthur wanted to kiss right off.

Instead, he met your unyielding gaze, mirroring your loving look.

“I ain’t losin’ you again,” he muttered.

He spoke it as a promise, a promise that he would never let you go again. Because if he did… he could never live with himself. No, you were the only thing that mattered, the only thing worth keeping around. He would never lose you again, his one and only.

[bulletcasing]

My TMNT AU is not part of the competition but

Shredder and his kids want to offer you and your Splinter some snacks!

this is in my files as chredder sheese 👍 (if you want to send another one for our other iteration we've got an even funnier response in mind)

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There���s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell) Scene from the Uberwald Grand Sneer

[darling-keoko]

First meeting

Caesar x Male!Reader

Oc x male reader.

Warnings⚠: M! Reader turned 18 Caesar is 19 but over all this is just their first meeting. Reader being a gay in denial

You live in a small town where everyone knows everyone. So news got around quickly about a new family moving in.

Some one bursts into your room while you were daydreaming.

"M/n! Wake your ass up!" They pulled you up from of your bed.

"Mghhh... What do you want... Today is my off day."

The male effortlessly pulled you up from off your comfy bed, and that person was no other than your one and only friend Sam.

You and Sam met on a playground when you both were 12. He was the only child your age that you had interest in, all the other kids was far out of your age range.

But he wasn't the only friend you had.. There was this one boy that was so beautiful to you... You still don't remember his name or face but you do remember when your parents had to drag you away from him when he had to move.

Sam snaps his finger in front of your face trying to wake you up again.

"Earth to M/n. Cmon! The new family is moving in and I heard that they have a hot smart son." Sam grinned stupidly, drooling at the thought of a new person here in our age range for him to play with...

"Jee... Gimmie a moment, Sam. Let me put on my pants first."

You groggily and lazily searched for some clean pants to wear.

"Gosh... Your room is fucking dirty, man. No wonder you can't pull."

You found some clean pants and put them on, ignoring Sam's complaints.

"Then clean it for me. You know I don't have time to clean it 24/7."

Sam rolls his eyes pulling you out of your room, downstairs to where your mama is cooking breakfast, bumping into her nearly making the cookie batter fall out of her hands.

She yelled at the both of you (mainly Sam) and hit Sam with a wooden spoon clearly not happy about him dragging me along the house.

"You two boys needa stop playin' so much! You nearly made me drop this cookie dough I was making for the new neighbors."

She hit Sam with the wooden spoon she had in her hands.

"Agh-! Okay, okay, Aunty! I'm sorry!"

He rubbed the start where your mam hit him with a small childish pout on his face.

"That hurt.... How come M/n didn't get hit too?"

Your Mom rolled her eyes at Sam's pouting and complaining, putting the cookies in the oven as she shooed him away.

"Wait, where is M/n, Miss. Smith."

Ms. Smith kissed her teeth patting her sweat away with the towel she had around her neck.

"I don't know. Go find him if your so worried."

She opens the fridge grabbing a apple and throwing it to Sam.

"When you find him give him this... He hasn't ate anything all day. Now stop asking questions."

You were at the first place you and your first friend met. Inside of the treehouse.

You entered it. it was a bit dusty since you last been in here about 6 years ago. You sat down on the hammock that was made out of your old childhood blankets.

You let out a deep sigh as you recall memories from the past.

꧁𐂂꧂

9 years ago you were running into the forest with some blankets and pillows you took from your room.

You and your moma got into some silly arguement about not having pets so you got mad and ran away.

You planned to stay in the random tree house you found in the forest forever, surviving off of snacks.

You climbed up the tree, getting a few splinters from the wood. You entered the tree house

"Whoa who are you, I've never seen you around here and why are in my treehouse?"

You said to the girl that was sitting in your treehouse curled into a ball.

She curiously lifted his head to meet your gaze.

"O-oh... I didn't know this was your tree house... My name is Serine..."

Serine got up from where she was sitting, grabbing the chips he was eating before you came in.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know this treehouse belonged to someone... It looked pretty abandoned."

"I can leave if you want... I don't mind"

You place down your blankets, flopping onto the pile.

"Nah, you can stay. My name is M/n by the way."

You smiled at Serine warmly.

"Ah!"

Serine blushed a bit before responding.

"You have a nice name."

She sat back down, sighing, sitting down in the same position you met her in.

"Thanks you to!"

You both sat in silence for a while the only sound that could be heard was her crunching on his chips and baby birds chirping.

"So... How old are you?"

You said trying to make conversation with her.

"I just turned nine years old."

She held up nine fingers, pausing before saying anything else.

"My parents wanted me to live with my Grammy for my 9th birthday."

Your eyes lit up when she said that.

"Your nine?! Can we be bestfriends, we're the same age!... Well almost... But I'm 7!"

You held up 7 fingers waving your hands in front of her face.

"I turned 7 two months ago, in April!"

You exclaimed excitedly... There was a small twitch in he girls lips before she burst out laughing.

"Your 2 years younger than me. We aren't the same age silly."

She smiled at you as you pouted at her loud outburst of laughter.

"Hey! It's close enough."

"Whatever you say, M/n."

She stayed quiet for a moment before commenting something else.

"Your a cutie. Your like the little brother I've never had."

An idea popped in her head... You could've seen it on her face.

"I should start calling you little bro. Your my baby brother."

You frowned at the nickname she gave you clearly not liking the name 'little bro'

"Anyways. Why are you in my treehouse... Are you hiding from a ninja?"

Serine was a bit confused when you said that but she decided to play along in your childish day dreams

She puts a finger on her lips making a shh sound.

"Be quiet... The ninjas might hear you..."

She places a chip on her tongue crunching quietly on it.

"I stole this bag of chips from the ninjas... That's why they're chasing me."

She whispered, showing you the bag of chips. It was the original lays chips.

Your eyes sparkled in interest when she said that.

"Really!"

You yelled out not even trying to whisper.

"M/n! Quiet... They might hear you"

"Oh, sorry... Really?"

You said in a whisper this time.

"Noooo. Your silly, you know. Ninjas are not in America, theyre in Asia"

"Wait, really!? How do you know-"

After that encounters you and Serine became friends... Until...

"Mommy! I don't wanna go without M/n. He's my friend."

Serine yelled out as she tried to pull her arm out of her fathers grasp with no luck. Her father just picked her up and placed her in the car... The last thing she saw was your crying face.

꧁𐂂꧂

You let out a deep sigh as you shifted positions in the makeshift hammock.

You closed your eyes slowly falling asleep...

2 hours later

You woke up to loud rustling.

"What? Who's there!?"

You got up quickly just to fall back down onto the hammock.

"Hello?"

A young lady voice could've been heard.

Your eyes readjust to the lighting to see a young man, looks like they're at least 18 years old in front of you.

"Huh... Who are you?"

The male eyes widen in surprised as he realized who you were.

"M/n?...i can't believe your still here!?"

You looked at him with an confused facial expression. He caught onto your expression quickly and decided to clear up your confusion.

"It's me... Serine... Well... My name is Caesar now."

Your eyes sparked with interest when the man who calls himself Serine reintroduced himself.

"Serine? Is it really you?"

You stood up too quickly that your body don't even had time to register what you were doing before it happened.

Slam⊰

You fell bringing Caesar with you.

"Agh-... Sorry... "

You rubbed your arm that you fell on. You opened your eyes to see Caesar below of you looking up at you in concern.

"Are you alright?... "

You blushed at the predicament that you got yourself in.

Caesar looked cuter up close... You could've barely seen him from that far away but as your eyes adjusted to the light... Omg what are you thinking? Your not gay? Or are you ;1

"I'm so sorry, Caesar."

You got off him helping him up before brushing your clothes off.

꧁𐂂꧂

You and Caesar sat in awkward silence for a while... By a while I mean until sunset.

"Uhm... So...how was your nap."

Caesar said with an very awkward smile plastered on his face.

"Please be quiet... I can't stand the awkwardness right now..."

A/n: so that's basically the end of the first meeting story... And yes it took me a week and 5 drafts to come up with this one story. Part two is coming soon (In like in 6-7 business days) but I hope you enjoy the so called introduction to the characters but we will be introduced to more In the future, but that'll have to wait since I'm going to work on Beom-Moon. And before I forget please tell me if I made any errors in spelling, sentences and etc, I will try to fix it quickly.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 66

part 1 | part 65 | ao3

cw: i don’t do drugs, dad, it’s only marijuana

“Uh,” Steve splutters, choking on his own spit. “Is that wise?”

It’s a question Eddie gives zero fucks about, apparently, because he’s already lighting a joint — cherry bright, shadows sharp, chin held aloft as he hollows his cheeks. “Extremely,” he croaks, blowing smoke out in a thick ring.

Steve’s mouth flattens to a frown. “Literally how?” he begs to know. “I thought we were supposed to be, like, fortifying our defenses. Building our mind shields or whatever the fuck.”

“Au contraire, mon frère.” Eddie takes a hit and holds it. “We are fighting a psychic wizard. Therefore…” Another toke, another trail of perfect smoke rings, ducklings lined up big to small. “It stands to reason that we should trash his battlefield.”

It stands to reason we should what?

“…Ohhhhhh,” Steve nods when he gets it. He reaches up to take the joint, tipping his chin in thanks when Eddie slots it into the V of his fingers, and squints as he sips in a quick puff; adds a French inhale at the end of a second huge hit. Eddie’s not the only one who knows how to do cool tricks. “So this is like the time we let a bunch of cows loose on Thompson’s field the night before the homecoming game.”

“Yeah, exactly— well- well, no, actually, not like that, what in the Indiana bumpkin fuck—? Never mind.” Eddie tosses his hair and rocks on his heels, and Steve can’t help but snort as he watches him shake himself clear like a little Eddie Etch-A-Sketch. “Important things only,” Eddie mumbles to himself. “Essentials,” he’s saying, “Essentials. What are essentials?”

And meanwhile Steve is saying: “Eddie-A-Sketch.”

Eddie hollers a startled cackle as he whips his head around, his face all squiggly with confusion, brows pinched, nostrils flared. “Steve, what the hell?”

Steve giggles uncontrollably. “Etch-A-Skeddie? No—”

“Holy shit.” He scrubs his hands down his face and laughs weakly at the ceiling. “How much weed did you just smoke?”

From anyone else it would sound like scolding, but Eddie just pulls out a few more joints, sticks three in his mouth at once, and mumbles good-naturedly, “Lemme catch up, I guess. Christ.”

While Eddie smokes enough weed to briefly hotbox a room with a hole in the floor, Steve watches the water ripple, spellbound by shimmering shapes in the dark for what feels like decades until he remembers all at once that it fucking sucks in here. It’s cold, and he’s starving, and his back is kinda stiff. “Hey…”

He looks over his shoulder, rolling into the stretch. Eddie’s doing some weird noodly shit in a corner, bent at the waist with his arms pretzeled overhead, swinging side to side, the ends of his hair sweeping the dusty, splintered planks. “Hey! Eddie.”

“Hmm?”

“Weren’t we supposed to be finding supplies?”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie swings himself upright; starts pacing back and forth. “Shit, yeah. What did we need?”

“Besides food and water?”

“Booze!” He steps onto a pile of boxes just to hop back down again. “Booze, music, more drugs…”

More drugs. Great idea.

Steve plucks the stubby remnant of a joint up off the floor; Eddie spins around on tiptoe to peer out the boathouse window, and when he looks back at Steve he’s got a Cheshire cat grin. “Say, Steve-o. Stevie boy. Svennie—”

“I’ll kill you,” Steve coughs around a mouthful of smoke.

“Since I’m pretty sure we’re one hundred percent going to jail for, uh. All of this…” He waves his arms around at their whole situation, then gestures invitingly to the house at the top of the hill. “Whaddaya say we add breaking and entering to the list?”

—

part 67

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamics, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bang! The impact shakes you so hard you nearly drop your book. You sit up, wide-eyed, and look around. What the heck was that?

You stand and leave the book on the short bench squeezed in along the table. You go to the door and twist the latch. As you open it, dust mists in the air and the scent of smoke singes your nose. You step onto even ground and search for the disturbance.

You turn to face the trailer and the black cloud pluming up from behind it. The entire thing lurches as an electronic whir and zap cuts through the air. You dodge put of the way as the window bursts and shatters over you.

You scramble back on your heels, shielding yourself behind an arm, and cry out. Your neighbours cluster before their own homes and watch, caught in awe as the trailer shakes on its foundation. The wall burst open as a dark shape crashes through and lands in the patchy grass behind you.

You turn to stare down at the mangled metal. Broken tubes drip neon blue fluid and the lights flicker and die. Whatever it is, it's useless now. Just like the wall.

Another crash before you can investigate. Another window rains shards into the dirt and you slap your hands to your head. At least you have witnesses, though you don't know that they have any idea what's going on.

Another tremble before the door swings open. What looks to be a cyborg tramps down the stairs and dusts itself off. You grimace helplessly at the red and gold armour.

"Iron man?" A chirpy childish voice quavers from behind you.

No way? As if to bask in the recognition, the mask retracts and reveals a man's face. It is in fact the Tony Stark. He smirks beneath his goatee and winks at the kid.

"Hey, little guy." He shoots a finger gun as he struts over to the kid.

A long, loud groan comes from behind him. You turn back to the trailer as it starts to lean. Oh no!

Time slows as you watch the whole thing fold in on itself. You stumble further back as it sends up another plume of dirt and dusty. In a moment, you're swept away from the wreckage out of the way of a broken board flying in your direction.

Tony Stark, Iron Man, playboy, billionaire, and wrecking ball has his arm around you as he puts you back in your feet. You stare at the ruin of your home

Your entire life.

"Damn, good thing you got out of there," he snickers.

You shrug him off and step forward. "Hey, sweetheart, you're not gonna wanna do that. There's smoke and that means--" As he grabs you again, a crackle sounds and orange flames lick out from beneath the splinters and drywall.

"No!" You cry out. "What the-- the trailer-- you--"

"Relax, sweetheart, you should be thankful you didn't get trapped in all that. Could be a hell of a lot worse."

You wriggle in his grasp, "that's my home! What am I gonna tell me mom?"

"I'll buy you a new one," he rolls his eyes.

"A new one? That's not the point--" you scoff and stomp your foot. You face the heap again. There are things you can't replace and your mom will make sure to mention as much.

“I'll have my people get in touch.” He struts away and toes the mass of metal on the ground. “Gotta call in the big boys.”

He puts his hand to his ear and talks to no one in particular. You can't look away. The flames build and build as you watch it all go up in flame.

You peek over at the man in his red and gold armour. He grins as children crowd around and he signs their comic books and frisbees and action figures. He's all charm and cheer.

He has no worry about the mess he's made. He'll go home to his penthouse and his bank account. He says he'll buy you a new trailer but that's not going to happen overnight.

The police show up, and the fire trucks, then men in black suits. The lot is corded off with yellow tape as you stand listless on the sidelines. You don't know what else to do.

“Oh god! Oh god! What happened?” Your mom blusters up beside you. She's still in her work uniform. You look at her and shrug. You can't even put into words the chaos of the last few hours.

You look around and point just as Iron Man's helmet flips up and he flies off in a flash. You stare after him and drop your arm. You huff.

“I have no idea, mum,” you utter. “No idea.”

She shrieks and flags down an officer, “sir, I want to know what the hell happened to my home! Right now!”

“Ma'am. This is a matter for law enforcement. We're investigating–”

“Investigating!? My trailer is a pile of rubble!” She cries out.

Her shrill hollers fade into a murmur as your gaze zeros in on the ash. This isn't fair. He gets to walk away, well, fly away, and you have to figure all this out.