#except if you’re straight then you can Go away

[trashogram]

Randall Boggs/Fem!Reader idea where you move into a new apartment and based on weird activity around the area, you think there’s a ghost in your closet. Except it’s actually a giant monster lizard bastard that can blend in with his surroundings that’s haunting you. NSFW under the cut:

You try to assert your dominance and wordlessly reclaim your territory with the ‘ghost’ when It refuses to live with you peacefully. But your way of fighting back is mainly ignoring It’s irritating behavior as much as you can and living your life — of course living your life includes masturbating in your room after a hard day of work at your shitty customer service job.

You try to ignore it when the ‘ghost’ acts up here and there during bc god help anyone or anything that gets between you and your sorely needed O. You’re adamant in continuing until you get a little satisfaction, but your heart jumps into your throat when it feels like multiple hands that are not your own are suddenly touching you.

Control is quickly taken away from you as you’re immobilized by a heavy weight that you can’t see. The hands push yours to the side, and another keeps your legs apart. You try to swallow past the feeling of a hand squeezing your throat lightly, and another exploring your torso.

It’s so hard to tell without the gift of sight but you feel like the overlong body on yours is covered in smooth scales. They brush over your body in a way that chills you, just as the hand that busied itself with groping your tits slides down to right between your thighs. Your ‘ghost’ has oddly-shaped, inhuman digits but you gasp as they rub and circle your clit in exactly the same way you were just doing.

Had you been in your right mind, you could’ve tampered your surprise. What do ghosts really do but observe? It’s just that the way this particular one had to have been watching you closely to know exactly what you enjoyed while playing with your pussy. Before you know it you’re cumming past the shock, and your hands have been let go, allowing you to reach up and wrap them around the invisible sinuous body.

Coming down from the high, you slowly realize that the body on yours is tangible with a quick-beating heart and shifting muscles. Your eyes flutter as those fingers delve down and start to stretch your opening apart, making way for something much thicker, heavier, and… viscous? The shape is familiar enough in spite of it definitely not being human. You’re too in awe of what’s going on to even think of getting away, so the creature that isn’t actually a ghost sinks its cock inside you until it can go no further.

You groan at the intrusion, and one of the hands covers your mouth.

“Sh sh sh sh shhhhh...” It appears, revealing itself for the first time without warning, and you see the glare of beady eyes and score of acicular teeth.

“Relax.”

You stutter against the hand still held against your lips, blinking at shutter speed as the lower half of this eminence-colored lizard starts moving. His upper body remains still as a gargoyle, narrowed eyes darting over your face - your throat still in his hold - the way your breasts bounce in time with his movements. He’s cataloging your reactions, but you’ve quickly succumbed to another building climax and can’t think straight again.

Another moan is stifled as Randall lays even lower, maw pressed against the dip of your throat so he can trail over it with his tongue.

“Good girl. It’s much better when you humans obey, isn’t it?”

[kaorvv]

so I read a post that was along the lines of “I like when a ship is not explicitly stated as canon / I enjoy the chase and seeing the little details I can pick out to explain why it’s so canon / it’s fun to gather evidence and read into implications” and ofc this is stated within the context of gay ships, and while I somewhat agree with this take, I wanted to make my Own Post about My Thoughts

I am somewhat tired of “reading into it” when it comes to queer ships. It can be frustrating sometimes. I see posts that are like “look how this scene is so homoerotic it’s so canon ahh” and it’s literally just a queerbait scene. I’m sorry but if they did not actually express romantic love verbally/physically, isn’t it pretty much queerbait? don’t get me wrong I love those moments and agree that those characters are so fucking gay it hurts but bro like I don’t know if that changes the fact that it’s queerbaiting :/

and I live for pining and yearning just as much as the next person but why do always we get to see straight couples yearn and pine and then actually move past that when they finally get together to do the coupley things and go through domestication and rough patches in their relationships and just experience life as a couple and for queers it’s like,, oh they’d die for each other but they don’t live in the same house and they’ve rarely said words of affection or touched but the Plot has been resolved so The End

and then so many of the shows that do explicitly canonize queer love with their main characters are cancelled or put on some indefinite hiatus for some reason or another so we STILL don’t get to see them through

[ozzgin]

I'm in my parody mood again. I'm so sorry. You have to attend a yandere school: quite literally, an academy designed to train you into a proper yandere. Except you're terrible at it. So pathetic, in fact, that all the yandere-to-be students and teachers have to help you. And now they're slowly but surely falling for you. Content: gender neutral reader, horde of yanderes, parody

"For the last time, (Y/N)..." the teacher sighs, mild frustration creasing his features. "You can't be a cool and aloof yandere if you look this tense."

"I thought I'm supposed to obsessively stare at my crush from the window", you argue, waving away some cherry blossom petals that were blown by the wind straight into your face.

"Yes, but no one can tell you're a yandere yet. Your gaze must be indifferent, idle, bored. Do you understand?"

You're a lost cause. The older man readjusts your body's position with pursed lips. You'll never be a proper yandere with this attitude. He should be angry about it - Yan Academy dons an unmatched reputation of flawless success. Every student graduates with impeccable results. Well, except for you. And yet, he's almost enjoying the repeated efforts, the daily observations, the additional training you require.

A thought crosses his mind: what would you even do without his help? You'd be lost. You need him to succeed. He shakes his head in embarrassment, swiftly shoves his glasses further up the nose, and coughs.

"Meet me after class. I'll be in my office."

"Again?"

The words escape your lips before you can stop yourself. His brows furrow, and he lifts your chin with his index finger, responding in a deeper voice:

"Yes. Until you learn to act properly, (Y/N)."

“What’re you doing now? We were going to hang out at my place, so we can practice efficient stalking methods.”

Your classmate smiles at you, almost pleadingly. Oh, if only you’d join them. How else will you manage? He can already picture your confused, innocent expression as you try to keep up with them.

You were made to be stalked, not the other way around.

“I can’t”, you whine. “Teacher wants me to stay behind again.”

The students stare at you with a peculiar glimmer in their eye. This bastard…is he trying to keep you all to himself? He should be minding his damn business and leave such matters to people who’re closer to you. They know you better. They’d do a much better job at…training you.

You feel a tug behind you. The classmate removes your backpack and throws it over his shoulder.

“Fuck that. You’re coming with me.”

[More parodies original work] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

[kisses4reid]

criminally hot | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you get wrongfully accused by a sheriff, and it isn’t you who’s angriest. it’s your boyfriend who has to expose your relationship in order to clear you.

genre - spencer x bau!fem!reader, fluff, slight angst if u squint, angry reid x calm reader

wc - 1.2k

warnings - reader uses she/her pronouns, handcuffs, violence, a weird white man i know id be fucking scared as well, oh swearing as well.

a/n - i love u you’re so awkward i am doing so well bc of ur request, keep requesting things your brain is crazy. ummm anyways this is my first time writing this kinda thing omg how exciting okay start reading it wtf you still doing here?

request - ( from @babyoureahauntedhouse ) omg hii!!! :3 this is my first time requesting, so please excuse the awkwardness 😭😭😭😭 first of all, how are you????? i hope you’re doing amazing!!! absolutely no pressure, but can you do one where reader gets falsely arrested (not a huge thing, maybe in a police station at a small town or something) and spencer absolutely **loses** his shit at how she’s being treated????? like, she’s freezing and the sheriff or somethjng keeps pushing her and then he just bursts into the interrogation room and uncuffs her and it’s just very fluffy???? thank you!

Emily handed you your coffee with a smile, receiving a small thank you in return. It was warm in your hands and created a comforting contrast to the cool chill of the police precinct you were set up in.

Things were going well given that you’d only been in the small town for half a day. The team debriefed on the plane, but Aaron had been on the phone with the leading detective for at least an hour now asking him where he was.

Emily headed off to the restrooms when a slender hand made its way to your waist. You turned and felt your cheeks heat, knowing exactly who is was.

“Hi Spencer.”

“Hi Y/n.” His eyes held sweetness in the chocolate swirls, and you felt like a kid who had been given candy. Spencer and you had been dating for a few months, but somehow in a team of profilers you both kept things under wraps, even with Spencer’s clumsy touches and your lingering stares. “I wish we were home,” he whispered.

You glanced around for anyone who could witness your interaction and get suspicious, but you were mostly alone other than Hotch and some officers who were weirdly taking a lot of attention to you.

“Yeah me too. I’m feeling oddly popular and not in the good way.”

Before you could talk more or offer him a sip of your coffee (even if you know he doesn’t like it), Aaron calls his name and the slim tall boy scurries away with a straight face.

You turn to find something to do. To reread a case, to help someone fill out papers, to talk to Morgan or Garcia. You would’ve opted to huddling in your cardigan if a tall man didn’t interrupt.

“Y/n L/n?” He asked in monotone. His arms were at his sides, one hovering above a pair of cuffs that hung from his police belt. Furrowing your eyebrows you answered,

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“You’re under arrest for the robberies of…”

His voice pounded into the background of your head, thoughts attacking your eyes through a sudden headache as the words registered before you could help it. The room was silent except for the man’s voice, yet all you could hear was the furrow of eyebrows and quick approach of your boss, Aaron Hotchner.

“What’s going on here?”

“Your agent has been seen…”

You stood still as another officer came behind you and forced handcuffs onto your arms, gripping your wrists with unnecessary force that would surely leave bruises. You winced and looked between your boss and the officer, and then at Spencer, who was being pulled back by Morgan. He yelled your name in worry, witnessing the hardened grips on your body and rough pushing you were being subject to. Your coffee splattered on the ground, staining your white shoes.

There was only mumbles and white noise, as your eyes met with Spencer’s. The large officer behind you kicked your leg to get you moving, the shock glueing your shoes to the rubbery floor. And you almost didn’t even notice the hand on the back of your neck pushing you towards a dark room with a desk and two chairs.

You were so familiar with these rooms and yet it felt so different.

Of course, you didn’t actually do anything. And of course you attempt to clear that up to the officers who are slamming their hands on the table and screaming as much as they could, in a poor attempt to intimidate you.

Aaron was in the corner with a scolding face and hard hand to his chin, observing the situation with an intensity you barely ever see.

“Last month, you were seen at one of the houses that got robbed over night. You left a few days later, after also being seen at two of the other houses-“

“So she was seen at three of the ten houses robbed and you arrest her?” Aaron spoke up, bringing the men’s attention to your boss instead of you. You took the opportunity to look outside of the window.

Though it wasn’t clear, you could make out the outline of a tall boy you wished would just break into the room and save you.

And he did.

“Your evidence is illogical and childish. She’s an FBI agent for gods sake-“

“Anybody can be a suspect Agent Hotchner, even federal agents.” The tall one replied with a stubborn mumbled.

Suddenly, the door was slammed open and you were met with a disheveled Spencer panting with a red and severe face. He didn’t even bother looking at you before he starting schooling the men in blue, who at that point were glaring at him and attempting to look more intimidating than they actually were.

“I’ve read your files on this case and nothing links to Y/n L/n, not one-“

“There’s no way you read our-“

“I can read more in a minute than you can in a day, dickhead. Y/n was meeting old school friends when she was in town, we went to the Diner Inn afterwards and we met with her parents who have receipts for the meals because they’re-“ he turned his glance at you,” “sorry Y/n- they’re hoarders. You have nothing against her other than some positively reported visits and some photos of her hugging the house owners.” Spencer had slowly pinned the officers to the opposite wall unconsciously. It was hot. “I was there, I’m her receipt. And like her parents, she loves keeping those. So if you want to insist she’s your culprit, go for it. But your going against a man with eidetic memory and a lot of evidence.”

And while he was logical and correct, he was also a little too truthful.

The officers blinked in fear. Spencer definitely didn’t seem the type to yell or swear, so this clear, concise and undermining approach to the situation was somehow even scarier.

“Spencer,” you began, “thank you.”

He looked at you, his expression softening into empathy and care, “Of course.” His hands found a key in his back pocket as he approached you, starting to promptly uncuff you.

As Aaron continued to speak with the officers of their major mistake, Spencer took you outside of the room and into a private office. Your heart was racing, but it seemed Spencer was more stressed than you. He paced as you leaned onto the front of a wooden desk, hands over your chest as your eyes trailed Spencer.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I should’ve reacted faster, then you wouldn’t have been..” He stopped closely in front of you, his breath hot on yours as his gaze scoured over your body for injuries or bruises. “Are you okay?”

You smile calmly, “I’m fine. My leg hurts, and I think my wrists will be bruised, but I’m fine.”

He took your hands and rubbed his thumbs on your wrists carefully, causing butterflies to explode in your stomach.

“Thank you Spencer.” Your eyes dance with each others. “You were really hot. Maybe I need to get arrested more often.” You joke with a lift to your voice and a smirk, causing him to look down with a smile and shake his head.

“If being angry makes me hot maybe you should reevaluate what you-“

Your lips found his, you hand going to his bicep and his going to the back of your neck, before a clearing of the throat took you both out of your trances. It was Hotch.

“I’ve got some paperwork you both need to sign. About the arrest and,” his hand waved between you two, “this.”

Morgan stood behind Aaron with a smirk, leaving quickly to go tell Garcia that she had lost their bet.

taglist: @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[lvrsfilm]

contrary to popular belief, Simon Riley does not do casual.

Nothing about him is casual. Nothing about his dedication to his work and his team, the bullets he would disperse and receive for them. Nothing about his routine, the way he shines his boots or folds his uniforms every week like clockwork. He is a cut and dry man, or at least he tries to be.

You, on the other hand, are the opposite of him in so many ways that at a glance people would assume you're the kind of person he hates. (He wishes that was the case, it'd make his life simpler). You bounce around base like a lit firecracker, your fuse sizzling quietly even during missions, never burning out. You never seem to tire, even after the particularly hard ones that leave him mute and holed up in his quarters for hours every day after.

You are casual. Coming to his room whenever you feel like it, knocking in a way that lets him know it's you and no one else. Bringing him tea, or bourbon, the occasional meal if you can convince him. He doesn't see how you can think it's casual. Slipping off your boots, leaving them half laced at his door.

Slipping into his bed. Laying next to him in silence, just so he isn't alone. Bandaging any cuts that aren't severe enough to warrant him going to medical. The soft skin of your hands making practiced movements over his scarred skin that only you've seen. He is not a casual man. And you don't seem to have figured that out yet.

No other man on base interested in you would even entertain the thought of pursuing you, for fear of Simon somehow hearing their thoughts and stringing them up by their necks to show the others what happens if they touch what's his. Everyone else can see the way he looks at you, the way he lets you in.

Everyone except you, apparently.

You don't ask why he lets you in, and he doesn't ask why you keep coming back.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the first person to make him feel human in a long time. That every soft knock on his door chips away at the walls he’s built, cement crumbling under your touch, a feeling akin to warm liquid gold seeping through the cracks, running over his scar tissue. Like he's a victim of Midas. Exposing him to something he thought he’d buried years ago. You remind him what it’s like to be vulnerable, to crave something more than routine and mission reports.

And it terrifies him.

Because Simon Riley does not do messy, either.

But you? You’re a storm. Chaotic and unpredictable, rushing into his life like you’ve always belonged there. He doesn’t know what to do with you, how to keep you at arm’s length without losing the warmth you bring into his otherwise cold existence. So he lets you in, over and over, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Tonight is no different.

The knock comes—a rhythm so familiar now that it’s practically a lullaby. He already knows it’s you before he opens the door. You’re standing there, as casual as ever in civvies, with that cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten in ways he refuses to name.

“Thought you could use some company,” you say, holding up a thermos of tea like a peace offering.

He steps aside, wordlessly, because what else is he supposed to do? Tell you to leave? Pretend he doesn’t want you here? He’s not that good a liar, not around you.

You slip past him, kicking off your boots, leaving them next to the doorway as always, and make yourself at home like you belong here. Like you belong with him. And maybe you do.

He watches as you set the thermos on his desk and plop onto his bed, laying on your back and stretching like a cat, looking at him expectantly. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. An invitation. A promise.

He lays down, careful to leave just enough space between you to keep the illusion of distance. But then you lean into him, shoulder brushing his arm, and the illusion shatters. His resolve crumbles.

“You came straight here when we got back,” you say softly, tilting your head to look at him. “skipped dinner, I saved a plate for you from the mess.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it cuts through him like a blade.

He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. He looks at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve. Like he needs to figure put your angle, figure out why you're treating him so softly. For a second, the air between you feels impossibly fragile, as if even breathing too hard might shatter it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice low, almost gruff, like the admission costs him something.

You tilt your head at him, your lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. “Do what?”

He exhales sharply, as though frustrated, though it’s unclear if it’s with you or himself. “This… whatever it is you’re doing. Looking out for me. Bringing me tea. Sitting here. I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know,” you reply simply, your tone disarming in its honesty. “I do it because I want to.”

The words hang in the air between you, unassuming yet weighty, like they’re daring him to refute them. He doesn’t, because he can’t. You've made up your mind. There’s a stubbornness in your voice that he knows too well—one that he’s realized he has no defense against.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters after a moment, turning his gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s a waste.”

Your smile falters, just slightly, but it doesn’t vanish. “You’re not a waste.”

He flinches at that, so subtly you might have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him. His fingers twitch on the mattress, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the mask. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t argue, but his silence says enough. You press your lips together, chewing the bottom corner slightly as you debate whether to push further. You decide to anyway, because that’s what you do.

You grin, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he knows you’re about to say something cheeky. But instead, you surprise him again by reaching over to touch his hand—just a fleeting brush of your fingers, so brief he almost convinces himself it didn’t happen.

He closes his eyes, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s something, you think.

You turn onto your side, facing him fully now, your fingers brushing against the back of his hand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch this time, so you let your touch linger—gentle, steady, unassuming.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you add quietly, almost as if it’s a promise.

When he finally opens his eyes again, there’s something raw and unguarded in his gaze, something that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t thank you, doesn’t argue—but the way his fingers curl ever so slightly against yours feels like an answer.

[mywritersmind]

HIDE YOUR NAME NOT YOUR TEAM - LN4

summary : In which a pretty red head catches Lando’s eye one night in mexico, a rude remark and laughable flirting stays on both of their minds. The last thing Lando expects is to see her again in the paddock, while he’s determined to figure her out, she’s determined to hide her name and why she constantly is spotted in orange.

listen up : panic attack, sexual comments, comedy!! lando norris x bosses!daughter.

word count : 5404

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I don’t usually go to these things. But Alexandra convinced me when she said I could borrow her dyson.

“I take it back.” I say as I get my drink, we’re sat at the bar, Charles already gone to find some drivers, “Let’s go back to the hotel! Girls night!” I beg her but she just shakes her head.

“You look too hot for that.” I sigh, I do look hot tonight. I’m in a black mini dress, sheer tights, and knee high boots that are the same shade of burgundy red as my hair.

Just as she says that, Rebecca, Carlos’ girlfriend, comes up to us, “Y/n! You never come out with us!” She hugs me and I smile. I never do but I do like hanging with my girls.

“I had to drag her here!” Alex sips her drink as Rebecca laughs. We’re in Mexico for the grand prix, something I also rarely find myself at.

“Don’t make that face! You deserve a day off.” I sigh, knowing they’re right.

“Alright.” I down the rest of my drink, coughing and turning to the bartender, “Three shots please! Surprise us!”

The girls squeal and as soon as I sit back down, I know it’s gonna be a good night.

I’m multiple drinks in, dancing with my friends, when Carlos and Charles sweep my friends away like it’s nothing.

I scoff, going to walk off the dance floor before a man stops me, “Wanna dance?” I almost laugh when I see who it is. I can tell he sees me thinking about it, “I promise I don’t bite.”

⋆༺

LANDO NORRIS

I noticed her when she was dancing with some guy who was out of his mind wasted. I saw her hair first, a dark cherry red with messy waves.

I don’t know if she’s here with friends but I do know that I want to know more.

She’s staring at me like i’ve just asked her to do a backflip, “Uh… no.” She shakes her head and walks straight past me.

What the fuck?

I haven’t had a girl reject me in a long time, but it’s not unheard of. Still, something about her is telling me to not give up.

“Wait! I’ll buy you a drink!” I hurry after her, she’s flipping her hair over her shoulder and eyeing me, “Please?”

“Please?” She laughs, “You can’t find any other girl besides me?” She hops up onto a bar stool and I lean against the counter, staying close.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m Lando.”

“Yeah, I know.” This surprises me.

“Oh! Well then you know I'm not a creep, so you’ll let me buy you a drink?” She crosses her arms, she seems to be assessing me.

“Fine.” I get her a dirty martini and water for myself. “Thank you.”

“I’ll always be down to buy a pretty girl a drink.” I smile as she sips her drink, “I never caught your name-”

“Mhm…” She looks around the club, obviously not interested in what I have to say.

“Okay, Red.” She doesn’t even flinch at the nickname, “Why are you in Mexico?”

She hums, “Family.” she lets out a long breath.

I frown at her lack of interest, “That’s fun. I’m racing here this weekend.” She doesn’t respond, “Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I promise I'm not like whatever shit magazine you read.”

She looks at me after that and I immediately know I fucked up. Except instead of throwing her drink on me, she just laughs, “God, you’re an asshole.” And with that, she walks away.

⋆༺

YOU

Lando Norris hitting on me was not something I expected from that night.

But it immediately became worse once I remembered why I was in Mexico.

“Sweetheart!” My dad hugs me tight. Zak Brown is a lot of things but a shit dad isn’t one of them. He’s in all orange, contrasting my white dress. I smile as he pulls back, “I’m so happy you’re here!”

I have gone to four grand prix’s in my life. It seems a bit odd for someone who’s father is there almost every weekend, but we had a deal. I was a sort of trouble child, more in my teens when I wanted more freedom. I took some years off of school but I realized what I was wasting and got right back into college.

My dad said I couldn’t come to a grand prix until I finished school. I was annoyed at first, who wouldn’t want to spend their weekends partying with rich people and flying on private jets? But I sort of fell in love with my studies in fashion and had no time anyway.

But I recently graduated and am back in my papaya fathers reach.

“How are you doing? Excited to be back?” I nod as I walk up the paddock with him.

“Very! I’ve missed everything, especially my friends.” He smiles and I’m happy I can make him do that in public.

“I’m so proud. Oh!” I see my nightmare in neon and freeze, “Come meet one of our drivers, he’s a bit like you, I think.” My dad looks back at my frozen position and frowns.

“I forgot I have to grab food with Lily! New friend duties, right! Remember how happy you are that i’m making friends!? Bye!” I turn around and run.

I end up meeting up with Lily because as soon as I heard myself say it, I suddenly really wanted to see her. Lily isn’t new to the paddock, but I’ve only met her a couple times. We follow each other on instagram and have DM’d multiple times.

After our taco and gossip session, practice started and I know I should be watching, but I want to explore more. So instead, I walk around the Paddock alone.

I seriously missed this environment. One of my favorite memories from when I was a kid was my dad walking me around the paddock. I love the hustle and bustle of the paparazzi, fans, and drivers.

I also love the quiet in the paddock while the cars are on track. I make it back inside, finally finding a bathroom and after fixing my hair and makeup, I wander more halls.

I don’t want to admit I'm lost, but I definitely am. I’m about to call Lily and Rebecca but realize I am a strong independent woman! That and I'm a tad embarrassed.

I turn yet another corner and see the worst person for this situation. I realize he hasn’t seen me yet but when I go to turn he eyes me, “Red?” He looks genuinely shocked and I'm even more shocked that he remembers me!

I laugh awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He’s in his race suit, sweaty, and way too good looking with it unzipped. He runs his hand through his curls, has he always been this attractive?

Sorry! Dickhead. I don’t like this man. He’s an asshole.

“What the fuck?” Is all he can say.

“Hey!” I smile, “Thanks for buying me that drink the other night…” When I left him at the bar, I did not think about the whole MY FATHER IS HIS BOSS thing.

“What are you doing here?” I hide my paddock pass behind my back, “Seriously. You’re not some stalker are you?”

I roll my eyes, “No but I am lost.” I can’t ask him to point me to the Mclaren garage because then he’ll ask why so I go for the next best thing, “I’m looking for the ferrari garage!” I need to text Alex right now.

“I’m still confused- you said you were in town for family.” Fuck my life.

“Yeah! Well… Alex is like family to me! And she invited me. Alex as in-“

“Charles’ girlfriend. Yeah I know.” He moves his water bottle from one hand to the other, stepping closer. “But, why would I help you if you think I'm an asshole?”

Okay. Good point.

“Because you think I'm pretty?” I smile and I can tell he’s biting back a laugh. “And because you were being pretty cocky!”

He nods, “Fair enough. Come with me.” I didn’t expect him to give in so easily.

“Hey, why were you in here anyways?” He shrugs and keeps walking for a bit before answering.

“Needed a breather.”

I nod, walking with him in silence, he opens the door for me and the sun hits up straight on. “So… how's the whole driving thing going?”

He glances at me, “It's alright. Quali tomorrow.”

“Good luck. Although I kinda hope you don’t get first.” He raises a brow. “I’m a big Piastri fan.”

He looks genuinely hurt, “I didn’t even think you watched.”

I frown, “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, I'm here.”

“Yeah but you… nevermind.”

I stop, turning to him, “You have to tell me now!”

He grins, looking away and continuing to walk, “You just didn’t have a reaction when I hit on you.” I scoff, “I know, I know! Dickish.”

I can’t help but laugh, “Honestly… fair enough. If I looked like you with the whole famous rich thing. I’d be pulling left and right.”

He eyes me, “So you think i’m attractive.” My face drops and I look ahead, “Hey it’s okay we already know I think you’re hot!” God if my dad ever heard this…

“Just shut up.” He does.

Until he doesn’t, “You really a big Oscar fan?”

I’m happy that I got under his skin with that one, “What if I said I liked Verstappen more?”

“I’d leave your lost ass right here.” Lando says it so serious that all I can do is laugh. He looks proud after I look at him again. “Seriously though.”

“Ferrari girl through and through.” He rolls those gorgeous green eyes of his, “McLaren might be second best though. Plus that Colapinto kid…”

He rolls his eyes, “You can’t like Franco more than me.”

“What, you jealous?” He points to turn and when we do, I see the garages in view.

“Gonna give me your name yet? Or am I sticking to Red?”

I pull his same move and avoid the question, “Thanks for showing me back.”

“Is it bad I like it when you’re mean to me?” I groan and walk away, “Bye, Red!”

“Later, Norris.”

⋆༺

“He doesn’t know who you are!?” Lily and Alexandra scream at the same time, we’re sitting in my hotel room when I called an emergency girls meeting. Except Rebecca is with Carlos to celebrate a little after his pole.

I cover my face with my hands, “But why does it matter!?”

“He’s obviously is hot for you.” Alex shrugs as Lily laughs, rolling onto her back.

“Babe, No wonder he’s so interested in you! I mean- besides the fact that you’re hilarious and drop dead gorgeous- he definitely is intrigued.”

I shake my head, “More like plotting to get me back for calling him an asshole.”

“Wait! You called him an asshole!?” Lily laughs even harder, “I love you!”

“Genuine question though… why don’t you go for it?” I stare at Alex as if she has two heads.

“Go for it!? Lando Norris?” She nods, “No way! Besides the fact that my dad is his boss, he’s way too cocky, and he doesn’t even know my name, I still wouldn’t go for him.”

“That’s kinda part of the appeal.” Alex shrugs, “What!? He knows nothing about you but thinks your hot! Seems like enough to me.”

We end up crying laughing, the conversation straying from Lando and to all the on track drama.

⋆༺

I’ve been avoiding the McLaren garage like the plague. I was there this morning but stayed on Oscar’s side. After meeting him, falling in love with him (platonically of course), and seeing that Lando was completely locked into Qualifying, I took my first breath of calmness.

The boys went out and I popped over to talk to Pato. Quali was over way quicker than I expected, After Oscar’s P17 a weird energy was in the garage and as soon as I saw Lando’s car, I was out of there.

What game am I even playing? Maybe it’s a little hot that he doesn’t know who I am… I don’t know why. Plenty of people have bugged me because of who my dad is, but Lando doesn’t need extra grand prix tickets or me to spot him money.

I find myself in a large room, it’s filled with chairs and a couch facing them. I grin immediately, how the hell is this just open?

I obviously am going to take my chance and pretend to be a talented man! The couch is not as comfortable as I expected and I almost fucking jump off of it when someone walks in.

He's breathing heavily and I recognize something’s wrong immediately. He’s pulling off the velcro of his race suit, unzipping it and pacing. “Lando.”

His head shoots up immediately, just staring at me, “Fuck Red, why are you everywhere?” His breath is labored and shaky.

I stand slowly as he slides down the wall, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning his head back. I’m confused because he seemed fine twenty minutes ago. P3 was not bad especially for where they are right now.

I start to say something but he just shakes his head, “I can’t.” He points to his throat and I realize he can’t breathe.

“I like your hair.” I say quickly, he looks so shocked when he looks up at me, “You look really good with it.” He keeps breathing heavily.

“Huh?”

“Although, you should ditch that fuck ass hat.” He tries to laugh but he’s still struggling. I slowly sit in front of him, “Seriously, who told you to wear that?”

“I- I have to.”

I roll my eyes but my hands are shaking. I’m not a stranger to a panic attack and seeing it happen to someone in front of me is a little scary, “Free will? I mean we all know you have it with the amount of times you whip out your middle finger.”

He laughs again, breathy, but his breathing seems to be getting slower.

“You definitely have free will.” he chokes out, “Saw you- today. Flirting with Lewis.” He got me there.

“Okay! Have you seen him? Who wouldn’t!?”

He shakes his head, “He’s way older.”

“Some people might find that hot.” He side eyes me, “Don’t worry I'm still into guys my own age.”

He’s smiling, nodding. We stay silent for a moment, his head resting against his knees as he catches his breath. He finally slides his legs out in front of him and I scoot next to him.

I tap my neck to ask for permission and he understands immediately, nodding. My hand slips to his neck, feeling his pulse.

“I used to have panic attacks a lot last year.” I explain as I feel his heart underneath my touch. He doesn’t say anything, just looking into my eyes. I swallow, “Your heart is going crazy.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, “Yeah I don’t think that’s because of the panic attack.”

I give him a look, “Seriously? Even in distress you’re a flirt.”

He licks his lips, “You’re good at calming people.”

“All I did was talk, not that hard.” My hand is still on his neck. “Are you okay?”

He swallows, looking away just as I drop my hand back to my side, “Mhm. Thank you.” His hand goes to mine as if it’s nothing. I’m shaking. He rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes, and squeezing my hand. “I think I owe you another drink, Red.”

⋆༺

It’s not until after more press and the conference is over, when Lando finds me again.

“Let me buy you dinner.” I raise a brow, “Come on, as a thank you.”

“You already said thank you.” I sip my water as he frowns. He’s out of his race suit and into jeans and a McLaren shirt.

“Just let me take you out.”

“Are you feeling okay?” I reach up and press the back of my hand to his forehead, “Oh no! Seems like you have a case of aiming high.” He mocks me as I cross my arms.

“Red, If you’re that high, I'll take my McLaren rocket ship and meet you.” I laugh at his words.

“A bit late on the whole rocket ship thing.” He sighs.

“We’ll have fun. Please. Why not?” He goes through five emotions in two seconds.

“You’re sinister, evil, and orange.” My eyes stray who who’s also orange and walking quickly up to us, “Shit.” I don’t mean to say it out loud.

Lando turns around quickly, then back to me, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of Zak. I’ll introduce you-”

“No! I’m not! I gotta go!”

“Wha- Red!” I walk away so fast that I don’t see the man rounding the corner.

“Y/n?” Oscar looks at me confused, “Alright?”

“Hi!” I quickly move past him but he follows.

“What’s wrong?”

“Lando is trying to introduce me to Zak Brown.” I say simply as we turn another corner and Oscar frowns.

“Zak Brown as in your dad Zak Brown?” I look at him, nodding. Then he laughs, “He doesn’t know who you are?”

“Nope. Sort of a long story but I'm in too deep now.” I cross my arms and he starts laughing harder.

“I’m completely here for this- Just one question though… how the fuck does he not know who you are? You’ve been in the garage.”

“He’s blind and I'm a mastermind?” I shrug and of course, Lando finds us.

“Red! No!” He groans when he sees Oscar, “Osc, Don’t convert her into a you fan i’m trying so hard to get her to like me!” Oscar laughs harder, covering his mouth and looking at me.

“I don’t need to be converted! I’m already an Oscar fan!” Lando frowns as I shake my head.

“Don’t worry mate, everyone’s an Oscar fan.” He pats Lando on the shoulder before leaving. “See ya…” I can tell he’s about to say my name but he stops himself.

Lando narrows his eyes at me, “He knows your name?” I bite my lip and walk away. “Hey wait! Any thoughts about tonight?”

I glance back at him, “Don’t you have a race to be preparing for?”

He smirks, catching up to me, “Wanna know my pre race ritual?” I push him away from me, “I’ll give you a hint.” He winks and my stomach does a weird flip.

“You’re never gonna stop, are you?” I place my hands on my hips, looking up at the man.

“Tell me to, and I will.” I stay quiet, his eyes meeting mine and the corner of his lip quirking up. Someone calls his name but his eyes stay on me, smiling. He leans down and taps his knuckles against his hand, “Bye, Red.”

⋆༺

Although Lando has been running around my head, I still have other duties besides being flirted with. I’m at dinner with my dad, it’s been a while since it’s been just the two of us. And I will say, I missed it.

He’s busy and obviously distracted but i’m grateful for any time I get with him. We’re in the Paddock but everybody is gone except for a few engineers and workers.

“Tell me about your weekend! I haven’t seen you much in the garage.” He takes a bite out of his salad, looking down at his texts.

“I’ve been around.” I shrug, drinking my lemonade, “It’s good to be back. But I have been sneaking off with my friends a bit…”

He smiles, “I’m glad. Even if you aren’t cheering us on.” I laugh, “You will be watching from the garage tomorrow, though.”

I nod, “Yes yes, I know.”

We get into a conversation about the issues with my apartment and how he thinks I should move back home. I get the feeling that he’s worried about tomorrow and suddenly wonder if he’s like this every weekend.

My dad gets a call which ends our dinner early, “I gotta grab my bag then I'll head to the hotel.” I kiss him on the cheek and make my way to the garage.

There’s a few people hanging back, some looking at screens and someone laying on the floor, looking at Lando’s back wing.

I grab my purse, rummaging around in it to make sure my phone is there. “You sure you’re not stalking me, Red?” That damn voice makes me jump.

He's sitting on the floor next to his own car, his arms and black shirt dirty. Was he… fixing his car?

I raise a brow, “What are you doing?” He takes the rag next to him and wipes off his hands, standing up.

“What are you doing?”

I cross my arms, “Stealing information for ferrari.” He smirks, shaking his head and walking past me to grab his water.

“Instead of having dinner with me? You need to sort your priorities out.”

I flip my hair over my shoulder, “Do you work on your own car often?”

“I can’t do much but I do like to see how it looks.” He shrugs, leaning against the wall and glancing at the people working, “You seriously not gonna tell me who you know at McLaren? You obviously have an in.”

He waves to the people who are packing up and walking out. We are now alone.

I hum, knowing there’s no chance I'm about to tell him who my ‘in’ is. He laughs a bit, “Alright, stay mysterious. Wanna sit in it?” I almost think I didn’t hear him correctly.

“What?” He nods, standing and walking over to his car, “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve already driven one or something.”

I smile, shaking my head and walking towards him, “No. I used to kart but I’m actually shit at it.” He laughs, beckoning me closer. “Won’t you get in trouble for this?”

He brings his finger to his lips, shushing me as I stand in front of him, “Okay put your foot here,” he points, “And hold onto this.” He points again and I do as I'm told.

I hate to admit it, but I am quite clumsy. When I slip a bit, his hands go to catch me instantly. Thank you driver reaction practice.

He lifts me down into the seat, his hands regretfully leaving me. I look up at him, “For once, you look tall.” His smile drops, leaning over me.

“You’re one to talk.” He scoffs and starts pointing at things. I try to listen but his hand is right in front of my face and I’m genuinely surprised how much I don’t know.

“You’re so far down.” I hum, holding my hands out as if I'm driving, “My back already hurts.” He smiles and kneels next to me.

“You look good in here. Seems like a complete hazard though, even if the car isn’t on.” I tilt my head up to look at him. A curl is falling perfectly in his face. “I didn’t wear the hat as much today, what’d you think?”

I smile at the fact that he listened to my bullshit, “How are you, by the way?”

He nods, avoiding my eyes and messing around with something on the car, “Fine.”

“So the whole panic attack thing was just for fun?” He eyes me, biting his lip.

“Thank you again, It was kinda embarrassing but you made me feel better.” I chew the inside of my cheek, smiling softly at his expression. He looks tired, but a big step up from earlier.

I’ve seen Lando a million times. He’s on posters, all over my feed, in my dads photo dumps, billboards, ads… But none of that can compare to the real thing.

He shoots up so fast that I’m about to laugh and ask what he’s doing, but he starts talking to someone. “Lando!” It’s my dad. Alarm bells ring in my ears as my hand goes over my mouth. Okay. He can’t see me, I know that at least. “I thought you’d already left!”

Lando laughs awkwardly, I think he’s standing in front of the car now. “Uh! Wanted to make sure everything’s good with the car. Guess I lost track of time.”

I hear my dad laugh, rummaging around, “Get some sleep, kid.” I think we’re in the clear until I hear sneakers squeaking, “You haven’t seen a girl come in here, have you?”

My heart rate skyrockets as Lando clears his throat, “Nope. But I've been pretty distracted with the car.”

“Alright well… I have someone to introduce you to tomorrow! Get some rest and drink water!” The door shuts and I hear Lando sigh heavily.

I stand up and messily get out of the car, “I thought for sure I was dead!” Lando says, running a hand through his hair and shivering, “Sorry about that.”

“No worries! I don’t want to get you in trouble though so I should go…” He nods, looking a bit disappointed.

“Want me to walk you out?” I can’t help but smile softly at the soft way he says it.

“I know my way, Thanks though.” I grab my bag, thanking god my dad didn’t see it before, “Rest up.” I mock my dad as Lando chuckles.

“With you on my mind, that’ll be difficult.” I pretend like my cheeks aren’t on fire and open the door.

“Dream about me, then.”

⋆༺

The party environment of the Mexican Grand Prix is all I needed today. I’m in a white dress with marigolds embroidered at the bottom, a flower in my hand from one of the people who are painted.

I laugh with Rebecca and Alex as we walk through the paddock, their boyfriends already getting ready for the drivers parade.

I haven’t told them about last night. I mean, what is there to tell? I swipe my lipgloss on, checking my makeup in the reflection of Rebecca’s glasses.

“Is Carlos nervous for today?” I ask her as she smiles at his name.

“I think so, but I’m really hopeful for a good result.” we continue walking, “Hopefully I don’t jinx it.”

“Hey, Y/n.” Alex nudges me, “Someone just arrived.” She winks as we all turn to look at the Paddock entrance behind us.

Lando Norris.

He’s wearing a Quadrant crewneck and a big smile. He signs something for a tiny fan and hurry’s past the photographers.

He almost walks past us, but he does a double take. He looks happy, I’m glad. “Rebecca, Alex.” He doesn’t stop walking as he politely greets them. His eyes meet mine and his expression changes, “Hey, Red.”

I smile softly before he turns and practically runs away, “Yup! He’s in love.”

I swat Rebecca’s arm as she laughs, “Goodbye!”

“No!” Alex laughs, “Come get coffee!”

I shake my head, “I told Pato I would grab breakfast with him, I’ll see you later!”

I smile at the two of them as they wave and we split up, me going to McLaren and them to Ferrari.

⋆༺

Breakfast is good, we watch the drivers go around and laugh at George who is shivering like a leaf. I say goodbye to him as soon as the drivers parade ends.

I need to see my dad before the craziness begins. “Dad!” I smile as he sits on the pit wall.

“Sweetie!” He smiles and waves me over, letting me sit with him.

“Ready for today?” I ask as he looks over data.

He nods, “Definitely!” He crosses his fingers and I smile, looking over the data with him. He knows I have no clue what we’re looking at so he explains it to me.

I lean in to look at the tiny words when my dad gets distracted, “Oh!” I hear him say but i’m trying to decipher this code still, “I have someone for you to meet!” I’ve met a million different people this week so I smile and stick out my hand like usual, “Lando! This is my daughter Y/n.”

I stare at him. His smile drops for a second, then a look of panic washes over him before he takes a breath and shakes my hand.

“Nice to meet you.” I almost whisper it. He’s looking at me and I feel like I'm about to get swallowed whole.

His face contorts again, he looks like he’s finally cracked me, “Pleasure” My dad looks away and Lando takes that second to narrow his eyes, a smirk still on his face.

I drop his hand as my dad looks at us again, “I think Y/n has been avoiding the garage! I would have introduced you days ago!”

Lando’s jaw ticks, “Not a McLaren girl?”

I can’t help but smile, “Ferrari through and through.”

My dad shakes his head, “Don’t mind her odd preferences…” he’s about to say something else but gets pulled away by someone in orange.

Lando just looks at me, my cheeks hot as he examines me. I expect him to be mad, but he just smiles, “Y/n, huh?” I nod shyly, “It’s pretty. It fits you.”

“Okay! Lan you gotta go!” My dad claps a hand on his shoulder, dragging him away.

“Good luck!” I say quickly as he shoots me a devious look. I take a breath I didn’t know I was holding in, and watch him leave.

⋆༺

The race has me on the edge of my seat for all 71 laps. I accidentally gasp way too loud at Lando being pushed off track and maybe start clapping when it’s announced that Max got two penalties.

The whole time I have a feeling that Lando will be on that podium, but definitely not in third.

My manifestation comes true when Charles goes off track and Lando zooms by.

Ten laps to go and I don’t think I've taken a deep breath in twenty. But the moment Lando passes the finish line, the garage claps and I sigh in relief.

I hug my dad but I watch the podium ceremony from the side, smiling as the boys get sprayed with champagne while laughing.

I see Rebecca with tears in her eyes and when I look back to the podium, I see Lando looking at me. He's grinning, holding his bottle of champagne and pouring it into his mouth before winking at me.

If he’s still acting like this after he found out my dad is his boss, then I am unexplainably screwed. And I couldn’t be happier about it.

After the podium, I walk back to the garage, but Lando catches me first, pulling me into a hidden area. He’s soaked in champagne and grinning like an idiot, “Have fun out there?” I ask, crossing my arms.

He nods, “Think i’m cool yet?”

“A bit… maybe when I watch you win.” His smile grows, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Go out with me.” I laugh at his words, “For real this time! Y/n.” He says my name like a prayer and I never want it to stop.

“I guess I sort of owe you.”

He nods enthusiastically, “Y/n Brown. What a name… I knew you had an in!”

I shake my head, “I’m sorry. But it was fun messing with you.”

He sighs in defeat, “I feel much better that I know who you are. Although I almost passed out when the words ‘daughter’ left Zak’s mouth!” I laugh with him, champagne dripping down his curls still.

“You did really well today.”

He bites his lip, “Think of how much better I'll do knowing you’re screaming my name in the garage.” I swat his arm but he swerves and plants a kiss on my cheek.

My jaw drops as he pulls back, “I’ll pick you up tonight!” he starts walking away, backwards, “I’ll text you!”

“You don’t even have my number!” I yell after him but he just winks and blows me a kiss. Just as I turn back around and roll my eyes, I see my dad in front of me, arms crossed as my eyes go wide.

He sighs, looking like he already has a headache, “What the hell did I miss?”

[melon-fodder]

-> KINKTOBER MASTERLIST <-

♡ WARNINGS: NON-CON! mind control, forced orgasms, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, aphrodisiac quirk

♡ WORD COUNT: 1.6k

♡ NOTE: y’all, for real, this is straight up non-con. There is nothing “dubious” about this. It’s dark and dirty.

As soon as the cloud of pink hits him, Shinsou knows that something is wrong. It tickles his nose, coats his throat, makes his mouth taste like too-sweet candy. He coughs, but it only makes the pressure in his head grow. Vision blurring, blood burning, Shinsou can only watch as the small-time villain turns and runs away. The condescending laugh that rings out behind her is almost as dense as the pollen settling over his uniform.

Dropping to his knees, Shinsou clutches his stomach, groans as arousal threatens to boil his insides. Fucking aphrodisiac quirks. He’s been warned about them, but he’s never experienced one.

Within seconds, he’s rock hard, leaking into his pants, pre dripping out of his dick with every god damn beat of his heart. He has to cum. Immediately.

There’s an alleyway a few yards away, dark and secluded and out of plain view. He can make it that far. He can–

“Hey, are you okay?”

The voice of a goddess–a siren singing the most seductive song. Shinsou looks up to find the source to be you, a civilian, frowning down at him in concern. His senses were already heightened from adrenaline, but something about the quirk is overloading them. He can see every color in your worried eyes, hear every one of your breaths, smell your perfume and shampoo, sweat and…

“Can you hear me?”

Shinsou nods, tells you in a strained voice, “I’ll be… fine,” then without making the conscious decision, activates his own quirk. Your pretty face goes slack, gaze blank, and just like that, Shinsou has himself a little puppet.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He really hadn’t meant to do it. But he’s not thinking straight. He can’t think straight. Not when the fabric of his hero suit feels like it’s rubbing his dick raw. “Help me to the alley,” he commands, and you obey without a word.

That’s all. He’s just going to get to a hidden place, release his quirk, apologize and thank you for your assistance. It’s the dead of night, anyway. You should be getting home and out of harm’s way. You definitely shouldn’t be in this dirty fucking alley, least of all with Shinsou while he’s in this state.

Because even as his back hits the wall, all he can do is stare at you. Stare at you and pant, lick his lips while imagining what yours would feel like around his cock.

It’s disgusting. You’re a stranger. A civilian. Absolutely helpless. And Shinsou is a pro-hero with so much fucking power over you. He could make you do anything–could make you kneel, lick his boots, walk right into traffic, strip off every single piece of clothing.

“Stay still,” he tells you, and you do.

You know you’re in danger. Fear tickles the edge of your mind, but it dissipates before fully forming into anything useful. It’s like a whispered voice telling you to run, but even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able. You can’t do anything unless he tells you to.

You’ve seen him before, the hero patrolling the streets in the middle of the night. He wears all black except for the scarf haphazardly looped around his neck. Purple hair hangs down around his face in thick tresses, unkempt and rugged. If you were actually cognizant, you would think he was hot, but currently all you feel when you look at him is a strange, contradictory mixture of calm and unease.

You’re still, just as he told you to be, but not stiff. Your body moves according to his touch, shoulders shrugging when he pushes your coat off. You feel the cool air against your skin, should shiver but can’t as if something has shut off your higher-level thinking as well as your base instincts. All you can do is breathe and feel.

“Against the wall,” he says.

Your feet are heavy as you take the few steps toward the bricks, facing them with your back to him. He doesn’t tell you to turn around, so you can’t see him when he undoes his utility pants, just hear the rustle of fabric and the low groan that leaves his throat.

“M’sorry about this,” he huffs, “I really am. I’ll try not to hurt you.”

Your heart is pounding too fast in your chest, but you’re only vaguely aware of it, just like you’re only vaguely aware of what’s about to happen to you.

“Pull your pants down.”

You do, hands moving without your permission as you pop the button on your jeans and push them down to your thighs.

“Panties, too.”

It’s cold, and you’re very exposed, but your head feels so empty. Or maybe it’s too full. Stuffed with tangled string or rough wool while something that resembles actual human intellect tries to wiggle out of the depths.

You don’t know. You don’t know anything except there are fingers probing your entrance–clumsy and desperate, and the man behind you swears when he realizes you aren’t prepared in any sense of the word.

“Can’t just shove in dry,” Shinsou mumbles, taking a shaky breath before stealing yours when he orders, “cum.”

Your eyes don’t roll. You don’t moan or cry or buckle at the knees. But you do feel the heat form and explode in your gut all at the same time, feel your pussy spasm and clench and coat your insides with slick arousal just in time for the hero to stuff your hole with his cock.

“Oh, fuck, fuck.”

His forehead is clammy against your shoulder, fingers gripping your hips as he impales you over and over. It’s fast, and rough as your body stretches around his unfamiliar length. He’s huge and hot inside of you, fat mushroom head dragging against gummy walls.

Shinsou loses it as he buries himself inside of you, hips snapping back and forth with no real rhythm. He just wants to cum, needs to, and he’s already so close. You feel so fucking good around him, pussy fluttering helplessly as he shoves you harder and harder against the grimy building.

He doesn’t bother pulling out, just groans deep in his throat when he shoots his load inside of you. It feels good, relief flooding his system for about three seconds before his cock starts twitching with need again.

“God dammit. God dammit.”

He thrusts in harder, panting an apology when he fists a hand in your hair and shoves your face into the wall. It’s absentminded and disingenuous. Truly, Shinsou doesn’t care about anything now, only focused on getting rid of the pressure in his balls. He wanted to be nice and gentle, but he feels like he might be going crazy.

The scent of your arousal hits his nose, and Shinsou lowers his face to your shoulder, licks up your neck and leaves a trail of spit on your skin. His eyes are rolling in his head, sweat is dripping down his back, and something is leaking out of his cock– a steady stream of semen dribbling out of his tip to keep from fucking aspirating it.

“Cum,” he commands, not thinking when he says it again and again.

You convulse in his grip, cunt clamping down on him as you’re hit with multiple orgasms back to back. He should feel bad, but he can’t–not when you’re milking his cock, not when he’s filling your pussy with more of his spend, so much that it starts flowing down your thighs.

“Fuck, sorry–feel so good, though.”

Shinsou keeps moving, keeps fucking you even as you go limp against him. His teeth find purchase on your throat, and he whines like a dog as he drools all over you while rutting into your abused pussy. One hand grips your hip while his other arm is across your body, securing you against him as he squeezes one of your tits.

He still isn’t done. Even after he fucks a third… a fourth… a fifth load of cum into you, it isn’t over. Shinsou doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from this. Maybe this is who he is now–a villain, taking girls off the street and assaulting them in alleyways.

Because that’s exactly what he’s doing. You didn’t give him permission to do this. You didn’t willingly let him put his hands on you. No, there’s a word for what he’s doing right now, one he never thought would apply to him, but he’s too lost right now for it to sink in. He may have taken away your ability to think, but Shinsou is definitely the one who’s lost his mind.

“Cum again,” he growls,” and when you don’t he realizes you’re unconscious.

A rough hand grips your chin, jostles your head until you wake up. There is a split second of clarity, seeing the dark brick in front of you, feeling the cold air against you, the way your sore body is being stretched and handled.

“Wha–oh my go–”

“Ah, ah… shh…”

Just like that, he’s in control again, and you’re a little doll for him to play with as he pleases. You feel achy and full and messy. Viscous fluid leaks out of you, slithering down your legs and staining your pants.

You don’t know how long this will last, don’t know how many times he’ll empty himself inside of you, how many more times he’ll force you to cum. You just hope that once it’s all over, he’ll give you one last command:

Forget.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A fight about a rumor, a confrontation, an admission, and suddenly your in the back of your car with no pants on.

Word Count: 4.7 k

Warnings:

“Get back ‘ere,” Lt. Simon Riley’s deep voice bellows angrily at the back of your quickly fleeing head as you storm clench fisted out of his private quarters before it disappears from his sight for a moment as you slam his door behind you so hard that it bounces off the frame and swings back open. He has no clue where you’re off to, but by the direction you’re headed, it looks like you’re going straight towards the parking lot. 

God dammit, this isn’t how this is supposed to go. He curses himself for the way his emotions get the best of him sometimes and especially right now.

A mess of heavy breaths and barred teeth, you try to ignore the boot steps barreling towards you from behind. Nothing and no one is going to stop you from getting out of here and away from him, so you keep your face down, eyes staring at the long shadow of your body splaying out in front of you as the sun slips down further to the horizon. When you do finally look up your car is close and getting closer; good. You need to get off this fucking base to calm down before you explode in rage and do something stupid…like put your fist through a wall.

Again the lieutenant calls out your name to your fading figure with no luck and watches as you reach your vehicle without even acknowledging him anymore. It’s no use, you’re gonna take off no matter what he does, so finally he gives up with a loudly growled “fuckin’ hell” in agitation just as you reach out for the handle, storming back into the room with another loud bang as the door shuts and stays closed this time. 

The noise makes the tension in your chest ease as you get in the driver’s seat and buckle up; at least he’s decided to actually leave you alone for now. Risking a quick glance back at the bare front of his closed door one more time you harshly turn the key in the ignition and peel out of the parking lot, screeching wheels and a flurry of gravel the only sign of your exit. 

“God dammit,” you mutter to yourself under your breath, your knuckles gripping into the steering wheel until they are white as you make your way up to the security booth to get cleared to leave. “What the fuck was that? Christ, he was angry. Has he lost his goddamn mind? Why does he think I have to put up with his shit?”

The guards at the stand can see the fury in your eyes as you roll up to the gate and they are quick to guide you through, not wanting to be on the receiving end of whatever has got you in a mood. They share a look between them after you drive off as somehow it feels like they’ve dodged a bullet, but that relief is short lived as not even ten minutes later the next person to come up to their gate has the same sour expression, except this one is partially shielded inside a jet black motorcycle helmet and black balaclava. 

Those eyes though…if looks could kill, the guards know they would have already dropped dead.

“Lieutenant,” one of them nods briskly as the motorcycle comes to a stop and the visor on the helmet is aggressively opened to reveal its occupant, “y-your good to go.”

Simon flips the visor back down with a single flick from his hand and revs the engine on his bike to peel away from the booth like a rocket towards the setting sun, headed in the same direction you had just gone minutes before. Faster and faster he pushes the engine; thank fuck there’s only one way you can go and if he makes sure to speed, he’s confident that he’ll catch up to you quick enough.

And then what? Simon’s anger is still blinding and he hasn’t thought that far ahead. All he knows is that he can’t just leave it like this and until you listen, he isn’t going to give up.

Your eyes are locked on the road, but it feels like you’re driving more by instinct rather than by sight as the only thing you can see right now is red. Simon’s harsh accusations swirl about in your head on repeat; not a good soundtrack to quiet your anger. This is not how you thought this day was going to end.

He had caught you headed back to your barracks and asked to speak. If you knew it was going to be an ambush for him to unload on you about something that was none of his business, you would have done everything to get out of letting him lead you inside his room. He didn’t even give you the chance to get a word in, to defend yourself, just kept spewing his heated thoughts about what he believed you were doing until finally you were able to get out.

If only he knew the truth… whatever, it didn’t matter now. You wouldn’t be kept on a short leash by someone who didn’t care.

You aren’t sure how many miles you’ve gone before you notice a motorcycle driving right behind you. They seem to be glued onto your bumper, keeping pace with you as you switch lanes, and when you make a sudden right and another directly after, they are still behind you and now you’re sure; you know that bike and its rider. 

How the fuck did he get behind you so fast? 

Simon flashes his lights at you before throwing on his blinker to indicate that he wants you to pull over, but you aren’t on base and don’t feel like following his orders right now. Let him chase after you for a little while more, that’s what he deserves. Who knows, maybe he’ll realize that this is a fucking stupid idea and he should really head back. Wishful thinking; you know him too well to even pretend that he’ll give up when he has his mind set on something. 

A few more miles and again he hits his lights; he’s not going to stop following you until you give him what he wants. He knows he came at you too strong before, but he isn’t done with the conversation. He is compelled to put a stop to this before it gets any more out of hand, he has to. One more time, he flashes his lights.

“Really, Simon? I don’t want to fucking do this,” you curse him in a mumble with a scoff. Looking into your rearview mirror, you throw up your hands in defeat to silently indicate you’re ready to get this over with, wherever he decides to take this. It’s almost dark now anyway; you can get this done and then immediately head down to the bar to grab a much needed drink.

Up ahead is the abandoned parking lot of an old grocery store that looks like it has been closed for some time. Simon speeds up to get ahead of you to act as a guide and you throw your blinker on and turn in. He leads you towards the back of the store and away from the street and the traffic; more privacy for you to ‘talk’. 

Great, more yelling, you think as you put the car in park before coming to a full stop. You scramble out in a huff and slam the door shut so hard that the windows vibrate.

“What?” you say between gritted teeth, leaning up against your car as you wait for him to get off his bike; you’re gonna make him come to you. 

He removes his helmet, setting it carefully on the handlebars before stalking over to where you stand. “I said I wasn’t going to talk about this anymore,” you continue on in the same heated tone, “so why are you following me? What the fuck do you want now?”

“That’s really how you’re gonna talk ta me?” he questions, matching your energy. “I’m still your fuckin’ lieutenant.” 

“That’s how I talk to assholes so stick their fucking noses where they don’t belong and then get mad when they don’t like what they find,” you return, crossing your arms across your chest to hide how labored your breathing is from your anger. You don’t want him to know just how much he’s gotten under your skin, even though you know your face is probably giving it all away anyway. 

He told himself to stay calm, but there is no helping the emotional reaction he has that causes him to immediately match your energy and the fight picks right back up as if it never stopped. “Oh, is that right?” he growls. “I’m tha asshole? And what the fuck does that make ya, princess?”

“Don’t turn this back on me,” you press the matter. “I didn’t do anything; you’re the one that has the problem. I just don’t understand why you can’t let it go. Do you not have anything better to do than get in my personal life?” 

Simon licks his lips behind his mask to keep him from losing the shred of composure he has left. “Better watch it, luv.”

You’re done with him, his attitude, and this conversation. “I will say it again, so maybe you’ll finally get it through your thick skull. What I do in my free time is my business. You have no right to confront me about anything.”

“I think I do,” he returns.

“Why? Because we hooked up a couple of times? That doesn’t give you the right to act like we’re a couple,” you say heatedly. “We agreed that it was we needed at the time to let off some steam, that the couple times it happened meant nothing. Now you’re acting like a fucking child just because I enjoy having company?”

Your blood is boiling now because he’s doing all this without having the facts. This supposed company you are entertaining isn’t even real, it is all a rumor started by a rejected private with nothing better to do, but you aren’t about to tell him that. He doesn’t need to know because it shouldn’t matter; you’re not together, never were, and he has no right to any knowledge about what you do behind closed doors. 

This is the type of arrangement he wanted after all, no strings attached. His idea, not yours, so why the possessiveness all of a sudden? After all you had done to make sure your feelings on the matter never got out it only makes you more irate to feel like a caged animal; damned if you do, damned if you don’t. 

Because what you really want is standing right in front of you and you can’t have it.

“Ya couldn’t even tell me ya were screwin’ around?” he says, stepping up in intimidation. “Ya don’t think that makes it sound like ya knew it was a problem?”

His entitlement feels like an attack and you won’t stand for it. “You can’t keep me on a leash like this when you don’t even have a claim,” you bark, getting in his face. “You might be my lieutenant, but what I’m doing or not doing outside of military business isn’t for you to worry about. And once again, we aren’t together. Stop acting jealous.”

He stares you down, menacing glare locked to your eyes as his chest heaves up and down exasperatedly. “Neva said I was fuckin’ jealous,” he starts, but you promptly cut him off.

“Yeah, right,” the accusation spills out like acid, finger poking into the middle of his chest. “And the fact you can’t fucking drop it is because you’re concerned, right? Bullshit. But you know what? I don’t care. I promise you, this is the last we will ever speak about it. You hear me? Just leave me the fuck alone.”

You shove past Simon as he stands there silently fuming to walk off somewhere along the building, clearly hoping that he will turn back for the base. His heart is beating out of his chest as he stares daggers into the back of your head…because you actually guessed right. He is jealous and it is eating away at him. 

Blinded by his overwhelming emotions, he moves without thinking about the repercussions of his actions. Taking fast steps, he catches up to you as you walk along by the brick wall of the store and takes you by surprise. He reaches out with his large, strong hand and wraps tightly around the back of your neck to pull you backward to him, turn you around, and pin you against the brick by your throat.

Simon blocks your body with the bulk of his, trapping you so you can’t get away again. His grip is firm, but not painful and you look up into his masked face as if trying to read his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, the residual anger pumping through your veins so it’s still in your voice.

There is a pause, more silence, before he speaks. “Handlin’ something,” he says with a growl.

“You clearly can’t handle anything, Simon,” you comment with an agitated chuckle. 

“Shut it,” he demands in a harsh bark. “Ya think ya know every fuckin’ thing, don’t ya?” He shakes his head, jaw visibly clenching even behind the mask. “Ya can’t even see what’s right in front ‘a your face.”

Your brow furrows; what the hell is he talking about? His remark catches you off-guard and you stand silently in confusion as you contemplate what the hell he’s trying to say, but he’s gone completely silent, just breathing heavy breaths into your face. Enough, he needs to just spit out so this can end. 

“Since I’m so fucking stupid, why don’t you spell it out for me. Stop playing these fucking games with me, Simon.”

Fine, no more games. His skin tingles with the heat from the adrenaline flooding his limbs and all at once everything happens in a flash. Only inches remain between you and in that moment they suddenly feel as wide as the ocean; it makes him ache and the urge to close the distance overwhelms every sense. Reaching towards his face with his free hand his mask is wrenched above his lips before he pulls your head forward by your throat and leans in to catch your mouth with his. The kiss is so full of aggression that it knocks the air out of your lungs. 

There is nowhere for you to go, nothing you can do, but hold on as he takes what he wants from your mouth. He steals kiss after frantic kiss as if he has been starved for them, not evening pausing to give you a second to come up for breath.  

All that anger that had just been bubbling inside you is redirected and suddenly instead of wanting to push him away you want him as close as possible. Your fingers claw into his shoulders through his leather riding jacket as you try to pull him into you, but they are immediately ripped off as he grabs them and pins the wrists to the wall above your head. Between the breaks in your mouth’s connection, he gasps out the words he should have said back in his room. 

“Ya need ta understand. Can’t just have ya a few fuckin’ times and tha’s it. Can’t get enough a ya. Was a goddamn fool not ta speak up sooner. Want ya for myself an’ I don’t share what’s mine. An’ you’re mine, luv,” he gasps into your parted lips, giving your neck a squeeze for emphasis. “Ya hear that? Mine.”

He nips at your bottom lip, sharp teeth cutting into the plump flesh to make you moan at the delicious harshness. God, your desperate sounds are like a drug; he can’t get enough and the more needy you become, the better they get. Pulling back just as you try to go in for more, he stares into your eyes, his gaze darkening within the confines of his mask still clinging to the top half of his face. “Can’t ‘ave anyone else tryin’ to get at what’s mine. Any prick that tries ta take ya away from me, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ‘im.”

Admission finished Simon’s eyes flutter closed as he dives right back into your lips, this time shoving his tongue into your mouth, parting through your lips as he forces his way in until the muscle has filled you full. It plays against the roof of your mouth and over your tongue, tasting you, devouring all he can like a beast ravenous to take all that it can get. 

All that pent up desire being released onto you.

His bulky muscles against your chest crush your body into the wall and you can barely breathe, but you would gladly suffocate if it meant your curves could stay molded into each other like this for longer. Then you feel it, that bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans, and the walls of your pussy involuntarily clench. Suddenly you need it inside you. 

As if he has read your mind, Simon wrenches himself from your lips. “Unless ya want me ta fuck ya on the side ‘a this buildin’, get to tha car,” he growls, his voice husky. “Now.”

It only takes  a few seconds before you’re both jostling into the back of your car and slamming the doors shut, Simon’s jacket discarded on the ground right outside the door. His massive size takes up most of the cramped interior of the vehicle, but still he manages to maneuver onto his knees over top of you as he lays your back down against the seat. With one hand he undoes your pants, clasp first and then zipper, and pulls them down just under the curve of your ass and forcefully rips them off your legs as he rips his shirt off over his head with the other. The mask is taken with it and all the clothes get tossed somewhere into the floor of the car as he hikes one of your legs up to rest on his broad shoulder.

“Need it,” he says, feverishly kissing down the length to your thigh. “Need ta be inside ya right this second.”

“Yes, Simon,” you whimper as he undoes his jeans and pulls out his cock. It bobs up and down with the beats of his heart and he moans at the sensitivity as he takes it into his hand.

“Ya said I didn’t ‘ave a claim, well I’m ‘ere to claim ya now. But I need ta say it, sweetheart,” he returns as his fingertips hook into the crotch of your panties to pull them to the side before he angles himself against your pussy and starts slipping himself through your petals with agonizingly slow thrusts of his hips. “Say you’re mine.”

You swallow to coat the dryness in your throat. “I’m yours Simon,” you say, but the measured nature of his strokes don’t stop.

“Again.”

The tip of his cock prods against your clit and you whimper at how swollen it is and how much you need something to take the edge off. “I’m all yours Simon!” you whimper so pathetically as the throbbing intensifies the more he repeats the same. 

His hand digs harder into your hip as he leans in closer to your face. “I. Said. Again.” 

You close your eyes tight, clenching as you pant and gather the strength to reply with everything you have. “Simon, baby, please. I fucking need you so bad. I can’t fucking take it. I swear that I am only yours; there won’t ever be anyone else.”

The heat of his lips near yours makes you shiver. “Look who can’t handle things now,” he says with a smugness that makes goosebumps raise over your skin. “ Now, arch ya back a little more for me.” His command is direct and you follow without hesitation, presenting yourself to him like you are in heat, begging to be filled.  

“Fuck sweetheart, jus’ tha thought of ya with anyone else gets me so god damned riled up,” he says with a grunt as he positions himself at your entrance, your panties nearly ripping still laced in his fingers. “No one can ‘ave ya like this ‘cept me. Understand?”

You give him a vigorous nod, praying that soon the agony will end. “No one.” Your repeated words are a plea.

Simon’s heart races at how you say it. “You’re neva’ gonna stray, are ya?”

“No,” you whine.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” 

With that he shoves in just the tip through the threshold, instantly feeling the stretch of your core by the girth of it, groaning through a chuckle as you mewl taking him in. He doesn’t give you time to adjust and snaps his hips to thrust all the way down to the base of his shaft. The wind gets knocked out of you, but again he doesn’t pause and the axle of the car creaks as his desperate strokes overwhelm everything from you to the vehicle with the force.

“Ya think anyone else can make ya feel like this?” he asks through gritted teeth as he pounds into you hard and rough over and over again in rhythm. “Some manky bastard gonna make ya moan like this?”

There’s no way you can answer him with how full your mouth is with moans, how numb your mind is as everything in you focuses on the sensation of his thrusts reaching deeper and deeper inside. It only gets worse when he decides that one leg on his shoulder isn’t enough; it needs its twin on the opposite one. From here you swear you can feel him in your stomach with how deep he penetrates.

“Ya think he would even know what ya like? How to play with your clit, how to suck on your tits till you’re vibratin’ and your toes curl?”

How the fuck did he remember all that? You’ve only been together a few times and yet it’s obvious that he’s paid so much attention to detail that he’s memorized everything of those intimate details that make you a mess. As if right on cue his hand slips down between your bodies and parts through your petals to massage the nub at the top of your pussy.

“Ya think I wouldn’t care ta know what ya like?” he asks, the gravel in his voice delicious and yet menacing as you throw your head back and release a loud moan. “How else am I gonna make sure ya belong ta me? I need ta fuckin’ ruin this sweet little pussy so no one else can compare. I wanna be the only fuckin’ thing in that pretty head ‘a yours.”

As if you’d ever have the strength after this to even think of another man that isn’t him. The fictional man that got you into this predicament didn’t even exist and yet somehow you still feel guilty about him. There is only Simon, your Simon, that you can’t get enough of; no one else can ever come close. 

The lights in the parking lot kick on just as the last bit of daylight slips under the horizon and you can see now just how fogged up the windows are as Simon rips up your shirt and bra together, stuffing the clothing up around your neck and popping both breasts out of their cage before letting your legs slips from his shoulders to fall and wrap around his hips.

“Can’t forget about these beauties,” he growls before diving in face first and catching one with his mouth. 

Hot lips latch on as he braces a hand against the steam-covered window to hold himself steady so that he can continue to pump in and out of your tight hole and play with your clit as his tongue teases the nipple until it’s stiff and you can feel the pleasurable sensation down between your thighs. The moans filling the car come faster and faster as the heat gathering in the pit of your stomach grows. Simon doesn’t even come up for air, just switches sides to play with the other nipple until it too is hard; he wants a matching set before you come and he is gonna get what he wants. 

Your thighs squeeze down on his hips as that heat violently gathering in the pit of your stomach starts to come to a head and a devilish idea floods your thoughts. It won’t be long now and your orgasm will be coursing through you, but that’s not enough. If he wants to claim you, he is going to claim all of you…and fill you full. 

“Don’t pull out,” you stammer out and he falters in his thrusts. 

Simon quickly releases your breast from his mouth.“What did ya say?” 

You lock your ankles together tightly behind his back so he can’t escape. “Don’t you dare pull out,” you repeat and he nearly comes right then and there just from how the request makes his heartbeat pound. “God, I’m so close, baby. Please, I need you to come in me.”

Fuck, what a request. How the hell could he possibly refuse? He made a declaration after all and he intends to keep it; he is going to ruin you and he is more than willing to breed you to do it. His hands move to your hips and he buries his fingers in the muscles. 

“Then you’re gonna get what ya fuckin’ want, sweetheart,” he says as he strikes up into you with a newfound vigor that makes your body bounce. “You’re gonna take every last goddamn ounce.”

“Right there,” you moan, the pressure euphoric, “stay right there.”

He grunts. “Come for me. Come on my cock. Let me feel that fuckin’ clench.”

He struggles to repeat the same exact movements, his own release about to pop off at any second, but with a bit of effort his hard work pays off and that heat reaches its peak. The tension snaps harshly and tears through you until your body is jerking as you ride out wave after wave of ecstasy.

God, the way your walls are fluttering around him as you let go is heaven and he loses himself in the sensation. All that tight, wet, heat sends tingles through his cock and he can no longer remain sane. 

“My pretty girl…” he murmurs, his thrusts slowly getting more sloppy… “mine…” he repeats,  nearly there, preparing to make sure you take every ounce of his cum and coat your walls… “all fuckin’ mine.”

That’s it, he can’t take another thrust and with an open-mouthed moan he comes hard. Cum shoots up inside you as he milks himself with your body until he has nothing left to give and kneels there resting inside you. You watch the muscles along his abdomen contract and release as he slowly comes back down from that high. 

Such a masterpiece of flesh.

Minutes pass until he feels like he can pull out and he spends that time peppering your lips with tender kisses. Finally he carefully removes your legs from around him and sets them down on either side of his thighs, holding them open so that he can lean back and watch his cum and your slick dribble out of your cunt onto the cushion beneath you. What a beautiful mess he’s made; he can’t stop staring at it as if he’s in a trance. 

A visual sign that his claim is finally complete.

“Tha’s a sight that could do me in,” he breathes. “Ya did so good for me, sweetheart.”

He releases your panties so that they fall back into place and you can feel everything starting to gather in the crotch. You sit up and he pulls your face in for one last kiss; you’ve been here long enough that if you don’t get out of here soon it’s gonna draw unwanted attention. 

“Now get your ass back ta base and make it quick,” he says as he pulls slowly from your lips, “I want ya in my room, in tha shower; ya got exactly 20 minutes so ya best not stop. I’m not done with ya just yet.”

[not-neverland06]

conflicted spaces

Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

a/n: He doesn’t get TB in this. Why? Because this is fanfiction and I’m god and fuck canon (I just finished the game, I’m emotionally distraught and needed this)

Warnings: brief attempted SA

Summary: Your father is a gambling man and you’re always the collateral. He refuses to pay the wrong man and now you’re being dragged across country roads to a man you’ve never met. Arthur Morgan, an outlaw down to the bone, is in charge of making sure you get there in one piece. Except, he doesn’t feel right selling a woman off like she’s property.

You’re done being a doormat and letting the men in your life tell you what you’re worth. You’ve got three days to escape him, but you’re not prepared for the reality of the real world.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em, cowboy.” Arthur’s shoulders tense and he curses under his breath. His hand darts to the revolver on his hip, but the second his fingers twitch towards it he hears a hammer being pulled back. The cool barrel of a gun digs into his neck and he raises his hand in surrender. 

The man behind him lets out a familiar laugh and tugs him around. Arthur rolls his eyes and glares at Dutch. “The hell are you doing?”

Dutch clears his throat, still laughing slightly. “Relax, Arthur, but if I had been an O’Driscoll you’d be dead right now.” Arthur doesn’t point out that the only thing they have to worry about out here are the Lemonye raiders. He’s more focused on why Dutch is even out here. Rarely does he leave Shady Belle to traverse the streets of St. Denis. 

None of them are particularly fond of the place. If he wanted to step in horse shit every other step he’d go to a stable. At least those smell better. Dutch slings an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, tugging him away from the saloon he was heading towards. 

“You’re gonna have to save the cheating for later, Arthur, I need you for something.”

“You know I don’t cheat,” Arthur jokes and Dutch grins at him and it’s nice. This is familiar to him. This feels right. Dutch has been odd lately, the jobs he’s been taking, the risks he’s been imposing, none of them feels like the man he knows. 

Now, Arthur would follow Dutch straight into hell without being asked. But he can’t abide by how he’s putting their people in harm's way. He’s felt like a stranger more often than not and he’s been doubting the people he shouldn’t. Right now, though, he can see the man he knows in the teasing curl of his lips. 

“What’dya need?”

Dutch pauses in front of a tailor and pats Arthur’s chest. “I need you to look prim and proper for a party we’ve got tonight.”

Arthur’s brows furrow cynically and he scoffs. “Someone invited us to a party?”

Dutch hesitates, a stiff smile on his face. “Well, let’s just say someone is interested in our work.” Arthur wants to question him further, he’s hiding something from him. But Dutch is pushing him towards the door of the shop before he can argue. “And get a haircut, we need to look presentable not like a bunch of mountain men.”

Arthur watches as Dutch leaves, something heavy weighing down on him. Dutch doesn’t usually tell people about his plans beforehand. At least not every step of them. But this is odd, he’s definitely hiding something and Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know what. 

With a resigned huff, he heads into the tailor. He has to mentally prepare himself for being stuffed into a starched collar and a stiff suit for the rest of the night. He hates these damn parties, hates having to pretend like he knows what the hell is being said. 

Most of the people that attend are educated or pretend to be. And when he lets it slip that he’s more likely to shoot a gun than read a book they turn on him like jackals. You can’t let them see that you’re different than them or you’ll never get a word in edgewise. 

The only part he enjoys is the booze and robbing them of their money. It’s not like they earned any of it. Most of it was made by breaking the backs of the people they mock for being too poor to afford a fancy suit. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and looks for the cheapest suit he can find in the overpriced shop. 

“Now,” Mr. Crane’s hand tightens around your bicep and he jerks you closer to him. You keep your face impassive, not letting him see just how much he’s hurting you. But you can feel your skin being stretched to its limits by his clammy fingers. “You’re going to behave tonight. I’ve got a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet.”

He looks at you expectantly but you keep your mouth firmly shut. His eyes narrow and he jerks you around roughly. “Understood,” you force the word out through gritted teeth. You’re trying to breathe as little as possible, not wanting to smell his cigar-laced breath any longer. 

Finally, after a tortuously long moment, he releases you. You take ten steps back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from the silk skirt he’d forced you in. You glance out the window of his office, watching as the workers scramble to set up the tables for tonight. You can hear cooks in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the food for tonight. 

Everything must be perfect. Mr. Crane never fails to deliver on his extravagantly indulgent parties. The man himself is the very embodiment of greed. You glance over with a disgusted sneer as he sinks himself into his leather chair and pulls out a wad of cash. 

He catches your eye and sends you a sickly sweet smile. “This,” he waves the money at you and you track the movement boredly. “Is how much you’re worth, sweetheart.” Your brows raise in amusement and you scoff. More than you thought he would put up for you. 

You wonder who he’s going to have transport you. He’ll need you out of the city soon, your father is starting to catch onto what’s happening. It took him long enough. You’ve been missing a month, you’d think he would have put two and two together faster. Then again, he’d never been very interested in you beyond what you were worth to others. 

“When will I be able to meet these gentlemen?” You ask, taking a step towards him. Your eyes dart towards the letter opener on his desk and for a brief moment you picture yourself strabbing it into his fattened jugular. 

But he flicks his wrist and like magic the door opens, his men coming inside and standing resolutely by your side. “Not anytime soon, my dear.” He looks to the men surrounding you and you take in a sharp breath, wishing you’d just taken the chance when you had it. “My associate is feeling quite tired, take her back to her room, please.”

They grab you by the elbows, even though it's entirely unnecessary. You wouldn’t run, and even if you did you wouldn’t get far with the chains he has hidden under your dress. A punishment for the first time you snuck from his home. You’ve been well behaved since then but he doesn’t trust you. 

You’re whisked away without another word. The trek of the stairs is a slow one. They’re forced to help you navigate by lifting your skirts and not tripping on the chains. It no longer brings you any satisfaction to cause a hindrance in any of their days. 

Before, you would think of being an annoyance as a small victory. But it’s not, it never was. It was just a way for them to keep you complacent by allowing you to think you’d done something for yourself. You believe your father used to do the same thing. 

It’s just another way of keeping you quiet. 

When you make it to your rooms, they shove you inside. Like clockwork, you hear the jingle of the keys and then the lock clicks. You sigh and take a step towards your vanity, working on touching up your hair. 

You think the worst part of this must be how well you’re treated. You have meals made by a private chef. Your quarters are decorated more lavishly than they ever were at your father’s house. Yet, you hear the suffocating tick of the clock as it counts down your doom. 

You’re not entirely sure what their plan is with you. You know your father had made a promise to Mr. Crane involving some land. Or perhaps it had been a wager. But as always, you were collateral when your father refused to pay up. 

You know Mr. Crane wants you out of town so that he has more time to negotiate with your father, to call in the interest he owes him. You also know the only reason your father is interested in finding you is because you’re meant to marry the son of a business partner in two months. The money he’ll get from that will be enough to finally pay off his debts. 

Except, now, Mr. Crane tells you that should your father refuse to pay you’ll be married to one of his associates. And the deal he’ll make from that will be enough to cover what your father has refused to pay. 

No matter what, you’re going to be married off to some man you’ve never met and yet again be a quiet trophy on a shelf. It’s a very convoluted situation, one which makes you think leaping from a window might be a better fate. 

None of the men your father or Mr. Crane is in business with are particularly kind. They’ve got more skeletons in the closet than there are in the graveyard. You doubt you’ll live a very happy life with whoever they pick for you. 

You slump forward onto the vanity, trying to fight off the burning feeling in the back of your eyes. You’ve known this would happen for years. Even before Mr. Crane had you kidnapped, you knew that this would be your destiny. You would never get to be one of the free-spirited women who fought for the right to choose. You would always be forced into this role. 

Yet, being so close to it coming to fruition makes you feel choked and suffocated. You can feel the noose around your neck tightening, the hangman’s fingers twitching as he waits to see you drop. 

You dig your nails into your palm, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the wave of despair. Where there is doom, you also see a sliver of hope. Your next journey will be a long one. He’s hiring someone to have you transported to an area further up the map. 

If you play your cards right you might be able to escape while you’re traveling. If you’re incredibly smart about this, thinking with your head and not your heart, you might have a shot at freedom. 

You take in a deep breath, reapplying your makeup and resolving yourself to another night of mindless entertainment. But you hold onto that fleeting feeling of hope. You have a shot, you just have to take it. 

Arthur’s heard of these parties before. Some Mr. Crane fella that likes to blow all his money on food and booze. He indulges his guests and when they’re weakest, gets their secrets from them. He’s a snake and everyone knows it. Yet, missing his party is social suicide. They have no choice but to go and indulge in him. 

Arthur had never had any interest in meeting him or doing any business with him. But Dutch had informed him that’s exactly what’s happening tonight. They’ll mingle for a little while, maybe scout some other jobs, and then Mr. Crane will invite them up to his office for a private discussion. 

Dutch still hasn’t told him what exactly their business with him is. He brought Hosea along tonight so he has to assume it’s not going to be anything violent. But he can’t think of anything else they could be good for. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch places his hands on Hosea’s and Arthur’s shoulders, a scheming smile on his face. “Try not to embarrass me.” He slips behind them, heading up the stairs of the home. Hosea and Arthur share a brief look before they split up, blending into the background of the garden. 

Arthur lurks near the bar, he knows he should be talking to these assholes, possibly learning something useful. But he can’t be bothered. He orders a whiskey, gaze surveying the partygoers. They’re all loud with painted faces and fake smiles. Not a goddamn person here seems to be genuinely interested in anything they’re doing. 

“First time?” The soft voice beside him catches him off guard. He glances to the side and is surprised to see that you’ve slipped past him. He hadn’t even noticed you slide up next to him. You laugh at the look on his face and it’s the first thing here that seems real. “Sorry, it’s just that look on your face, I recognize the disappointment. You’ve never been to one of Crane’s parties before?”

“No,” he clears his throat, still recovering from the surprise. “Uh, I can’t say I have.”

You suck on your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the people passing by. “They’re not worth the effort. Everyone who leaves here leaves carrying his debt on their back.”

Arthur chuckles a little, lips twitching up into a small smile. He’s surprised by your frankness, most people like to hide behind passive-aggressive digs. He appreciates the straightforward attitude. “Then why are you here?”

You shrug and Arthur finds himself enchanted. He shouldn’t be, he’s never been one for romance. He finds women pretty and he’s been in love before, but he’s never bought into the idea of love at first sight. Or any of that mushy stuff that Mary Beth devours in those books of hers. 

But you are absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a silk dress that’s so expensive he’s sure he could buy two new horses with it. Your fingers and neck are decorated in dainty jewels that you fidget with as you stare down at your drink. When you set your eyes on him again he thinks he might have been struck by Cupid’s arrow. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you finally answer, sending him a stiff smile. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Arthur suddenly remembers himself, remembers why he’s here and what he’s supposed to be doing. The fog in his head dissipates and he’s disappointed in himself. Pretty women have never done anything except get him in trouble. 

“Business,” he answers vaguely. Your eyes narrow and your brows twitch in discontent. Something like realization dawns on your face and you back away from him. The easy attitude you’d carried yourself with is gone, replaced by a vague look of distrust. 

“Right, should’ve known.” You let out a rough sigh and Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s said the wrong thing. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you again soon.” You slip past him before he can ask you what you mean. He hears the faint sound of metal clinking as you walk back up the stairs. 

Something silver flashes under your skirts but he can’t get a good glimpse of it. He feels unsettled as he turns back to the bar. The whole interaction was odd. From how stricken he was with you to how cold you turned. 

He doesn’t know what you saw in him but it was probably for the best that you left when you did. Neither of you needed the trouble the other would bring. He shakes his head, downing his whiskey and muttering nonsense to himself about not thinking with the wrong head. 

It’s not that much later that Dutch is appearing on the balcony and silently motions him forward. Arthur leaves the bar behind and slips up the same stairs you’d disappeared on. Dutch says nothing as he leads Hosea and Arthur through the house. 

The mansion is a maze more than anything. Arthur loses track of all the turns they take and the winding staircases they descend. Finally, Dutch stops them all in front of two large oak doors. He raps once on the door and then lets himself in. 

A large, balding man with a shiny head is perched on top of a leather chair. He looms behind his desk, fingers steepled as he greets them all with a false smile. “Ah, gentlemen, so nice to finally meet you.”

Dutch grins and motions to Arthur, “This is the man who will be doing the transporting, Arthur.” Arthur’s eyes narrow in confusion but he says nothing as Dutch moves to Hosea, “And this is my associate, Hosea. He’s a lot better with money than I am, Mr. Crane. You understand.”

Mr. Crane lets out a boisterous laugh that makes Arthur’s ears hurt and nods his head, his cheeks jiggling with the movement. “That I do! Well,” he waves them forward when they linger in the doorway too long, “come in, come in.”

Arthur closes the doors behind them as Mr. Crane lifts himself from his desk. There are two couches positioned in front of an unlit fire. He takes one of them and Dutch and Hosea take the other. Arthur perches himself on the armrest of their couch, eyes surveying the office like it might reveal the truth of their visit. 

“I trust Mr. Van der Linde has kept this all quiet?” 

“He has,” Arthur grouses. 

At the same time, Dutch says, “Of course, Mr. Crane. I promised confidentiality and Dutch Van der Linde is nothing if not a man who keeps to his promises.” Crane nods, looking satisfied and  Arthur holds back a laugh at how easily he seems to trust Dutch.

“Good, good.” He dips his hand inside his jacket and Arthur’s palm instinctively drops to where his gun should be. Of course, they’d had to give up their weapons before they came into the party, if he does has a gun Arthur can’t do a damn thing. 

But he doesn’t, instead, he pulls out the thickest stack of cash that Arthur has ever laid his eyes on. A loud thud resounds through the room as he slams the bills on top of the table between them. Arthur’s eyes widen and Hosea’s jaw nearly drops at the sight of it all. 

This would be enough to get them out of St. Denis tonight. Shock sours quickly into suspicion. What the hell has Dutch signed up for? “Now, this is the first half. This is simply for accepting the job and,” he gives them all severe looks, “for your silence.”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably on his perch and waits for Mr. Crane to finish. “The other half will be given once the package has been safely delivered.” There’s a certain lilt to his words when he says package that has Arthur’s hackles raising. Whatever is getting delivered is not going to be good. 

Crane turns towards the bookshelves on the wall and calls out, “Darling, won’t you join us?” Arthur figures the man must have lost his mind, they should just take the money and leave. But there’s a loud creak and something like metal gears grinding together. One of the shelves pops open and the panel swings forward. 

You pop your head out, glancing towards Crane and then taking a step forward. Arthur, without even thinking about it, finds himself sitting up, and brushing some of the dirt off his pants from the ride over. 

At first, he’s so confused by seeing you again that he doesn’t realize why exactly he’s seeing you again. Then you glance towards him, a knowing look on your face and it clicks. You’re the package. You’re what he’s meant to be transporting. 

He glares over at Dutch, when exactly did they get into the business of trading women?

Hosea voices his doubts in a much calmer manner. “If I may, sir, why does she need to be delivered so discreetly?”

Mr. Crane laughs and your face twitches unpleasantly. You grimace, glaring at the back of the man’s head with something like murder in your eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to cause such a visceral look of hate and he doesn’t want to think about it. This whole situation is bothering him. You’re not here willingly, which means you’re not going to be transported willingly either. 

None of this makes sense. Dutch would never have taken a job like this before, even when they needed the money. And there’s no way in hell a rich man like this one would want to pay a couple of grungy outlaws so much money. There’s got to be some sort of trick in all of this. 

Cran clears his throat, “She’s a daughter of a, well,” he frowns and struggles for the words. “Let’s just say we’re in a hostile competition for a lot of land. This land, boys, could be very beneficial in expanding my business. He’s not interested in selling and, well, desperate times, desperate measures.”

You scoff, laughing slightly at him and rounding the couch. Dutch ignores you, Hosea looks uncomfortable, and Crane continues prattling on without missing a beat. “Should her father not pay me, she will be married to the associate you’re bringing her to. He’s promised me enough land and money to cover what I lost to her father. And if he does pay, she’ll be returned in time for her wedding here.”

Arthur’s eyes dart towards you and you send him a bitter smile. It makes him shift where he sits, hating the way your eyes bore into him. “I just need someone who's not afraid of getting their hands a little dirty to make sure she behaves while she’s delivered to my friend,” Crane glances over at Arthur. He asses him, the bulge of his arms in the suit and the scars on his face, whatever he finds must be satisfactory because he smiles over at Dutch. 

Arthur stands, ready for Dutch to tell Mr. Crane that they’re not in the business of selling women off. But Dutch doesn’t, he smiles at Mr. Crane and reaches for the money, passing it off to Hosea to count. “Well, I do believe my friend Arthur is just the man for the job.” 

“I think you’re right, Dutch.” He stands up now, pot belly nearly bursting the buttons of his shirt, and reaches for Dutch’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Dutch smiles and takes his sweaty palm, “You as well, sir.” Dutch walks towards you and holds his arm out. “This way, my dear.” You glance between him and his elbow before rolling your eyes and reluctantly placing your hand on his arm. You follow him silently and obediently, no fight is left in you. Hosea follows after you both, a concerned look on his face. 

Arthur remains in the office, standing dumbfounded and staring at the doorway you’d disappeared through. He’s struggling to process what just happened. Arthur has helped people get home safely before and provided protection. But he’s never been one to traffic a hostage. 

Crane glances up, finally noticing him still standing there. He walks past him, patting his shoulder as he does and giving him an approving smile. “Don’t be afraid to take care of her should she get out of hand.” He’s nearly out the door but he looks back and adds, “Just don’t bruise her too much.”

Arthur’s fingers twitch for his revolver once more and he’s never wanted to shoot a man more. But he knows Dutch is waiting for him and he’d never make it out of here alive if he started a fight right now. Reluctantly, he makes his way out of the manor and towards where you’re all waiting for him. 

He’s fuming by the time he stops in front of Dutch. He’s trying to help you onto his horse and Arthur finally realizes what the metal sound he heard earlier is. There are chains around your ankles and you can’t maneuver yourself on the saddle. 

His eyes narrow and he glares at Dutch, “What the hell are you doing? We’re selling women now?”

Dutch glowers at the tone of Arthur’s voice. You watch them both passively, fiddling with the rings on your fingers and looking unbothered by the entire situation. “Watch yourself, Arthur,” there’s a clear warning in his tone but Arthur’s too upset to care. 

They’ve done a lot of bad things. They weren’t good men. But this was just going too far. “We need this, Arthur. You want to get out of here, you want to keep our people safe?” Arthur let out a deep exhale, gritting his teeth together and nodding reluctantly. Dutch huffs, “That’s what I thought. We’re not selling anyone, Arthur. It’s a simple delivery.”

His jaw clenches as he watches Dutch struggle to help you again. “It’s not going to work,” you inform Dutch. You lift your skirts, flashing him the chains he hadn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither of you gets a chance to say anything as Arthur pulls out his gun and shoots the lock off. 

He feels a little guilty at how startled you look. Your eyes widen until they look like they might bulge out. Your hands fly up to cover your ears as the sound rocks through you. It breaks violently through the silence of the night. 

Dutch turns and gives him a stern look, “Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?” Arthur can tell he’s trying not to shout and drag any more attention towards you all. 

Arthur glares at Dutch, something wicked brewing in his stomach. “The lady wouldn’t be able to ride a horse like that.” He mounts his horse and rides off without a look back. He can’t stand to be near you or Dutch any longer. 

The reality of what they’ve turned into hits him like a bag of rocks and it makes him irate. They’ve never been these people. Never traded a person off like they were an object. He’s sure plenty of people in camp would have a problem with this. But he doubts Dutch will let them know the truth until the job is done. 

And by then, everyone will be too happy with the money to complain. Dutch is nothing if not good at saving his ass. He’s hitching his horse as the rest of you ride into camp. He lingers by Diablo, resting a hand on the thick neck of the shire while Dutch helps you off the saddle. 

His eyes narrow in on the way Dutch’s fingers glide along your waist as you jump down. You take a step back the second your legs are steady sending Dutch a dirty look that almost makes Arthur laugh. 

He starts towards Dutch, ready to try and reason with him again. But he holds his hand up and walks away, not even giving him a chance to speak. Arthur lets out a rough sigh as Hosea comes up behind him. 

He pats his shoulder comfortingly, “You should get some sleep, Arthur. You’ll ride with her to Strawberry tomorrow morning.” He almost walks off but he whispers a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before he goes. 

Arthur glances towards you but you’re looking around the camp, eyes lingering on Javier as he sings by the fire. He swears he almost sees you smile but it's gone as quickly as it came. He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair and letting out a tired sigh. 

“Alright, come with me,” he starts towards the house. It takes a minute to realize you’re not directly behind him. When he looks over your shoulder he sees you with your skirts lifted, tiptoeing through the mud and trying not to get your pretty skirts dirty. 

He rolls his eyes, storming back towards you. Your eyes widen at the look on his face and you stumble back a few steps. Undeterred, he bends over, throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the house. 

Your hands claw at his back, desperately grasping onto his shirt so you keep your balance. He storms up the stairs, ignoring the alarmed looks he gets from others in camp. He can already hear them whispering, wondering who you are and why he’s dragging you into his room. 

They can make up whatever the hell they want. Arthur’s too pissed off to give a shit about rumors tonight. He drops you unceremoniously onto his bed and storms back out. He heads downstairs, rooting around in one of the chests for some extra clothes. 

You won’t be able to ride to Strawberry in those ridiculous clothes. You’ll need some pants if you’re going to sit on the horse properly. He tucks the outfit under his arm and makes his way back to you. 

When he opens the door your hand immediately darts away from his shaving kit and shoves itself under your butt. His brows furrow as he catches a flash of silver in your hand. He places the clothes down on the end of the bed, eyes drifting towards his shaving kit. Sure enough, his razor seems to be missing. 

He lets out a sigh and you tense up, hand clenching around your prize. He briefly debates taking it from you. But he figures you should be allowed a modicum of comfort. Even if you did try and use it against him it’s dull, he hasn’t sharpened it in a while and you wouldn’t be able to do much damage anyway. 

He lets you keep it, leaving you on your own without another word. He can hear the exhale of relief you let out when he walks away and it makes him feel just a little better about this. At least you’re not completely terrified. 

You change into the clothes Arthur gave you. They’re a little big, but you appreciate the pants. It’s much better than the ridiculous dresses Crane had you in. You collect your dress and toss it out the window of Arthur’s room, watching it sink into the mud pit below. It brings you some satisfaction to see Crane’s pretty silk getting ruined. 

You take off the jewelry you’d been given and stuff it into your boots. If you did manage to escape while you were traveling with Arthur then you were going to need some cash. You could sell off the jewels and hopefully, it would be enough to keep you comfortable. 

It feels nice, to wear real clothes. Not being dressed up like a doll for once. You envy some of the women here, who can wear what they want. There is an appeal to the outlaw life. As long as you’re on the right side of it, which, currently, you’re not. 

You slip out of the house before anyone has a chance to retrieve you. The whole night you were curled up around a dull razor with your eyes wide open. Spending a night surrounded by outlaws isn’t exactly restful. 

You figure you might as well try and walk around before you’re on the back of a horse for the rest of the day. There are more people up than you’d expected. Luckily, you don’t see Dutch around anywhere. You don’t feel like having to deal with any more of his false charm or empty apologies. 

The same man you’d seen strumming his guitar the night before is asleep next to the dying fire. A blonde woman catches your eye, she’s walking past some other women in dresses. They’re still asleep but she looks like she’s been up for hours. 

There’s a bit of blood on her pants and you briefly wonder what she’d been doing. “Who are you?” She asks, surveying you from head to toe with suspicion in her eyes. 

“A package,” you tell her bluntly, walking past her towards the only lit fire of camp. She follows you, a wry grin on her face as she watches you pour yourself some coffee. 

“You’ve got a real attitude, I like it.” 

You huff out a laugh, taking a sip of the burnt coffee and giving her a brief smile. “I’m sure my future husband won’t.” 

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, waving you off. “Husbands, good for nothing. I loved mine but he was useless as a sack o’ flour. You’re better off without them.”

Your smile turns strained and you look down at your feet, at the boots that aren’t your own. You’ll never get to dress like this again. Or speak like this to a woman who isn’t afraid to voice what's on her mind. 

“Yes, well,” you shrug and meet her eyes again, “I don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

Her eyes narrow and she frowns, “What’s that supposed to-”

“Mrs. Adler!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp and forces the others awake. Most of them grumble, but they’re quick to get started on morning chores. “I see you’ve met our guest,” he says your name with a flourish that almost makes you laugh. 

He’s a good actor. He’s especially good at covering up his mistakes. “Yeah, what’s going on, Dutch? Who is she? Why don’t you guys ever let me in on this stuff?” She fires off questions rapidly, you almost don’t catch them all. There are clearly underlying issues here other than your unexpected presence. 

“In due time,” he assures her, laying the charm on thick. But even you can tell he’s full of it. He’s not planning on letting her in on anything unless it benefits him. “And this is our guest, her fiancee has paid us handsomely to provide her safe passage back to him.” 

He walks towards you, laying a hand over your arm and squeezing slightly. You give Sadie a stiff smile and let him lead you away. “I do believe it’s best that you just wait for Arthur, dear.” He gives you a look that lets you know it’s an order, not a suggestion. 

Still, you play along, “I think you might be right, Mr. Van der Linde, thank you for the hospitality.” You run a tired hand over your face, sitting down on the stoop of the house and finishing off the rest of your coffee. Dutch watches you for a while, never straying too far from where you are and intercepting anyone who asks about you. 

He spins quite the romantic tale of your lost love and how he desperately wants you back. You wish it were true, that you were living out some wonderful fairytale and were about to be reunited with the love of your life. Instead, it feels like one long walk to the gallows. 

The wood creaks behind you and you don’t need to turn to see who it is. “Ready?” Arthur asks and you figure he means, ready to leave freedom and happiness and the will to live behind? 

No, “Sure,” you toss the rest of the coffee into the grass and leave the mug on the stairs. You get to your feet and let him lead you towards the horses. He shares a brief look with Dutch as you pass by him but it doesn’t look entirely pleasant. 

He makes his way toward a towering black shire and your eyes widen in horror. “What’s this?”

He works on saddling the horse up, not paying much attention to you. “This is Diablo.” You take a step closer and the horse starts huffing, swinging his neck towards you with his lips pulled back. You jump back a step back, eyeing him warily. 

Arthur glances over and lets out a low chuckle, “He won’t bite. He’s just curious.”

“Mhm,” you give him a disbelieving look. “You’ll have to excuse me for being wary, I’ve not met a lot of horses.”

Arthur looks a bit shocked by your admission. “Really?” He questions, sounding doubtful. 

You give him a brief smile and nod. “Hard to believe, I know, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life, Mr. Morgan. Haven’t had many opportunities for exploring on my own.” 

He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something. At the last second, he stops himself, instead taking a step closer to you. You flinch away from him when he reaches for you and he lets out a sigh. “You can’t spend the next three days terrified of him, come on.”

He coaxes you forward and you reluctantly step closer to the beast. He chuckles at the scared look on your face. You don’t appreciate how much amusement he’s gaining from this. “Come on,” he mutters, taking your wrist and leading you closer to Diablo. 

The damn thing is named Devil, how could you not be terrified of it? 

“He won’t bite, I promise.” You don’t trust him but he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He presses your open palm to Diablo’s nose and you wince, bracing for him to lash out at you. 

But he doesn’t, he lets out a soft knicker and it seems like he doesn’t even care that you’re there. You let out a relieved laugh, running your hand tentatively over his muzzle. It’s shockingly soft and oddly squishy. 

He doesn’t seem to mind as you awe over him. You smile and glance over at Arthur but it drops when you see the odd look on his face. He seems perplexed by your reaction and you can’t fathom why. “You really never have ridden a horse before, have you?”

You shake your head, “No. I told you.”

He purses his lips and nods. You don’t know what it is about this that’s bothering him and you don’t care to ask. If he doesn’t believe just how strict your upbringing has been then fine. “Alright, come on, we need to get a move on.” 

He leads you around to the saddle and helps you up on the back of the horse. It’s beyond odd, sitting on something in pants. Getting to spread your legs freely is something you are going to greatly enjoy during this journey. 

Arthur takes off without much warning and you yelp, throwing your arms around his waist to steady yourself. He glances over his shoulder at you but says nothing. You turn your head, watching as the camp gets smaller and smaller. 

The people mill about, greet each other, and break bread together. It hits you suddenly, this will be the last time you get to see people being free. If you don’t get out, if you can’t escape, your life will be filled with starched collars and powdered faces. You’ll never have a genuine conversation with someone again. You’ll be turned into pretty jewelry hanging off the arm of a man you never met. 

The ride to Strawberry is three days at least. You have three days to get your plan together and to escape. You almost feel sorry for Arthur and the repercussions he’ll have to face losing you. But not sorry enough that you’re not gonna try. 

Arthur’s speed evens out and you let your arms relax, easing away from him slightly. Your wrist jolts against the gun on his hip and you eye it curiously. If you had a gun there would be no doubt you could escape. You see Arthur’s fingers twitch on the reigns of the horse and you move your arms higher up his torso. 

You doubt you’ll be a quicker draw than he is. He is an outlaw after all. You don’t think he’d have many qualms about delivering you to your fiancee with a few extra holes in your gut. Your mind drifts to the razor in your pocket and you consider it for a moment. 

You’re sure you’d be quick enough to just whip it out and slit his throat. You sigh and dismiss the thought. You were a lot of things but you were not a murderer. There are lines you can’t bring yourself to cross. Besides, as wicked as what he’s doing to you is, you know he’s a good man. 

It was an instinctual feeling. Mr. Crane and your father were both horrible, evil men. They knew nothing but greed and would never be satisfied by all the riches they reaped. They were the type of men you looked at and knew deep down that there was nothing left to save. 

Arthur has undoubtedly bad things. You don’t become an outlaw without spilling some blood. He was weathered and rough from a hard life, but that didn’t mean there was nothing good left in him. You won’t have his blood on your hands, no matter how much you might want to get away from him. 

As grateful as Arthur is for the silence, it is odd. He’s helped a few ladies find their way back home before and for some reason, they seem to think he’s the best listener in the world. It seems everyone who rides with him wants to tell him their life stories. 

You’re completely silent, though. He has to keep looking back just to make sure you haven’t fallen off the back of the horse. You’re pretty complacent, following along with whatever Dutch said and coming along quietly. You seem beaten down, the fight dragged out of you. 

He wonders what Mr. Crane had done to you. A few times, he’s seen just a glimpse of the spark that used to be there. But it was snuffed out before he got a chance to know it. He almost wishes you would talk. It would distract him from what he was doing right now.

It didn’t feel right, bringing you along to marry a man you’ve never even met. He has to keep reminding himself that it would have happened no matter what. Ladies like you are always sold off into a profitable marriage. The only thing he’s doing is switching up who the fiancee might be. 

None of that makes him feel better, though. He should be helping you, not dragging you away to your worst nightmare. But, his people come first. The amount of money Dutch’ll get from this will be enough to get them all out of here. This could finally be the last score. 

You gasp behind him and he whips his head around, immediately expecting someone to be following along beside you both. Maybe your father’s men or just some raiders. But he doesn’t see anything except a herd of deer running through the trees. 

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances back at you. You’re watching them like they’re something spectacular. Arthur’s always been a fan of the quiet beauty of nature. He appreciates them in ways most folks don’t understand. But you’re looking at ‘em like you just found God. 

“Never seen deer before?” He teases, chuckling a little at your reaction. 

You startle, not realizing he had been watching. You clear your throat and look away from them sheepishly. He almost feels bad for ruining the moment for you. “No. No, I haven’t.” 

He knows it's possible, but it’s astounding to him that someone truly lived their whole life in the city. It just doesn’t seem right. Cities are full of shit, smog, and bad people. Not even having a moment out of that your whole life seems like torture. 

“I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts,” you mutter, eyes darting back to the tree line. But the deer are gone and you don’t look very interested anymore. 

“Right,” he shifts forward, the air between you awkward. He’d only meant it in jest. He didn’t mean to remind you of what was about to happen to you. He doesn’t like the silence, not this time, it feels wrong. It makes him stew in his shame and that’s a nasty feeling. 

Selfishly, he prods you for more. “A few days on the road, you’ll be eager for the city again.”

You laugh but there’s no humor to it. “I very much doubt that Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he corrects, “just call me Arthur.”

“Right,” your tone remains cold, “well if you don’t mind Arthur, I’d like to ride there in silence.”

He's got no other choice but to comply. If you don’t want to talk he won’t make you. He just wishes he could make this a little easier for you both. 

Camping is something. You don’t have a word for it. It’s nice to be out in nature and embrace it for the first time in your life. But you really would not mind the comfort of your bed right now. 

Rocks digging into your spine and head do not make for a good night’s sleep. You’ve been lying in front of the fire for hours, flipping around uselessly. It doesn’t matter how much you shift, the rock stays digging painfully into you. 

You let out a loud huff, flopping onto your back and glaring up at the starry sky in defeat. At least the view is nice. In the city, you can’t see the stars. The smoke’s too thick and you never get a good look at them.

Out here, they almost feel fake. They’re so bright and beautiful, you thought the paintings in the museum had always been exaggerating just how breathtaking a night sky can be. But you were wrong. And you hate that there’s a potential future where you’ll never get to see this again. 

“Would you quit squirming so damn much?”

You shoot up, resting on your elbows and glaring over at Arthur. He’s got his hat over his eyes, arms crossed, and looking like he’s been asleep for the past few hours. You hadn’t realized you’d been keeping him up. 

“Some of us aren’t used to sleeping outside,” you hiss, throwing yourself back down to the ground. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you figure that’s the end of it. You clench your eyes shut, counting sheep in your mind and trying to force yourself asleep. 

You hear boots crunching across leaves and your eyes fly open. Arthur’s standing over you, hands propped on his hips as he glares down at you. “Can I help you?” You snap when you get tired of the staring. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, kneeling to be eye level with you. You’re startled by the proximity, an odd heat creeping up your neck. “Come on, I’m gonna tire you out. Maybe then you’ll get some sleep.”

You gasp, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. “Excuse me?” You demand, tone incredulous. 

His brows furrow before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Not like that,” he grouses. “Get up,” he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He places his hand under your back, shoving you onto your feet. You stand with a slight stumble, glaring at him as you brush dirt off your shirt and pants. 

You can’t help the snotty tone of your voice as you ask, “What are we doing?” 

“Huntin,’” He answers gruffly, going over to the horse and taking the bow out of his saddle. 

Your brows furrow as you recall the few stories your father told you of hunting bison. “Aren’t you supposed to use a rifle?”

He shakes his head and nods towards the treeline. You glance back at the fire before reluctantly following him into the dark forest. The moon is full enough that it provides just enough light for you not to be terrified of what’s lurking in the underbrush. 

“Got a friend,” he tells you, kneeling and glancing at some tracks on the ground. “Taught me how to hunt properly. Bows are quieter, less disruptive, and they provide quicker, cleaner kills.” He looks back at you and motions towards the arrows, “Less pain for the animal.”

Your face slacks with something like astonishment. All you’d heard from your father was the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill. He never mentioned keeping anything from the animal, using it for meat, or about how long it took for them to die. You’d never thought there was anybody who actually cared for the creature’s comfort as it died. 

You suppose there’s going to be a lot about Arthur that’s different from the men you know. 

“Arthur,” a twig snaps behind you, and your eyes widen. You drop your voice to a whisper, not wanting to draw too much attention towards you both. “I don’t want to kill anything,” you hiss.

“Ha!” He barks out a laugh and you purse your lips in irritation. He stands and looks at you, chuckling again before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so confident in your huntin’ skill, kid.”

You click your tongue and glare at him, “Don’t call me that,” you snap. It’s the same patronizing nickname your father loved to use on you and you detest it. He raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. “Then what’s the point of this?”

He shrugs and heads further into the trees, you have no choice but to follow along behind him. “Figure you should be taught a few skills before I get rid of ya.”

You want to argue with him that there’s no point. If you are given to Crane’s associate, you’ll never set foot in the woods again. However, if you do manage to escape him, learning a few survival skills wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

So, you keep your mouth shut and let him lead you through the forest. “How do you know where to go?” You ask, trying to figure out what it is he keeps looking at in the mud. He waves you forward, moving you so you’re standing directly in front of him. 

“You see that?” You have to squint, relying solely on the light from the moon, to make out what he’s pointing at. There are some tracks in the mud that look vaguely like hooves. “It’s buck tracks, you can tell by the size.” He kneels and when you don’t follow he tugs you down by the sleeve. “You can’t rely on just the tracks, though. You have to look for other signs of ‘em.”

You glance around, noticing some crushed twigs and grass a few feet ahead. “Like that?” You point towards it and he huffs in amusement. 

“Caught on quicker than I thought.”

You feel vaguely offended by that but don’t bother voicing it, just glare at his back as he gets up. You walk silently through the forest, letting Arthur show you which tracks to follow and which to avoid. You’re not comforted by how many cougar prints you find. You stare up into the branches always expecting something to already be looking down at you. 

Miraculously, no wild cat chooses you for dinner as you track the buck down. You find him near a small stream, antlers dipping into the water as he takes a drink. He’s got to be one of the most gorgeous creatures you’ve ever seen. 

You’ve lived your whole life in St. Denis. The most you’ve seen are overworked carriage horses and mangy dogs. No life slips through the cracks of that place. There’s just smoke and misery. This is nature, real beauty. It’s breathtaking, the way the leaves ripple in the wind and the starlight reflects in the water. 

You can’t imagine seeing this and wanting to tear it down to put up an oily machine that contributes nothing to the earth but death. It just makes you hate your father more. It also makes you more resolved to not be forced back into that life. You can’t do it. You can’t have this one taste of freedom and then let it go without a fight. 

Arthur pulls the bow out and nocks an arrow. You glance between him and the buck and rapidly shake your head. “No,” you hiss, “I don’t wanna kill it.”

He rolls his eyes and moves you in front of him. You don’t have much choice as he places your hands on the string and guides you into the right position. “Relax,” he murmurs in your ear as you fight against his grip. “You ain’t gonna kill it.” 

It doesn’t bring you much comfort, but if you’re going to make it on your own, sometimes you’ll have to do something you don’t like. “Now,” his hand drifts down your bicep and you suck in a sharp breath. “Don’t hold it too long, you’ll get tired.” 

It’s dawning on you just how close you both are. You’re kneeling on the ground with him behind you, essentially cradling your body to him. You’ve never been this familiar with a man before, it’s making your brain short-circuit. You can hardly pay attention to what he’s telling you. 

He lifts your elbow slightly and points you towards the left. “You need to keep your arm steady even after you let go or your aim will be off. Take in a deep breath and release on the exhale.” You give him an apprehensive look, still not wanting to hurt the buck. He just nods and there’s something in his gaze that lets you relax slightly. 

You release the string and the arrow flies over the buck’s head, burying itself into the tree behind it. Its head shoots up and it turns towards you both before dashing off. You let out an astonished laugh, glancing down the bow and then back at Arthur. 

“My god, I’ve never shot anything before.”

“Congratulations, you’ve killed your first tree,” he remarks dryly, but you see the glint of humor in his eye. 

He gets to his feet and offers you a hand up. You smile up at him, undeterred by his attitude. “Thank you for this,” you tell him earnestly. He gives you an odd look but nods anyway. He doesn’t understand just how important this is to you. Knowing how to do something like this is the difference between life and death when you’re on your own. Of course, he doesn’t realize you’ll be making an escape attempt soon. 

He retrieves the arrow from the tree and you run your hand over the curve of the bow. You wonder just how much he’d miss this if you took it from him. 

Arthur’s tearing down the camp and you’re standing by Diablo, feeding him some apples. You stroke absentmindedly over the horse's muzzle, watching Arthur intently. He’s too busy pulling the tent apart to be paying attention to you. 

You got better sleep last night than you did at Crane’s. He was right, hunting had tired you out. You were eager enough to sleep that you didn’t even feel the rough ground underneath you. He seems to be a little more lax about his watch over you. 

Something about last night must have eased him into a sense of comfort that you’re not going to run. That’s his own fault, though. You glance over the curve of the hill, noticing a carriage that will be passing by soon enough. 

You look back at Arthur and ease slightly away from Diablo. Arthur is still collecting the blankets and rolling them up. He turns towards the dying fire and tosses the rest of the coffee out. You take another step back and he keeps his back to you. 

Slowly, you release Diablo’s reigns, giving him one last apple before you turn on your heel and run down the hill. Your foot slips out from under you and you let out a loud yelp as you go flying headfirst down the grass. 

You land on your back with enough impact to make the breath rush out of you. But your descent is still going and you’re flipping over headfirst into the road. You slide forward, the dirt scraping up your chin as you cough and try and catch your breath. 

“Look out!” You roll out of the way just before the carriage rolls over you. Someone shouts your name from the top of the hill and you see Arthur glaring down at you. He starts towards you and you scramble to your feet. 

“Stop!” You scream, waving your arms wildly and chasing after the carriage. The man gives you a bewildered look as you throw yourself at him. “Please, sir, I’ve been kidnapped, you must help me get back to my husband.”

The man looks behind you, sees a very angry Arthur bellowing out your name, and moves to the side. “Hurry up,” he urges, giving you a hand on the bench beside him. You let out a relieved breath, taking his hand and throwing yourself the rest of the way up. 

He whips the horses, hurrying them along all the while Arthur is yelling after you. It’s not hard to believe that he would kidnap you. He looks half-crazed as he follows along behind you. You turn over your shoulder, giving him a brief wave and a smile. “Thanks for the help,” you tell the man beside you. You offer your hand and name. 

He glances down at it but doesn’t take it, instead looking forward and ignoring you entirely. Something uneasy settles in your stomach but you push it aside. You blame the feeling on the adrenaline still pumping through you. 

“Where are you headed?” You ask, glancing into the back of the carriage. You notice some moonshine and a crate full of guns but decide not to question it. 

“Said yer husband’s waitin’ for ya?” He demands, completely ignoring your question. You stare at the side of his face but his expression isn’t giving anything away. He comes to an intersection. You see a sign pointing towards a town and figure he’s going to take it, but instead, he pulls onto a smaller trail leading to the woods. 

“Um,” you clear your throat uncertainly, glancing back at the sign. “Yes,” your voice cracks and you know you sound like you’re full of shit. 

He laughs and the sound sends chills down your spine. You rip your eyes off of him, looking down at the horses and suddenly realizing just what you’d gotten yourself into. “You sure about that, little lady?”

Something cold digs into your side and you gasp quietly, looking down to see a gun pressed against your ribs. “You scream, run, or do anythin’ to piss me off and I’ll put a fourth hole in ya.” When you don’t say anything he digs it harder into you. “Understand?” He growls and you can do nothing but nod your head. 

You want to move, want to shove him off the side of the carriage and make a run for it. But you can’t, you’re frozen solid. You’re so petrified with fear you can’t even blink. You think you’re holding your breath, as if taking in air is going to set the gun off. 

He grins, a blackened curl of lips over rotted teeth, at your obedience and comes to a stop in the trees. “What are you doing?” You whisper, staring at the secluded area with a newfound sense of horror. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice echoing through the quiet of the woods. You hear no birds or animals and you feel so alone it makes you want to cry. He gets off the carriage and turns towards you. “Down,” he demands. Your eyes dart towards the reigns of the horses and he pulls the hammer of the gun back. “Don’t even think about it.”

You lift your hands in the air, slowly slipping down the seat. He doesn’t appreciate you taking your time He grabs the front of your shirt, jerking you further into the trees and tossing you to the ground. 

You let out a rough groan at the impact, blood staining your shirt as your elbow slips across a jagged rock. It’s like something is snapped loose in your mind. He comes stomping towards you, kneeling between your spread legs and it finally clicks. 

You lunge forward with a shout and he rears back in surprise. You wonder how often someone’s actually fought against him or just let it happen. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to get shot by this scum, but there are a lot of things worse than dying. 

You grab the arm holding the gun, jerking it around, and knocking it out of his hand. “You bitch!” He hisses, bringing his open palm down across your cheek. The smack rings through the trees and ricochets through the air. Your head whips to the side so hard you think you might have snapped your neck. 

Blood dribbles out from your lips, your teeth having bitten into the fat of your cheeks. You spot the gun nearby, the silver of the barrel glinting from under the leaves. Just as you reach for it, he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles and dragging you back towards him. 

You feel like screaming as your hands desperately grasp at the dirt underneath you. But there’s not enough air to scream. You dig your nails into the mud, feel them split against the rocks, and kick at his chest hard enough to make him lose his breath. 

His grip on you loosens and you throw yourself at the pile of leaves. Hands groping for something solid. Just as he flips you over you wrap your hand around the handle of the gun. You pull the trigger and the bang is deafening. 

Your ears ring and your hands are trembling from the recoil. His jaw goes slack and he tumbles on top of you. You let out a grunt, breath pushed out of you by his weight. You scramble against his chest, something warm making your hands slip as you struggle to roll him off of you. 

You glance over, waiting for him to spring back up. But there’s something dark pooling around him and sinking into the dirt below. There’s a hole in his chest and his eyes are already flattening. You fall back against the earth, staring up at the trees above you. 

The sounds rush back to you all at once. The birds singing, deers prancing somewhere in the distance. You hear a stream rushing nearby and let out a stunned laugh. There’s a smile on your face but there’s nothing to be happy about. 

You think you might be in shock. Mind still trying to catch up to what just happened. You glance down at the gun in your hand and toss it to the side, not wanting it near you anymore. Only a second later do you reach for it again. 

You struggle onto your hands and knees, checking over yourself for any injuries that you might be numb to right now. The only blood on you is from the dead man on the ground. You keel over, hands on your knees, and suck in a deep gasping breath. 

You stumble back, limping towards the carriage. You dig around in the back of the wagon, tugging out a giant hunting knife and walking towards the horses. You cut them loose, keeping the rope on one of them and tugging yourself onto her back. You tuck the knife in your belt and nudge her side, leading her forward gently. 

You don't even have time to process the fact that you’re riding a horse on your own. Your body is moving on autopilot. You can only think about getting ahead, getting away. What just happened will hit you later. You slump against the neck of the horse, adrenaline leaking out of you and exhaustion catching up. 

He’s going to find you and he’s going to kill you. Leaving while he had his back turned. Getting on some carriage with a man you’ve never met before. How dumb do you have to be? You can’t trust people out here. Not when there are gangs, raiders, hell, he’s encountered a few cannibals. 

For all he knows, you’re already dead and he’ll be delivering a body to the train station. The thought makes him curse and urge Diablo forward. It’s not hard to follow the tracks of the carriage, what concerns him is when they lead into the forest instead of the town. 

“Goddammit,” he mutters, “the hell have you done woman?” He leaps off Diablo, figuring it will be easier to track you on foot. He follows the paths of the wheels, finding the wagon abandoned and the horses cut loose. 

His brows furrow in confusion as he wanders around the side and spots a lump in the leaves. All he can see is the bottom of a boot and blood splattered across the orange of the fallen leaves. 

His stomach plummets and he races towards it. But it’s not you buried under the foliage, it’s the man who offered you a ride. “What the hell?” He kneels, brushing the leaves off his chest and frowning when he sees the blood splattered all along his chest. 

He doesn’t need to look long to figure out what killed him. He’s sure the bullet buried in his heart did the job. Arthur curses and stalks away from the man. There are prints where the horses were but there are too many to tell which one you might have taken. 

He’ll have to rely on instinct to find you. You’re becoming a real pain in the ass for what was supposed to be a simple job. Still, he can’t help but be a little relieved that it was a stranger and not you lying dead on the ground. 

He turns back onto the road, taking the turn into town. Someone on horseback rides past him, they look disgusted by something up ahead and it makes alarms go off in his head. He urges Diablo forward, running the rest of the way into town. 

An unsaddled mare lazily eats some grass as the sound of a rushing river meets his ears. Diablo’s hooves sound off against the wood of the bridge. He finally sees what disturbed the other rider so much. 

You’re sitting on the railing of the bridge, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you stare down into the crashing waters below you. Arthur gets off his horse, approaching you slowly. He doesn’t want to startle you and have you go tumbling over the edge. 

He calls out your name and you glance briefly over at him. Blood is splattered across your neck and the front of your shirt is soaked with it. He knows it isn’t yours but it still puts him on edge. “What’re you doin’ kid?” 

You don’t answer him, “Did you follow me?” He eases up beside you, straddling the railing so he can catch you if you slip. He nods and you let out a rough sigh. “Is he dead?”

He scoffs, “Sure as shit hope so, don’t know how someone would survive that.”

A manic laugh bursts through your lips and you double over your head falling into your hands. Arthur surges forward, steadying you before you dive headfirst into the river. “Alright, let’s go,” he quietly urges you around. You don’t put up a fight, letting him maneuver you how he likes.

He gets you on your feet and leads you back to Diablo. You latch onto the horse's reigns immediately, stroking your hand over his mane. Your silence is concerning. Arthur doesn’t know what your regular behavior is, the most he’s seen of you, you have been quiet. This is different, though. He’s seen this sort of quiet in women before and it never ends pretty. 

“You’re alright, come on,” he tries to keep his voice low so he doesn’t set you off. He keeps his hands light as they land around your waist, giving you help onto Diablo’s saddle. Your gaze is distant and you move like someone else is controlling your body. 

He collects the mare you’d brought along with you and leads both horses into town. He’ll have to get a saddle for her, she already seems attached to you. And maybe taking a horse with you into the city will let you escape a little. 

The town, at least, is on the way to Strawberry so he doesn’t have to worry about being too far off schedule. Though, that’s the least of his concerns right now. His eyes keep darting up to you. Waiting for you to try and bolt again or finally break down. It doesn’t look like anything is going on in your head, you seem completely distanced from the situation. 

It’s a good thing for him. He can’t handle a distraught woman. He’s not a kind enough man for it. 

He hitches the horses in front of the hotel. You turn in the saddle, staring down at him and waiting for a hand down. You slide easily through his hands, landing in the mud with a dull thud and heading up the stairs of the hotel without prompt. 

He huffs and follows after you. He doesn’t know how to explain the blood on your clothes away and hopes he won’t have to. The man running the place, thankfully, doesn’t have many questions. He looks disturbed but keeps his qualms to himself when Arthur slips him a little extra cash. 

Arthur guides you up the stairs with a light hand on your back, opening the door of the bath for you. “Alright, here’s your room key. I’ll be out for a while so, just,” he sighs, taking in the blank look on your face and shaking his head. “Try not to cause any more trouble.” You nod and close the door behind him. 

There’s no worries that you’re going to make a run for it again. He’s sure whatever happened in those woods was scarring enough to make you want to go back to the city and never see country folk again. He wouldn’t blame you, there are some nasty people out here. Himself included, but he could never imagine hurting a woman like that. It just ain’t right. 

He heads to the shop across the street, buying some new clothes for you that actually fight properly. The horses are brought to the stables and he goes ahead and gets a paper for your mare under your name. Diablo will be faster tomorrow if he doesn’t have to carry the weight of two people. You might make it to your handler in time. 

Arthur still doesn’t feel right about this whole thing. Leaving you with a man you’ve never met feels even worse knowing what happened to you today. He doesn’t think you being so calm about it all is a good thing. Shouldn’t women react?

Dutch likes to tell him women are a more sensitive breed. He’s seen some tough ones in his life, but this seems like the time to be in hysterics if there ever was one. He heads back to the hotel, planning on just leaving the change of clothes in your room. 

He passes by the bath and hears an odd sound seeping through the cracks. Frowning, he presses his ear up against the door. A man passes by him, giving him a disgusted look as he goes into his room. Arthur sighs but he stays where he is. 

It’s clearer now, you’re crying and it’s hard to listen to. It's the type that makes it hard to breathe. That sort of crying makes your ribs ache and bruise. It’s wrong to keep listening to such a vulnerable moment. So, he does what he planned, drops the clothes in your room, and then heads to bed himself. 

Sleep comes easier than he thought it would. It’s not as restful as he’d been hoping but it draws over him faster than it normally does. He’s always been a light sleeper, though. It comes from years of having to be on guard in case some O’Driscoll is gonna try and slit his throat while he’s asleep. 

When he hears the door creak his hand is already on the trigger of his revolver as he shoots up in bed. The glow of the lamps outside illuminates what’s clearly a woman’s form. But he can’t see your face until you take a step further into the room and the moonlight provides some light. 

“Arthur?” You whisper his name, peering into his room. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he grumbles. With a sigh, he shoves the gun back under his pillow and runs a rough hand over his face. “What'd ya want?”

You let out a low breath and rock back on your heels. “I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I just, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking he’s gonna creep out of my closet or bust through the door, I-”

You cut yourself off but he can hear the emotion thickening your voice. He clenches his eyes shut in irritation, arguing with himself over what he’s about to say. “You wanna sleep in here?” He mumbles reluctantly. 

You close the door immediately, practically running towards his bed. “You don’t mind?”

You’re not really giving him a choice, but he’s not going to say that to you. “No.” He grabs a pillow and blanket off the bed and rounds the end of the mattress. You frown as you watch him toss everything to the ground. 

“Well, what’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He snaps, angrily gesturing towards the floor. “I’m givin’ you the bed.” 

You bite your lip and he feels horrible instantly because you look like you’re about to cry. He’s not trying to be rude but you woke him up in the dead of night. What’d you expect him to say?

“I was sort of hoping we could share the bed.”

His eyes widen and he glares at you in disbelief. “You mean-”

“No!” You cut him off with an aggrieved sigh. “You fool, that’s not what I mean at all. I just don’t want to be alone, alright?” 

“Look,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m the man you want to bunk with for company, alright. I’m not that kind of guy.” You glare at him and snatch his pillow and blanket off the floor. 

“Don’t be so damn stubborn.” You aggressively fluff the pillows, throwing the covers back and gesturing towards them, your brow set in anger. 

“Right,” he huffs, “I’m stubborn.” He reluctantly crawls into bed and you follow behind him. It’s not that he minds sharing a bed with a pretty lady. He’s just not the sort of guy you should be coming to for comfort. 

He doesn’t think he can provide whatever it is you need at this moment. But you seem to think otherwise as you inch towards him slowly. He lays on his back, arms under his head as he watches you out of the side of his eye. You think you’re being subtle, slowly moving into his side until you’re flush against him. 

He doesn’t say anything to object and you don’t bring up the proximity. He doesn’t want to admit it but it is nice having someone else beside him. He’s so used to camping out on his own. He hasn’t had anyone beside him in a long while. He lost interest in women of leisure a long while ago. And ever since Mary, he’s given up on any sort of intimacy. 

He hates to admit it, but he finds himself easing towards the warmth you provide. The second you feel him reciprocating you’re inching a tentative hand around his waist, cuddling closer to him. He recognizes it for what it is. 

He’s always been looked at as someone who can protect, at least by the gang. He’s their muscle. To most others, he incites nothing but fear. It should be the same for you. But after what happened today, you just see someone who can keep the monsters in the dark away. 

He doesn’t mind being used like this. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and waits until he feels you settle to ease into sleep again. 

Arthur figures you should both get breakfast in town while you’re here. He reasons you should enjoy a hot meal before you’re on the road again. You don’t point out that you know he’s just trying to ease you into the day. 

You appreciate it, honestly, but yesterday wasn’t your first run-in with men like that. It’s become incomprehensibly normal in day-to-day life, even for a city girl like yourself. You’d cried everything out in the bath once you’d scrubbed your skin raw. 

You don’t think Arthur will ever understand just how much his presence helped you last night. If you’d been on your own, jumping every time you heard the wood creaking outside, you’d have driven yourself over the edge. He protected you, even if there was nothing to be protected from. 

You don’t think he gives himself enough credit. Ignoring the situation you’re both in and what he’s taking you to do, he’s a good man. While the caliber of the men you’ve met is questionable at best, he’s one of the best ones you’ve ever known. At the end of the day, he disagrees with the whole situation, but he’s doing this for his family. That’s admirable in its own way. 

But, god, does he have poor conversational skills. “So, yesterday.” You glance up from your toast, brows raised in question. He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and his food like he can’t choose what to focus on. “That man, did he…”

He trails off and you feel your hackles rise. “Don’t worry,” you hiss, a bite to your words, “I’m still pure for my husband. Your pay won’t be docked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His hand clenches around his fork and his eyes bore into yours, “That’s not what I meant,” he growls. “I wasn’t worried about that,” he snaps, “I was worried ‘bout you, woman.”

You take in a deep breath, actively biting your tongue from saying something spiteful. He wasn’t being rude, that’s just what you’re used to. “I’m sorry,” you concede lowly. “Nothing happened,” you repeat without the attitude. 

“Well,” he huffs and goes back to his breakfast, “good,” he settles on dully. 

“Good,” you agree quietly, pushing the rest of your food around. You find your appetite dulled and you push the plate away. You lean back in the booth and stare out the window. The horses seem to be getting on well enough. “Did you name her?”

Arthur gives you an odd look and you nod towards the mare hitched next to Diablo. He swallows the food he’d been chewing and takes a swig of his coffee. “No, figured you’d want to do it.”

Your brows furrow and your lips quirk in confusion. “Why?”

“She’s yours, ain’t she?” He grouses. 

You shake your head, “Nope,” you tell him, popping the p. “I just took her so I’d have something to get me to town.”

“Yeah, well,” he sounds less sure of himself and he’s looking like he made a mistake. “I thought she’d be nice for you to have with you in the city. A way for you to get around without relyin’ on someone else.”

You can’t help but smile, something in your chest easing away at the kind gesture. “I appreciate it,” he lights up a little at your approval, but you crush it in an instant. “But I can’t keep her, I won’t be allowed to. I’ve tried to have my own horse before, hard to control something that can get away from you,” you tell him blankly. There’s no emotion in your voice because it’s something you’re used to. 

He looks slightly horrified at how blunt you are. He can’t comprehend not having that freedom but he fails to recognize that he’s got a leash of his own. You doubt a man like Dutch would ever let his main asset just run off to wherever he wants to. 

A few people walk into the saloon, the women giving you odd looks when they see the pants on your legs. You smile cheekily at them, reveling in what you know will be a short-lived experience. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a judgmental look like that. 

You’ve always blended in. Been the perfect wallflower for the men in your life. You were never something to gawk at or cause trouble. It’s a relief to stick out for once, to break the mould for the first time in your life. 

Arthur clocks the interaction and chuckles. “Missin’ the skirts yet?”

“Not one damn bit,” you tell him, smiling as you take a sip of your coffee. “I’m going to miss being able to run around without having to lug an extra four pounds of fabric behind me.” 

“Ya know, you could just wear some pants, you’ve got a choice.”

You grin patronizingly at him, propping your head on your chin and watching him finish the rest of his breakfast. “You don’t know city men very well, do you?”

“Glad for it,” he grumbles, distaste clear in his tone.

A laugh breaks through your chest, the first real one in a while. “I’m going to be marrying one, Arthur. I won’t have a choice in much of anything anymore.” You can tell he wants to object, tell you there’s always a choice. 

He’ll never truly understand what’s going to happen to you, though. You’re no longer human once you’re married. You’re cattle and property, meant to be bred and shown off. You accepted your fate a long while ago. And after you’re failed escape attempt, you’ve realized this is what you were always meant to be. There’s no point in fighting fate. 

“Don’t apologize or argue,” you tell him, no spite or bitterness in your tone, just the honest truth. “I don’t mind anymore, really. What place is there for me in this world, anyway? I can’t exactly take care of myself.”

“You did a damn good job yesterday,” he snaps back quickly. He doesn’t seem too keen on the way you’re talking about yourself. But you’re not lying. Yesterday was a wake-up call. If you let yourself get screwed over by a hillbilly that quickly then how were you ever going to make it on your own? In your defense, you were raised to be dependent, you never had a chance. 

“Sure, but that was a one-off incident. I’m not going to run again, Arthur. There’s no point. And there’s no point in fighting against the way things are, they’re never going to change for me.” You take in a deep breath, the easy mood ruined by your sincerity. 

“I’m just gonna wait by the horses.”

You slide out of the booth, leaving Arthur to stare pensively at his plate. You’ve nearly slipped through the door when Arthur calls out, “You should name her.” You pause at the doorway, glancing back at him. He’s settling the bill at the front and you walk back out to the horses. 

The mare picks her head up as you walk towards her, ears perked and tail flicking. “Hey, girl,” you run a hand over her muzzle, admiring the sleek silver of her coat. “I guess I should name you.”

You run a hand over her mane and swing yourself onto the saddle. “How ‘bout Bullet, it’s how I got you, anyway.” A dark joke, but it eases the macabre feeling hanging around you. 

Arthur walks out of the saloon, tucking his money away into his bag. He lifts himself onto Diablo, glancing over at you with a knowing glint. 

“Name her?”

You resent how smug he sounds. “Bullet,” you answer reluctantly. 

“Bullet?” He questions, tone incredulous. 

You grin at him, “It’s how I got her.” There’s a slightly stunned expression on his face before it slacks away into something more amused. 

He shakes his head and nudges Diablo forward, Bullet follows alongside him eagerly. “Clever,” he mutters.

“Not really,” you snort, running a hand over her neck lovingly. “But I think it works for her.”

“Your husband’s gonna have his hands full with you,” you know he means it in jest. The lightness of the conversation turns into something heavier. Realization sinks over both of you and the smiles slowly drop away. “I-”

“How much further to Strawberry, anyway?” You effectively cut off whatever train of thought he was going to follow, distracting you both from the truth. 

“Half a day,” he tells you, frowning when you refuse to meet his eye again. Half a day. That’s all you’ve got to enjoy the last bits of freedom you have. You’re gonna take your damn time getting there, that’s for sure. 

You slow down from the steady trot Arthur had led the horses into, easing Bullet into a slow walk. You’re slowly getting the hang of riding a horse. It’s easy when she’s so intuitive. By god, though, your ass is sore. 

Arthur shoots you a questioning glance at the slow pace and you shrug. “Might as well take the time I’ve got left.”

“You’re actin’ like you’re on death row,” he chuckles. 

“Aren’t I?” He falls silent and you don’t know what’s bothering him but you don’t have the energy to inquire. 

He’s slowing you down on purpose, he knows it and you know it. Neither of you says a damn thing about it but it’s bugging him. He shouldn’t be this bothered by a job. He knows how to separate himself from what he does. He just can’t this time. 

There’s something about you that glows. You’re sitting beside him on the peak of a hill, overlooking the roads below you, and laughing as you make up stories for the people that pass by. It’s a far cry from the beaten-down woman he’d seen at Crane’s house. 

Even after what happened yesterday, you somehow manage to seem happier. There’s nothing about it that makes him happy. This feels like the last goodbye of someone who knows they’re going soon. The last bout of happiness before they just give in. 

You’re not gaining your spark back, you’re just giving in to what you think is inevitable. But it doesn’t have to be inevitable. You could fight back you just refuse to. He’s sure growing up the way you have, you don’t think it's possible to stand up for yourself. 

But you don’t have to give in like this. You don’t have to roll over and let someone else dictate your life. Which is rich, coming from him. He’s practically Dutch’s lap dog now. Even when he disagrees he still follows along behind him. 

He shouldn’t even be thinking like this. He can’t criticize you for not standing up for yourself when he’s the one thing standing between you and freedom. “Not hungry?” You nod towards the uneaten meat on his knife. 

He shakes his head, plucking it off the blade and passing it to you. You give him an odd look before popping it in your mouth. “Ya know,” you mutter around a full mouth. You take a moment to swallow it down before smiling over at him. “I’ve grown up with private chefs my whole life, but there’s is something infinitely more satisfying about this.”

He takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. He snorts at your comment, “I find that hard to believe.”

“No,” you shake your head, insistent, “I mean it. Being out here, hunting the game myself, I don’t know, it’s nice.” You shrug and lean back on your hands, gazing across the way at the trees and river. 

“You can always get a bow and go hunting.” He speaks to you like it's a cut-and-dry truth that you’re just not accepting. Your face screws up and you give him an annoyed glare. 

“No. I can’t,” you tell him again. Where your words were patient before, he can tell you’re growing irritated at how much he’s pushing this.

“Yes, you can,” he snaps. “You don’t have to keep yourself boxed up in some manor in the city. Get out, woman, do something with your life!” His voice echoes through the air and you flinch back from it, lips pulling down into a sneer. 

“You know, that’s really easy for you to say, Arthur. You have a goddamn choice. Sure, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, little miss rich girl crying about being pampered.”

He lets out a rough sigh, “That’s not what I meant-”

You cut him off, getting to your feet and glaring down at him. “You got to grow up with a choice. What to do with your body, your life, your career. You get to have an education if you want it. Every goddamn door is open to you. You don’t get hated for not wanting to have a family. You get to choose. And as much as you insist I can too, you will never understand the position I am in.”

You kick dirt over the fire and head back towards Bullet. “It’s a double-edged sword, Arthur. Sure, my life might be comfortable, but it’s never really gonna be my life.” He stays there on the ground, too stunned to get up. 

You glare down at him, impatiently waiting for him to get a move on. This isn’t how he wants things to end. He doesn’t want you to go off thinking he’s just some ignorant fool. But he is, much as he denies it, he’s always been a fool. 

He should never have thought he could make a difference in your life. Not when he’s the one backing you into this corner. He could have helped you escape the very first night he saw you. But he was too selfish to let you go, now you’re both paying for it. 

He mounts Diablo and you both head back to the roads silently. You’re moving faster now, leaving him behind if he lingers in one area for too long. You’re too pissed off to enjoy the rest of your day and he hates that he ruined it for you. You, at the very least, deserved a slower journey towards your future. 

You’re in Strawberry before he’s ready, he’s sure you aren’t. “Hey, we could-”

“I think that’s him.” You cut him off before he says something stupid like spend another night in town before you go. He’ll miss you, he thinks. Odd, he’s known you such a short time but it’s been so different having someone beside him as he rides. It was nice, what he wished he and Mary could have had. 

Arthur follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh. Sure enough, some prim and proper ass is standing in front of the ticket station, foot tapping impatiently. He’s got a large bag beside him, gaze wandering around expectantly. He doesn’t doubt the man who looks like he’s got a five-foot stick up his ass is Mr. Crane’s associate. He’s got the same slimy glint.

You slide off Bullet and Arthur follows suit, taking the reigns of both horses and leading them towards the platform. The man’s eyes narrow in on you before lighting up. He calls out your name and it’s like a mask being dropped over your face. 

The spark is gone once more, a subdued and demure smile resting on your face as you wave at him. “I apologize for my dress,” you tell him as you walk up the steps. “Pants were more conducive to such a long ride.”

He takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that makes Arthur roll his eyes. “No apologies necessary, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would be less than put together after such a journey. I’m only sorry I couldn’t accompany you.”

You scoff and nod along, “Okay,” you mutter, not believing a word of his bullshit. You take the bag from him and move towards the saloon to find a room to change in. They both watch you leave, though the other man with a much more devious glint in his eye. 

Arthur’s hands tighten on the reigns of the horses, anything to keep him from reaching for his revolver. He’s already getting a bad feeling about this. There’s nothing trustworthy about the man in front of him. 

“Mr. Finch,” he holds out his hand and Arthur gives it a distrusting look before reluctantly shaking. Finch attempts to squeeze the life out of his hand but Arthur can barely feel it. He tightens his own grip and revels in the way Finch’s face blanches. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

Mr. Finch looks him up and down in the same way Crane had. He sees a commodity, not a person. “I trust,” he drawls, “nothing unsavory happened.”

Arthur feels rage bubbling in his gut. The only damn thing he cares about is whether or not you’re “pure.” Not if you were okay or injured during the journey. If he told him that he’d punched you out for talking back Finch would just ask if you were bruised. 

“She’s fine,” Arthur grits out. 

“Oh, good, good. Glad everything went smoothly.” Finch has a way of talking he’s found most self-important men do. He draws everything he says out, and forces you to listen to him speak. Makes you pay attention so he can pretend he has power for a moment. 

His gaze darts behind Arthur and he turns just in time to see you slipping out of the saloon. The dress Finch has provided you is ridiculously large. It poofs out at the waist in a way that makes Arthur wonder how you’re going to fit into your seat. 

You look beyond uncomfortable. Grimacing as you join them again. You try and plaster a smile on but it’s a struggle. You look to Arthur, a finality on your face that makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run. He’s doing this for the others, he reminds himself. They’ll be on a boat to Tahiti in a week. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything.” The smile you leave him with is real, if just barely. Something lurks under your words that Mr. Finch will never understand and Arthur knows it will drive him crazy. 

“Let’s go,” Finch grabs your hand, looping it through his arm and tugging you towards the doors of the station. 

“Wait!” Arthur calls out, feeling foolish when you both look back at him with perplexed expressions. “You’ll be wanting Bullet, won’t you?”

Mr. Finch answers for you with a condescending tone, “She won’t be needing a horse, thank you.” You give him a knowing smile, turning away and slipping through the doors of the station and onto the train. 

Arthur stays rooted where he is, something crawling up in his chest and rooting around restlessly. The whistle blows and the wheels start cranking slowly forward. Arthur just barely catches a glimpse of you through a window as the train chugs past. 

“Shit!” He hisses. He tugs himself up onto Diablo’s saddle and urges him after the train. He was born a fool, he’s always going to be a damn fool. But he’d have to be a complete moron to just let you go. 

Mr. Finch keeps a painfully tight grip on your elbow, jerking you through the passenger cars and practically throwing you into your seat. You land with a thud, your arm bouncing against the window painfully. You keep a stoic expression, trying not to let him break you so soon. 

He takes a seat beside you, straightening out his jacket and tugging on his tie. Something white flashes in his jacket pocket and you lean forward, perplexed when you realize what it is. “What is that?” You question, not quite believing your eyes. Finch glances down at the thick wad of cash in his jacket and grins. 

“Oh, this? Mr. Morgan must have forgotten to collect the rest of his payment.” He sends you a condescending smile and you flinch away in disgust. “He was too enamored with my fiancee to pay much attention, I’m afraid.”

“That’s his money,” you snap, the volume of your voice catching the attention of a few other passengers. Finch sends them apologetic smiles, making you seem like a mad woman. “He earned that!” You object, eyeing the money warily. 

His hand snakes out, gripping you tightly around the arm and dragging you towards him until your noses are nearly touching. You nearly gag at the smell of his cigar-infused breath. It’s not like when Arthur would smoke one, you didn’t mind that. But this was making you sick to your stomach. 

“Let's get a few things clear, I will not be dealing with an obstinate wife. You can either get yourself in order or I’ll do it for you.”

Your lips pull back in disgust and you jerk yourself out of his grip. He’s not as strong as he pretends to be and you’re not going to be scared into submission again. “I’m not your wife yet. My father still has time to pay.”

He laughs at you, spittle flying from your lips and sprinkling across your cheeks. “He has time to pay, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be getting you back, sweetheart.” Your eyes widen with the realization and you want to throw yourself off the side of the train. 

You never had any chance to get out of this situation. Mr. Crane was always in control of it all. To even think of having a hope of getting back home was foolish. To believe for a second that you were going to escape this had been utter idiocy. 

He sees the crestfallen expression and sinks into his seat with a satisfactory look on his face. He thinks you to be subdued. But now you’re nothing more than a cornered animal with no other choice of escape. You’ve got nothing left for you, nothing to hold onto. 

As much as you’d thought you’d bonded with Arthur, you were still nothing more than a job to him. You were nothing more than a commodity to be traded between men. You would never have a say over your life. 

You have nothing, you doubt you ever actually had anything left for you. You glance over at the man beside you and feel a cool dread blanket itself over you. Nothing left to lose. 

There’s a solid weight tucked into the bodice of your dress. Its cool metal has been warmed by your skin. Its handle curves around your ribs and it only has one bullet left. You reach down the front of your dress, fingers curling around the revolver you’d stolen from a dead man. 

Finch glowers at your inappropriate behavior “What are-” You pull the gun out, turning it on him. He jumps back in shock and throws his hands in the air on instinct. “Please-” you revel in his pathetic pleading only for a moment. Pulling the trigger a second time is surprisingly easy. The screams that ring out through the train car are less enjoyable. “Shit!” He cusses, hands coming up to try and staunch the flow of blood pouring from his stomach. 

You slip your hand into his blazer, stealing the money before he can object. You run out of the passenger car, leaping to the flat car with all the cargo. It will take a few minutes for them to catch onto what happened and figure out where you went. 

You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You’re stuck on a moving train, there’s nowhere for you to hide. You hadn’t thought when you’d shot him, you just wanted that smug look on his face to disappear. 

“Where is she?” You hear the guards shouting out your name, flipping over crates to find you. They’re still at the front of the train, but you don’t have long until they start moving back here. 

God, what have you done?

You just know, if you made it to that train station, you were never going to make it out. His men would be waiting there to transport you. You’d be watched every second of your life, you can’t do it again. You can’t be locked in a gilded cage, that’s not a life worth living. 

There’s no escape for you. Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. You glance over the left side of the train. There’s a slight dip into a deep ravine. The crashing water looks almost peaceful from up here. 

You don’t know if it would be a quick death but you know it would be merciful compared to what’s waiting for you at your last stop. You keep your eyes on the water, see yourself taking control of your life for the first time, and take a step up on the rail. 

Someone shouts your name from the right side of the train and you gasp, arms circling wildly as you almost go toppling over the edge. They shout your name again, panic laced in the tone. This doesn’t sound like Finch or any of the other guards. You whip around and find Arthur riding his horse beside the train. 

“What the hell are you doing, woman?” 

Your brows furrow in confusion and your eyes dart between him and the ravine. “Jumping! What the hell are you doing?”

His gaze narrows and he shouts to be heard over the rumble of the train tracks. “Stopping you from being a goddamn fool. Get over here!” You hear the guards getting closer as they storm down the rest of the train. 

You don’t have long to make a decision, you can already see his horse struggling to keep up with the speed of the train. There’s a bridge coming up in a moment, he won’t be able to go any further and they won’t be able to come after you. 

It’s a split-second decision, one that has you pushing off the railing of the car and rushing towards him. You don’t have time to doubt yourself or plan this out further, you take a running leap off the train, towards his outstretched arms. 

He barely catches you in time, jerking on the reigns of the horse and bringing him to a sudden stop before all three of you go tumbling into the water. Shots fire off on the train, but they’re gone before they can do any real damage. 

Your chest heaves as you dangle from his arms, fingers digging into his shirt desperately. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you almost can’t hear what he’s saying, but you get the gist of it. 

“The hell were you thinking? Trying to jump off the damn train! You’re a fool, woman.” He tugs you onto the saddle the rest of the way. As much as he tries to sound angry you can feel his relief in the way he squeezes you close to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, head sinking into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent. 

He sighs, struggling between yelling at you more and just enjoying the fact that he got to you before you did something neither of you could recover from. “You’re welcome, just,” he pauses, holding you a little closer, “don’t be so damn stupid again.”

You laugh and it’s a little wet as tears start to pool in your eyes. “I’m not planning on it.” You sit up, easing away from him and glancing over your shoulder. You watch as the train grows smaller until you can only see a plume of smoke and nothing more. “What the hell are we going to do?”

He sighs and turns the horse around. You maneuver yourself around, facing forward and pushing back against him.  “I don’t know. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy about you comin’ back with me.” 

You bite your lip, a hundred different possibilities swirling through your head. You’ve never been able to make a choice before, faced with it, you’re overwhelmed with options. You can’t pick one so you blurt out the first coherent thought you have. 

“What if we don’t go back?”

Arthur stills behind you, “What?” His tone is low and filled with something you know means he’s ready to say no. 

“Just for a little while,” you rush the words out quickly, trying to fight for a chance to get him to listen. “We can send this to the camp,” you tug out the wad of cash you’d stolen from Finch and Arthur barks out a laugh. You feel his chest tremble behind you and it makes you grin. 

“Did you steal his money?”

“Your money, technically,” you correct, grinning over your shoulder at him. “Besides, he doesn’t need it anymore.” He gives you a concerned look but you just wave him off. “We can send the camp some money and go off on our own for a while.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt, glaring at him. “It’ll only be for a little while, Arthur. Come on, I’m free for the first time in my life, enjoy it with me.”

He looks uncertain and you know it’s an odd notion to him, putting himself first instead of the camp or Dutch. You’re sure he’s never done it before. Breaking away from them instead of going about like the loyal soldier he is. 

“Just a little while?”

You nod, turning just enough to tuck the money in his pocket. “Just a little while,” you swear.

“John Marston!” You frown, turning away from the oven and glancing out the window. Arthur’s grinning by the gates of the horse pen, leaping over the wood, and walking out to greet someone. You abandon the stew, heading towards the door of your home. 

Outside are two horses, one with a woman and her son, and an abandoned one. The owner is currently bringing Arthur into a brief embrace, John, you presume. Arthur’s told you about him a bit. They weren’t always close but it was getting better before Arthur went away. 

Sometimes you feel bad, having dragged him away from everything he was familiar with. You meant it when you said you only wanted to be gone for a little while. You knew if you went back immediately there would be hell to pay with Dutch and you’d both be put to work. 

You’d be going from one owner to another. All you’d wanted was a few weeks on the road on your own. But a few weeks turned into six months and then a year, and it was Arthur telling you he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t stand what the gang was turning into. What Dutch was turning into. All you’d given him was an excuse to finally get out before it all blew up.

You walk down the steps of the home Arthur built, wiping your hands off on your apron. You give a brief wave to the woman you assume is Abigail. She waves back, slipping off the horse and helping Jack down. 

Arthur pulls away from John, turning towards you and motioning you forward. John gives you an apprehensive look. “Do I know you?”

Arthur gives him your name, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in closer. “That job Dutch got from Crane.” John’s face lights up with recognition and he smirks. 

“I see,” he shakes his head and gives Arthur a knowing look. “It’s always a woman with you, isn’t it?” You snort at how aggrieved Arthur looks. “Well,” John turns towards you and smiles, “nice to finally meet the woman that got him under control.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you smile lightly at him, pulling away from Arthur. “Are you going to be joining us for dinner?”

“No, he’s not,” Arthur answers at the same time John says, “I would love to.”

Arthur and John share a look you can’t understand. You glance past John and wave Abigail forward, “Come in, please. I’d enjoy the company.”

“Forgive my obstinate husband, he tends to linger where he ain’t wanted.” She brushes past him and you lead her inside your home. Leaving Arthur and John to bicker outside. Jack stays outside, smiling up at Arthur. You know he’s missed the boy, you’re sure he’s okay entertaining them for one night. 

Abigail helps you set the table while Arthur and John catch up over a bottle of whiskey. Arthur tried to pull out a cigar but you’d shut that down quick. He’d had a cough a little while ago and the doctor advised cutting down on tobacco if he wanted it to go away. You know it’s hard but you’re cracking down on how much he smokes. 

“We got the money you sent,” John’s telling Arthur as they come over to join you all at the table. Jack eagerly hops into the seat beside Arthur before you can snag it and you grin. “Dutch blew it all and wouldn’t tell us on what. He kept saying we still needed another score.”

John shakes his head and the distant look in his eyes makes your stomach churn. “You’re a lucky bastard you got out when you did, Arthur, truly.”

“Hosea?” Arthur questions and you grimace at the look on John’s face. You can see Arthur deflate as John shakes his head. 

“There was a bank robbery, Molly told the Pinkertons we were going to be there, he didn’t make it.”

Arthur’s hand clenches around the fork and you wish you could say something that would make him realize it’s not his fault. “I should have been there,” he mutters. 

“Wouldn’t have done anything, man. Hosea had given up in the end. We all had. It was so damn divided, the family was gone.”

“Still.” Arthur insists, glaring down at his plate like it had offended him. 

“No,” to your surprise it’s Abigail that snaps. “Dutch was gone and that bastard Micah just kept pushing him over the edge. The only thing you would have done is get yourself killed. You’re damn lucky Arthur Morgan.”

You’re sure he’ll still blame himself later. Reason a hundred times over that had he been there something would have been different. Even if it was him on the other end of the gun he’d be happier knowing someone else hadn’t died when it could have been him. You couldn’t stand that these self-sacrificing ideals Dutch had drilled into him were still present. 

But you know Abigail and John help ease the guilt slightly. It’s on Arthur to let it go entirely, though you doubt that will happen anytime soon. John picks up on the change in mood, he’s reluctant to let the night sour so soon. 

He turns towards you with a look that makes you feel like you need to prepare for trouble. “So you did all that to escape getting married. And then you marry this moron?” He motions towards Arthur and you can’t help but laugh. 

“John!” Abigail snaps but he only smiles at her. You can see the way she fights the twitch of her lips and it makes you smile in turn. 

You correct him, “We’re not technically married-”

“Might as well be,” Arthur argues, glaring at John. You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing. You can’t help but laugh at him. 

“Yeah, we might as well be,” you agree. “But it was never about not wanting to be a wife. I just wanted to have a damn choice. That’s what I got out here. I can hunt or cook. Sew or go out and make some money. And it’s a lot nicer being a wife out in the country than it is in the city, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Here’s hoping,” Abigail mutters. She glances towards Arthur, “That’s why we’re out here. We got word from a few people that you might be lurking around here. John’s thinking of getting a house, really settling down.”

Arthur sighs, leaning back in his chair and glaring at John. “That’s why you’re here? You want a handout,” he accuses. 

“No!” John snaps. “Dammit, Arthur, why you always gotta assume the worst of me?”

“Because it’s usually true,” Arthur mutters. “If that’s not what you want then what is it?”

John purses his lips and lets out a spluttering breath. “A loan,” he lands on, struggling to find the right word. 

Arthur barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table and poking a knowing finger into John’s chest. “I knew it!”

John swats his hand away and glares. “Look, Morgan, I only need a little. Just to buy some animals, get started on the house.”

“What’d ya want Marston, my whole damn house?”

Abigail lands a gentle hand on your arm and nods to the porch. “They’ll be at it for a while.” You nod and leave the table, following her to the swing out back. She settles down on it with a sigh, gazing out at the trees that line your home. 

“You’ve got a nice life out here.”

You smile fondly, “I like to think so. We’re thinking about getting a few cows, maybe starting a proper ranch.”

Her face lights up at the idea and she laughs. “That’s what John wants. It’s unbelievable how similar they are, they’re too thick-headed to see it.”

You can still vaguely hear them bickering inside the house. You peer inside and see Jack sitting at the table, watching them both with an entranced expression. You can’t help but grin at the look on Arthur’s face. He’s laying into John but he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a while. 

You know he’s missing everybody, has been for a long time. Maybe if Abigail and John are close by he’ll have that sense of familiarity again. “The others,” you start, turning back to Abigail. “Charles and Sadie, what happened to everyone else?”

“A few of them are living good lives, some of them aren’t. Most of them are drifting, not ready to give up the outlaw life just yet.”

“It’s hard to watch the world change while you’re still stuck in the same spot.” You brush some hair out of your eyes and smile at Abigail. “Me and Arthur are gonna help you and John. But I’d like it if you were both close by. It would be nice to have someone familiar near us, we’re pretty lonely up here.”

She gives you a brief smile back, “I think that would be nice.”

John’s voice picks up from inside and you jump, “Oh that’s a load of bull-”

Abigail’s smile drops and she leans over your shoulder to shout, “Watch it!” at John. You laugh when you see the perturbed look on his face. She motions towards his son and Arthur gives John a smug look. 

“You gonna help him?” You ask Arthur as you settle into bed later. He opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace once you’re settled under the covers. 

“John?” You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course I’m gonna help him. But there’s nothing wrong with jerking him around a little bit first.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, tucking yourself under his chin. You almost think he’s asleep but then he’s speaking up again. “We should really do it.”

You pull back, brows furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

There’s a certain look in his eyes that causes something to swirl in your stomach. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just an excited one, “Get married.”

You give him a bewildered look, shaking your head in disbelief. Nearly five years you’ve both been living out here and he’s never once mentioned getting married. You never thought you two actually needed it. You always knew what you were to each other, how much you meant to one another. 

You were each other’s salvation. There’s no telling what graves you would be laying in were it not for Dutch bringing you both together. You hadn’t thought he wanted to be married, he always told you he’d given those dreams up. “You really mean that?”

He shrugs like it’s the easiest decision in the world. “Might as well, right?” 

You shake your head, but there’s no fighting the way your lips curl up. “You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.”

He nods, dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss on your temple. He treats you so gently, it makes you want to cry. But then he goes and says something ridiculous like, “Yeah, a fool for you,” and he makes you laugh. 

You tug him down, lips nearly touching his. “Yes,” you whisper, “I’ll marry you.” You were always scared of living a life like this. Being tied to one man for the rest of your time on earth. But he’s not some city man looking to make you into a pet. He lets you live, breathe, and be free. He’s a partner not a warden and that’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[kissitbttr]

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

he rolls his eyes each time you confront him about his alcohol consumption and weekend parties. demanded you to stay out of his way because he doesn’t belong to you and vice versa. so he’s free to do whatever he wants

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who goes to classes whenever he pleases, ignoring your advice about taking care of his grades because you want to see him excel in everything. not just football. he refuses to have you mentor him because he doesn’t want to be babied

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who throws or give away every cookie and home cooked meals you make for him for lunch. he hates the little notes you give him, so he crumples the papers and put it in a bin. he hates how you smile each time you see him on hallways or campus park, calling by his nickname ‘kuna!’ it’s so embarrassing. jesus, can you shut the fuck up?!

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who flirts with girls during parties and classes, inviting them over to have sex despite knowing how you feel about him. what the two of you have is a casual thing, he’s not your boyfriend! so why should he gives a shit about you crying when you see him holding a girl’s hand, guiding her upstairs.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who promises that he’ll change as long as you stay the night after a fuck session. he break down your walls by giving you an aftercare and a glass of water. he lets you cuddle into his chest and kisses the top of your head… only to kick you out the next morning because he’s seeing yorozu and he doesn’t want you around.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who pretends like he doesn’t know you exist except when he’s hitting you up late at night. smirking to himself at just how easy it is for you to respond immediately. god, it’s too easy.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who’s expression remains stoic when you pour your heart out to him… telling him how much you want to be his despite everything that he did to you. all because you are certain that he cares about you. but he denies it. telling you to fuck off because he doesn’t want you beyond sex. so either you stay as his fuck buddy or leave.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who throws a party thirty minutes after you left crying from his room. shrugging it off and decides he’s going to fuck different girls that night by the help of his friends. gojo and geto.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who feels like something is wrong not having you by his side. it has been weeks that you left and he hasn’t seen you a lot on campus. discreetly trying to find you through your friends, the classes you’re taking, even stalk through your social medias. only to find you have already blocked him out of your life.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who sees you at the campus park after going missing from his life. you were wearing a smile that he finds so pretty annoying and a look of glow that he has never seen before. you were laughing with your friends and your hand was… wait a minute…

gojo satoru?!

frat!sukuna is an asshole

who marches to gojo after practice and punch him straight into his jaw until he tumbles. yelling at the white haired man for stealing you away when he was supposed to be sukuna’s best friend. how long has its been going on? when did you guys meet? are you two dating already?

gojo doesn’t care. he doesn’t care about being sukuna’s best friend. all he cares about is you. the sweet gorgeous girl who he had his eyes on throughout junior year. even during the times you were hooking up with sukuna… he still has his eyes on you.

and gojo loves you. dear god, he loves you. there is nothing in this world he wouldn’t give.

frat!sukuna is a fucking asshole

who quiets down when gojo admits his feelings about you. because he could treat you better than that pink haired bastard who doesn’t care about you. because gojo notices everything. he notices the food that you cooked, the notes, the nickname, the coddling, the sweet cheery voice when you see sukuna… what kind of man would give that up?

you have so many flowers to receive and gojo is not going to miss out on that chance to hand them to you.

and sukuna releases his grip around gojo’s collar, backing away from the man without another word and out of the locker room. frustrated with himself and curses himself in the head for being this way.

frat!sukuna is an asshole…

…who’s too late to say he actually fucking loves you

[unluckiestmember]

Mouthwashing X Innocent! Reader

Characters: Anya, Swansea, Daisuke, Curly and Jimmy

Warning: Mention of death, but outside of that, none. SFW.

A/N: Should I open up requests for Mouthwashing? I absolutely love this game so I wouldn't mind doing some headcanons here and there for it!

Anya

When it came to everyone in the Tulpar, Anya tried her best to have a strong bond with her crewmates. You were no exception. She found your presence along the spacecraft to be a breath of fresh air. She is always delighted to see you and super excited to teach you all she knows about medical practices and safety she’s read up on. When you, her and Daisuke are together on game nights, she always knows it’s going to be one of the best nights ever.

Some nights when she stays up, she appreciates your company and will even tap into her motherly instincts by laying your head on her shoulder or lap while she hums a tune to you. You are one of the only people who knew about her “incident” and jumped straight into action against Jimmy. Anya greatly appreciated it but always tries to keep you out of trouble out of fear of you getting hurt. The final days of her life were hard, but at least she can look back and confidently say that you were one of the best people she’s ever met. She hopes you two meet again in another life…

Swansea

Swamsea didn’t like you when he first met you. He thought you were another airhead like Daisuke or some quiet soul like Anya. But after a while, he came to secretly care for you like one of his children back on Earth. You are one of the only people he opens up about his family to, reminiscing on the past and revealing his inner turmoil as a father. He appreciates how you simply listen instead of overlapping him, bearing his heart to you unlike another lovable young member aboard to Tulpar.

If you love shoes, Swansea will find it easier to love you since the both of you bond over shoes of many kinds. If your shoes get ruined during the crash, he won’t hesitate to give you his own shoes so you don’t hurt your feet on loose materials. Swansea reminds you a lot of your own father, so you guess you can call him a dad away from home? He’ll act annoyed, but he secretly loved this title. He always did…

Daisuke

Let’s not lie to ourselves, when Daisuke first laid eyes on you, he wasted no time rushing to your side. In your eyes, you might’ve seen only a fellow co-worker, but for him, he saw a new friend. The both of you ended up being pals way before the Tulpar even set off into space! The members aboard the ship like to label you two as siblings, one being a chaotic brother and the other the sweet gentle sibling. A golden retriever and a puppy to say the least.

When he’s not bothering Swansea or hanging out with Anya, he’s rushing to your side to see if you want to take turns playing Pokemon on his gameboy or if you want to play dress up with his abundance of clothing. Sometimes he’ll open up about his life at home, revealing the troubles he has with his parents and how he doesn’t like to be labeled as the “rich kid on board for fun and games”. It hurts, but it helps knowing that you’re sweet enough to look past that aspect of him. Even with that axe hanging over his head, he could at least close his eyes and drift to sleep knowing that in taking this job, he met his true best friend; You.

Curly

Though the both of you didn’t spend much time together, whenever Curly was around he always tried his best to make sure you were comfortable along the Tulpar. When you two first met, he could tell you were shy and nervous about your space voyage together. So in good spirits, he opened up a dialogue of Pokemon with you, leading to not only you revealing more of yourself to him, but also attracting the rest of the team. Whenever he had cake aboard the ship, he would always sneak his slices over to you and Daisuke since he made sure to note you loved sweets.

After evaluations with Anya and others, he always made sure to treat you in some way for being such a good member of the crew. The time the both of you spent together was short, but also as sweet as commodorative cake and Curly would’ve loved to spend more time with you. Unfortunately, his chance has passed… There were so many times he wished he would have opened up to you and just. Be your friend instead of your captain… Some captain he was, right? If only he knew that even up to the end, you still cared for him…

Jimmy

If you got any requests for Arcane or X-Men '97, send them my way! Screw it, if you have Mouthwashing requests too, then throw them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

[jinkicake]

Spring Is In The Air~

Something happens to them when the seasons change. 

Itto, Tighnari, Yae Miko, Zhongli x Reader

A/N: I wrote this like two months ago and never posted it... I’ve always wanted to try writing something like this so here is my pathetic attempt! It’s corny BUT, smutty!!! :-)

WC - 2,224

NSFWWWW // SMUTTYYY

~~~

ITTO

Itto is not subtle. Try as he might, the poor oni cannot learn the art of subtlety. His reactions always give him away to you within seconds. 

His struggle can currently be seen in the way he braces himself against the counter but still attempts to stand up straight to play it off. 

“Hey,” He sounds breathless, almost as if it is hard for him to breathe. You know he’s going to break any moment now, you can see it as his chest begins to rapidly rise and fall. His breathing quickens and all you can do is stare at his expanding chest. “I need you.”

Itto breaks every spring and putting him back together is your favorite part.

“Fuck me, fuck me!” Itto groans loudly and the sounds, one after another, fly off of the walls. He’s absolutely losing himself as you bounce on his lap, up and down while your thighs pound against his own. The pace is fast, quick, and your knees are not able to handle it alone. It’s entirely him, Itto uses the strength in his muscular arms to toss you around on his lap. His tongue hangs out of his mouth, eyes squeezed together shut all while both of your hands are wrapped around his throat. “Yes, yes, yes,” It’s almost pathetic, the way he is singing your praise and grinds down onto the mattress. He can’t get enough of the feeling, of it all. 

Itto is loud in everything that he does and he never shies away from expressing his desires. 

“I’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” He sounds entirely desperate, almost as if he is about to break into tears. You squeeze your thighs together and watch his every reaction as you clamp around him. His reaction is almost imminent. Itto’s hands on your waist squeeze you tightly as his bare nails dig into your skin as he cums with a drawn-out groan. The oni chases his high without stopping, still wildly thrusting up into you just as before. His pace then grows slower, impossibly slow as he slams into you a handful of times. There’s something final about this but, you know better. 

This is just the beginning. It takes hours to satisfy Itto, especially during the spring. 

You don’t even have the chance to catch your breath before you feel him twitching inside of you again, now hard as ever. His fast recovery is almost as quick as his reflexes. Itto pulls you off of him within a flash before mounting you from behind. 

“I’m sorry, just one more, one more, okay?” You can hear how his voice shakes in your ear but, you don’t have the chance to reply as he effortlessly slides back into you. In this position, you can hear everything, every puff of air that escapes his lips and every whimper that falls. Itto cries into your ear, tongue lapping at the surface as he moves his hips at a quick pace. “You’re fucking me so good,” 

You can almost feel him in your fucking stomach as you clamp around him but, his brutal strides feel so good. Each thrust against your bottom sends you flying and you end up face-first in the duvet. Itto keeps you still with a firm hand on your hip but, you can imagine how broken his expression must be as he groans above you. 

“One more time, one more time,”

((It’s never just one time with him.))

TIGHNARI

“(Y/N), please,” 

Hearing the forest ranger beg is something you are not used to. Tighnari never begs or yearns for your touch and attention. If he wants something, he takes it with little hesitation. 

Except when the seasons begin to change. 

When the air grows colder, something primal shifts in Tighnari. You can see it in the way his eyes soften into pools of need and how he becomes much more sensitive to the slightest touch. If you even think about touching his fingers, over his gloves, he will drop whatever is in his hands. 

Tighnari becomes reactive all over. 

“It’s happening again.” He murmurs into your ear as he presses up against your side. His tail wraps around your thigh, squeezing over and over again as he ruts into your leg. “I need you.” When Tighnari gets like this, you know it’s best to just let him take. 

“You poor thing,” Your voice is full of sympathy, perhaps a bit condescending, and it makes the forest ranger whimper. His ears flatten against the top of his head as his eyes squeeze shut in concentration. Your quiet sighs and hums only make him more delirious, Tighnari burrows his face into the crook of your neck and simply inhales. His breathing gets heavier as his messy thrusts become erratic. If he had not been holding onto you so tightly, you’re sure you would have fallen to the floor by now. 

He cums with a gasp, one that sucks the air from his lungs, and he tries to hide it by biting on your shoulder. Tighnari grits his teeth against your skin as little whimpers leave his lips, his tail rapidly thumping against your leg. His weight becomes too much and you both sink to the floor under his passion. 

That first orgasm meant nothing to him, it’s merely a warm-up. 

Tighnari can’t even bring himself to guide you to your shared bedroom, he takes you on the floor. 

He can’t help the way that he spreads your thighs and licks, running his tongue along your slit. The poor man devours it all, spitting and lapping up at whatever he can reach. His harsh sucks make you shiver and squirm but, you can’t move under the tight grip he has on your waist. 

“Ah,” Whatever Tighnari planned to say is muffled by your cunt as he shoves his tongue inside of you. He thrusts the muscle as far as he can go, ears flattened in concentration while his nose grinds against your clit. It’s as if he has become utterly consumed by you, everything about you because all he can focus on is getting his tongue in you as deep as possible. 

But then, he suddenly pulls himself off of you as if it hurts to touch you.

In the blink of an eye, Tighnari is above you, staring down while his legs get situated between your own. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry but, I need it,” His breathing has become erratic, eyes almost feral as he begins to heavily salivate. With his primal urges brought to the surface, you know you won’t be able to leave this position and similar ones for a few days. “I have to- I have to fuck you.” 

YAE MIKO

With the amount of time you’ve spent beside Yae Miko, you know her exceptionally well. 

You know when something begins to shift within her, almost as if it is in the air. It’s seen in the way the other shrine maidens keep their distance and in the way Miko’s fingers dance along your skin as she grabs you at any possible opportunity. She makes sure that she’s touching your bare skin, her pink nails nearly breaking it as she stands behind you. 

“I require your assistance, pet,” Her breathy voice always confirms it for you and is the tell-tale sign of when her primal urges begin to show. She drags you by your wrist to a lone room, one decorated exceptionally well with everything you could need to last for weeks. Your lover’s touch grows lighter.

“You know what I need from you.” Yae Miko stares down at you as if she is truly looking down on you, her eyes hold little interest but you know better. You can see how her finger is nearly starting to tremble and how her lips have begun to part. “Come here,” She doesn’t even have to lift a finger for you to stand in front of her, within her grasp. 

Her lips are on you without another second to spare. Immediately, it’s all tongue. She parts your lips with tight squeezes of your sides before her hands move to paw at your breasts. While letting her tongue run over your own, shoving the muscle as far down your throat as she can, she towers above you. Her moans are low and entirely full of pleasure. 

You have a belief that her urges bring out something in you, something similar because you can’t help but want to be used by her every season. 

With heavy hands, Miko pushes you to the ground forcefully on your back. She slowly lowers to her knees, watching you carefully as you pathetically stare up at her. Your lips are still part and slightly swollen because of her previous ministrations. It makes her heart stop as desire stirs in the pit of her stomach. 

She spreads your legs with her slim hands and hooks one of your thighs over her own. Your underwear is discarded in seconds by her nails and her shorts are magically on another side of the room. 

Yae Miko’s lips turn slightly upwards, almost in a mischievous grin as she presses your leg to your chest and sits on top of you. She’s hot, the touch of her skin nearly makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. An immediate roll of her hips makes you moan loudly, the feeling of her sopping cunt against your own renders you speechless. 

“How funny,” She coos but, struggles to hide back her own shakey exhales. Desire takes the forefront of her brain and all she can think about is satisfying the demanding urge in the pit of her stomach. Over and over, she presses her clit against your own and rubs at the sensitive area while roughly thrusting her hips. This is only the beginning, you’re too aware of it. 

With the way Miko is squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipple, you can’t help but anticipate the rest of her plans with you. 

ZHONGLI

After spending lifetimes with Zhongli, you still end up winded when the seasons change. 

Your husband is a dutiful man and always gives you a fair warning, a notice before something ever happens with his body. However, sometimes a warning is not nearly enough. 

It’s been days since his insides have turned into a molten heat and Zhongli has not been shy about tackling this issue with you. You’re always so good to him, let him do whatever he desires just to satisfy the annoying urges. 

Day after day, he can’t help but grow stronger about his affections. He’s a selfish man and he desperately needs more. 

“Oh, you’re-” The words can’t even leave his lips as his head tilts back, a loud moan leaves his lips. Zhongli grits his teeth painfully, grinding them down as his hand tightens in your hair. He’s not being careful and neither are you. You continue to choke on him, around him, as your spit coats his entire cock. The cool sensation makes your husband’s thighs twitch as he grunts at the feeling spreading between his legs. 

You feel incredibly lucky that his primal form has yet to take over, perhaps it won’t even show this time around. It would be nearly impossible to satisfy him with another appendage hanging between his thighs. But, the thought still makes you moan wantingly. 

“My love-” Zhongli finds it hard to speak, his balls painfully tight and it only gets worse when he sees your hand hidden between your thighs. He focuses on your fingers moving against your clit and his eyes nearly turn into slits as he focuses on the image. The realization that this brings you as much pleasure as it does him causes a guttural groan to leave his chest. “Come here,”

His voice changes, it becomes much deeper, much more commanding. Zhongli doesn’t wait for you, he roughly pulls you up to your feet before pulling you into his lap. The way he manhandles you, forcing you to sit back on his face makes your entire being light up with need. 

“Morax!” You screech as your hands press into his abdomen, his tongue doesn’t waste a second now that you’re on him. The archon presses his tongue into your cunt, thrusting in and out before running the muscle over your clit. The stimulation makes it hard to focus but, you still reach for his heavy cock. 

You grip him tightly and lick at his slit, tongue digging into the area as you hum at the taste. Zhongli’s grip on your thighs becomes stronger and he fights back with his sharp nails digging into your skin. Had you been any more focused, you would have thought he had grown claws.

Your cunt pulses around his tongue and all Zhongli can do is continue to shove the muscle inside of you. He doesn’t shy away from rubbing against your walls, no, he has his own agenda. It’s almost sick how he coaxes you to gush around him, all so he can swallow it greedily to satisfy some gut-clenching demand. 

But, he can’t help it, he also can’t help how his skin begins to turn and scales spread across his arms. He can’t help but connect with his primal side when you satisfy the very deepest desires that he has. 

[honeyhotteoks]

lessons in intimacy (k.ys)

summary: you didn't mean to actually meet the man who's audio porn was single handedly getting you off every night, but you do.

note: this has been a looooong time coming and is dedicated to one of my best friends, grace. 💗 i hope everyone enjoys this chaotic smut fest.... also i've recently discovered that porn is actually illegal to produce or consume in korea? so suspend your disbelief for this fic lol

warnings: camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader, it's a smut-a-thon barely a plot in sight featuring - nsfw/audio porn, guided masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, lots and lots of orgasms, use of dildo, nipple play, one night stand dynamics except they kind of fall for each other, big and i mean big dick yeosang, oral sex (f receiving), gratuitous squirting, fingering, thigh riding/grinding, protected and unprotected sex (do not do this they're being hella dumb), rough sex, maaaaaajor praise play he says good girl more times than i can count, so much use of 'baby', plus pretty girl/babygirl, absolute pleasure soft dom yeosang of our dreams, reader literally passes out from coming you're welcome

pairings: yeosang x reader

genre: smut and more smut, where's the plot???

word count: 14.5K

additional note: yeosang owns a cafe in this fic called ongozisin, it's a real cafe in seoul and you can check out their ig here! the vibes are truly so yeosang i can't even articulate it, so i just wanted to share this for the extra visual!

Paid porn for women has tiers. You stumble headfirst into this realization with your fingers stuffed inside yourself and your body slick with sweat, and there’s nothing that takes you right out of your frantic self care session than a request for your credit card number and a terms of service page. 

Your chest is heaving, legs shaking, and you feel your orgasm slip right through your fingers as you skim over his Fansly page. You should have just skipped to another one of his free audios on Pornhub like you always do, but this week was long and stressful and slightly emotionally fraught, and there’s only so many times you can ignore his husky little ad at the end of the audio file inviting you to check out the full, uncut content. 

“Jesus,” You breathe, pushing yourself up in the bed and letting your phone drop to the side as you recover your breath. 

Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to pay for porn? The internet is full of it, spilling over from every angle with any little thing you can imagine. There’s a reason Rule 34 exists, people are horny and people love attention, so if you can fathom it there’s free porn of it. 

And yet, nothing ever, ever gets you there like he does, and you’ve never even seen his face. 

You glance down at your phone again and you see his familiar header image, a deeply contrasted black and white header of tangled white sheets, and his username striking across the corner in neon green. fromryu. This is what drew you in initially, the simplicity of it all. You were sick of skimming through all of the men making porn for women with names like ‘TheMasterDominant’, ‘Your_Daddy’, or ‘forherpleasureee’ and then just listening to them groan in your ear and call you a slut for fifteen minutes. That might work for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for you. 

Ryu was different, is different. His audios are a mix of scenario based role-plays and straight forward guided masturbation for women, and you’re pretty sure he comes right along with you when you listen, but it’s just not the same.

You’ve fucked yourself to every single one of his free audios. Some of them more than once, some of them several times, if you’re being honest. You’ve always ignored his ads, because he gives so much content away for free you can’t imagine what would be behind a paywall that would get you off harder, until today. 

Your brain just couldn’t get there. You’ve heard him chuckle that chuckle before, say that line before, coax you into orgasm with those exact words before, and you need more. 

Your credit card is firmly in your hand before you can give it another thought, and with a fluttering stomach you tuck yourself into a robe and back into bed to pick a tier. With a long sip of a fresh glass of wine you lean back in your pillows and read through his welcome page. 

His tiers make you smirk, he’s funny.

Third base, full uncut audios and one special audio per month just for subscribers – $4.99/month

Just the tip, uncut audios, one special audio per month, and access to a private discord server where subscribers can make audio request submissions – $9.99/month

Every inch (and more), uncut audios, exclusive audios, access to discord, exclusive video content, and access to a private Snapchat - $24.99/month

In for a penny, in for a pound, you guess. 

You click on ‘Every inch (and more)’ and plug in your card numbers before you have a second to rethink your decision. You really hope you don’t get hit with a fraud alert that you have to explain to some poor customer service representative. 

The wheel spins, the charge goes through, and suddenly you’re in. Your mouth has never been so dry. 

There’s dozens of videos, dozens. For every audio you’ve listened to on Pornhub, there’s a video that goes with it, and for every free piece of content there’s two times as much paid video content. $24.99 was nothing compared to how many hours of content you’re suddenly sifting through. 

There’s a common thread across every video though, you can already tell from the thumbnails, Ryu still never shows his face. Almost every thumbnail is the same, a white wall and a charcoal gray couch, and a man wearing oversized black sweatpants and a tight black athletic shirt. 

His knees are parted, legs spread open and casual, and his hands rest clasped between them. You swallow thickly at the sight of his arms. He’s built. His hands are so good looking you think idly that he should just be modeling watches or something, it’s ridiculous how nice they are. His skin is tanned, veins snaking up his forearms, and silver rings across several of his long, thick fingers. Can the sight of a man’s hands make you come? Your aching clit throbs. 

You skim through the video titles and tags to try and select one and your stomach twists. His videos are even more varied than the free content he posts and organized so well you think you might be in love with him already. 

There’s a folder for role play videos, and you skim through that quickly just to see. Neighbor overhears you moaning and comes to check on you, best friend takes your virginity, boss and secretary working late, brother’s best friend slips into your room at a sleepover, step-daddy teaches his babygirl a lesson. 

Your cheeks flush hot pink and you settle further into your sheets, backing out of this folder and navigating to your tried and true favorite.

Guided masturbation and encouragement. 

There are even more videos in this folder and you skim through any of those ones that say ‘exclusive’ in the title to avoid ones you’ve already heard parts of. The hashtags alone leave you breathless and you have no idea what to choose, every video cleanly tagged with what you’ll need to be able to keep up with his instructions. Hands only, rabbit vibe, hitachi wand, bullet vibe, dildo, butt plug, nipple clamps, lubricant, massage oil, blindfold, wrist restraints, ankle restraints, the list goes on and on.

You select one at almost random with the tags ‘hands and fingers’, ‘dildo’, and ‘optional squirting’. 

The screen starts black, and for a second you’re pretty sure something’s wrong, but then you hear him. 

“Hi everyone,” Your muscles melt, and you push your noise canceling earbuds deeper into your ears, “I have something a little special today,” 

You’ve never heard him talk so casually, almost like a vlogger or something. His voice hasn’t yet shifted into that deep teasing tone that kicks off every free video, and you’re already sold on every dollar you’ve spent when he starts to just chat. 

“I got a request from a special subscriber in my discord,” He says, “someone who’s become a friend and who confided in me that she’s never been able to make herself squirt,” 

Your breath comes a little more quickly. 

“It’s not easy to do, I know,” He says, tenderly, the screen still black, “and I want you all to know that if you’re still struggling after this audio, that’s okay. It takes time, and your body is not a sex toy. There’s not a perfect combination that works for every person with a vagina,” 

Your brow quirks at the inclusivity of his language choice and you smile a little, easing yourself down in the bed to keep listening to him. 

“But I’m going to do my best to help you,” He continues, “so while I get set up over here, I need you to get your own space ready. Get up out of bed or off the couch, but keep me with you, okay, baby?” 

You’re shaking and he hasn’t even said anything sexy yet. You don’t always listen perfectly to instructions, sometimes you skip ahead a bit and get to the good stuff just to get yourself off, but this time it’s different. You tuck your phone in your robe pocket and stand. 

“For this session,” You can almost see the smile in his voice and you try to imagine him, “you’ll need a couple of good towels laid out across your space. You’ll need to drink a big glass of water before we get started, and then I want you to find your best dildo, the one that really makes you come hard. The one that fills you up just right, that hits that tender little place you wish I was touching with my fingers,” 

He’s going to make you come so hard you see Jesus, you can tell already. 

“We need everything to be perfect,” He says, “and for you to be comfortable. Tonight is not the night to test out that new toy, okay? Tonight is for you and me, so go and get your supplies, and I’ll tell you all about my day. I’ll be your favorite little sexy podcast.”

As he starts warmly talking to his audience about his long lazy morning off work, you nearly crumble. You’re really not supposed to be getting a crush on this guy, but here you fucking are. He’s sweet, casual and laughs a little while he talks, and while you gather up the towels and the water and the frankly oversized dildo, you’re smiling. 

You hear him sit down and sigh and then his voice shifts, just a little, “Alright, baby, are you ready?” 

You sink back back down to sit on your own bed and you wait. 

“Just a reminder,” He says, “I will be using female descriptors throughout this video. If you’re uncomfortable with me calling you ‘girl’, like babygirl or good girl, or referring to you as a woman in any way, I am posting the similar content with male descriptors. If you’d prefer to hear baby boy or good boy, check the links below this video, okay?” 

You smile again. 

“Alright,” He hums, “now, where were we?” 

The camera clicks on and you feel the little gasp leave you. You almost forgot. 

He leans back on the couch and keeps talking, “That’s right, the lesson. Get settled over the towels, and if you’re wearing anything, it’s time to take it off for me.” 

You lay back over the towels and let your robe part open. 

“That’s so good,” He croons softly, “god, you’re so pretty, baby,” 

Your chest thumps hard. 

“Let’s start slow, okay?” His hands smooth over his thighs, “the key here is teasing, and I know how much you like it when I tease you.” 

Your hand rests on your own thigh, your other propping up the phone as you watch with rapt attention. 

“Touch your pretty thighs for me,” His voice is rich and thick in your ears, “that’s a good girl, there we go, nice and soft. Is your pussy wet? Did I do that to you again, pretty girl?” 

You’re barely breathing, eyes fixated on the screen as he strokes his own thigh through his sweatpants, slow and steady. 

“Are you aching?” He asks and you can’t help but nod, feeling like suddenly he can see you through the screen. 

“Touch just a little,” He murmurs, “but don’t jump ahead. Keep your fingers off your clit, we’re not there yet, sweetheart.” 

A little tight sound slips out of you as you follow his instructions. 

“Is your sweet slit wet?” He hums, and his hand slides up his thigh and rests over his stomach, “Are you throbbing?” 

Fuck. 

“Someday, baby,” He sighs and you watch him shift on the couch cushions, “I’ll taste you,” 

“Fuck,” You whisper. 

“But for now,” He’s smiling, you know it, “you just need to listen to me and do everything I tell you,” 

You’re nodding again. 

“I promise,” He says, “I’ll take such good care of you baby, if you listen, I promise to make you come.” 

Your stomach clenches, core fluttering, and you drift your fingertips up and down your slit, following the way his middle finger is slowly sliding back and forth on his abs. 

“Are you listening?” His voice goes husky and your head drops back into the pillows. Next time you’ll need a better way to watch him and listen and touch yourself, but you’re so incredibly desperate at this moment that it really doesn’t matter, you’ll make due. 

“You are, aren’t you?” He murmurs, “Good girl,” 

Your legs spread a little wider. 

He leans forward, you hear the rustling of the fabric and you snap your eyes back to the video to see him leaning forward, hands clasped together loosely, and you’re pretty sure you can see the outline of a bulge in his sweatpants. 

“Does it hurt?” He croons, teasing. 

You love him like this. 

“Take your hand away from your pussy,” He says, just a little more commanding, “right now, baby,” 

You pull it back reluctantly. 

“Close your eyes for a minute,” He murmurs, “spread your legs for me,” 

You comply immediately. 

“Tease your nipples,” He sounds a little breathier now and you fight the urge to watch the video, “do whatever feels good, touch your tits exactly the way you like it,” 

You roll your nipples, tugging them softly and kneading your breasts with both hands now that you’re not propping up the phone. 

“Imagine me with you,” He says, “feel my fingers sliding up your calves, my lips on your inner thigh, you can feel my breath against your sweet cunt, I know you can,” 

You’re about to come untouched, that’s the thought that rocks through your mind when your hips jerk on their own, his deep voice nestled right in your ear. 

“Look at you,” He muses, “squirming around, so fucking desperate for something inside you,” 

Your breath catches. 

“You’re so needy,” He continues, “are you making noise for me? Little pants, little moans? Are you trying to be quiet?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, a soft scold, “Not with me, baby,” 

A moan bubbles up out of you. 

“Hands off.” 

Your eyes open immediately, and you don’t pull your hands away just yet, but you’re frozen still. You’re breathing hard, blush climbing up your chest, and your hips jerk slightly. If he doesn’t let you touch yourself soon, you’re going to lose your mind. 

“Good girl,” He says after a moment, “very good,” 

You drop your hands, scrambling for the phone so you can see what he’s going to do next. 

“Now watch me,” He instructs, holding his palm up to the camera, “take two fingers,” he separates his fingers, keeping his middle and index fingers tucked together, “and when they’re inside curl them just like this.” He crooks his fingers in a come-hither motion, “Just like this,” 

You slide your hand down your front, slipping your fingers through your soaked folds, but his voice makes you pause. 

“Go slow,” He instructs, “push them in nice and slow for me,” 

You follow his instructions. 

“There you go,” He sighs softly, “now curl your fingers,” 

You watch as he does it in the video and you follow instructions dutifully, your fingers brushing over your spongy g-spot. 

“Feel that?” He leans back, and the tent in his sweatpants makes you pant, “That perfect little spot that makes you whine so good for me?” 

You nod again, biting down on your lip, desperate to move but waiting. 

“When I say,” He slips his fingertips into his sweatpants, teasing you, “fuck your perfect pussy with those fingers,”

Sweat drips down your chest. 

His hand disappears into his sweats and he groans, “Now,” 

You don’t have to be told twice. 

“Harder,” He says, throaty and low, “I know you can,” 

A tight sound slips out of you as you work yourself, but you nearly fall apart when you watch him push down the top of his sweats. His cock is huge, there’s no other way to say it. Thick and perfect, aching pink at the head and when he wraps his hand around himself you feel the tense knot of your orgasm rushing back. 

“Oh, f-fuck,” You scramble in the sheets, pulsing your fingers in and out just like he told you to. 

“Look at you,” He says again, “fucking yourself for me. I bet you’re imagining my fingers, aren’t you? Just like I’m imagining your dripping pussy,” 

Pleasure rocks in your gut. 

“Use your other hand,” He instructs, “rub that clit for me,” 

You drop the phone like it’s hot, and you have to crane your neck to see the video, but it doesn’t matter. He’s given you the perfect permission to do exactly what you need and you have to take it. 

“Does that feel good, baby? Yeah? Do you feel like you need to come for me?” His voice gets closer to the microphone and you’re rapidly approaching the edge, “You’re so close, fuck, listen to you,” 

“God, oh god,” Your legs are trembling. 

“Do you see how hard you make me?” His fist jerks over his cock faster and your mind is unraveling, none of his other audios feel like this, “Do you know how much I want to see you come?” 

Pressure drops in your belly. 

“Fuck,” He pants, “you’re almost there, I know you want to come for me, but not until I say,” 

It’s happening whether he wants it to or not, whether you want it or not, and your fingers bear down harder on your clit, your eyes locking closed, head falling back. 

“Hands off,” He’s not teasing anymore, he’s telling, “right now, babygirl, hands off.” 

You pull your hands away and it’s possible that nothing has ever felt as bad as this one stolen orgasm. Your hands are shaking, body flushed and slick with sweat, and if any of your neighbors are up they are probably getting an earful. 

You lock eyes with the video again and his hands rest on his knees, cock standing tall and at attention, edging with you. 

“Get that dildo nice and wet,” He says, and you search your sheets for the silicone cock, “in your mouth pretty girl, imagine that’s my cock between your lips,” 

He strokes his hand slowly down his length, smearing a bead of precum down to the base of his shaft as you dip the cock between your lips and take it as far in your mouth as you can. 

“It’s time to come,” He soothes, like he knows you’re a whining, quivering mess, “I know you need it,” 

The dildo pops free from your mouth and you watch as he lifts the hem of his shirt to expose the smooth plane of his abs, “Fuck yourself with me, sweetheart,” 

Pleasure pops through you as you press the toy to your hot channel. 

“Nice and fast,” He pleads, thrusting into his fist, “don’t stop this time, not until you come,” 

The bubble inside you expands again, pressure everywhere. 

“Just trust me,” He whispers in your ear, “don’t stop. I’ve got you, I’m right here, you let go baby. Don’t fight it,” 

Your back arches up off the bedding, the muscles in your arm aching as you thrust the toy in and out of yourself, pressing it up again and again into your g-spot. 

“Come, baby,” He sounds like he’s begging, and your free hand flies down to grip the sheets, “let go, you come, that’s it, there you go,” 

You turn your head, catching sight of him again and the way he works himself over. 

“There we go,” He groans sharply, his own release spurting up ropes of cum onto his exposed chest, “can you feel me inside you? Come with me, that’s a good girl, good fucking girl,” 

He sounds dizzy, panting himself, you’ve never heard him quite like this and one final thrust sends you spilling over the edge. Your vision whites, body locking up in ecstatic pleasure, and you clap a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that rips out of you. 

It takes a minute to come back from that. Your ears ringing, and the dildo slips out of you with a final pulse from your shattering orgasm. He’s talking, you register it, but his voice sounds far away and you realize that you’ve lost your earbuds. You scramble to get them back in, pulling the video up to your eyes. 

“-And that’s okay,” He’s saying, his cock tucked away and his shirt back down, “you can try again another time if you didn’t quite get there,” 

For a second you’re confused, it was the hardest orgasm of your life, but then you remember this was intended to be a guided masturbation to squirt and you blush, alone in your apartment, at the fact that you didn’t quite get there and he’s talking to you. 

“It’s all about the build up,” He explains, “but I’m sure with a little practice we can get you there.” 

You’ve never really cared about squirting until now, but he makes it sound like a perfect date and something tells you that you’ll be back here again night after night if he’ll have you. 

“Anyway,” He sighs and you hope he’s smiling above the camera, “thank you for spending a little bit of your day with me, I hope I made you feel as good as you made me feel,” 

You blush again. 

“I’ll see you soon,” He assures, gentle like a lover would, “sleep well, jagiya,” 

The video cuts and you blink hard, you’re still smiling. 

You are so, so fucked. 

After that, Ryu becomes a problem. You wish it was just the videos and the dirty talk and the good orgasms, but it’s more than that. You just like to hear him talk now, the little bits at the beginning about his day are starting to get into your head. And then there’s the Snapchat. 

You kind of expected the private Snap to be sexy photos and videos of him in the almost pitch dark huskily saying good morning, but it isn’t. You still have never seen his face, but his videos are casual, friendly, too real for a man you spend every night fantasizing about. He chats about things he’s doing or books he’s reading while he’s cooking, filming just shoulders down so you can watch the muscles in his arms while he chops vegetables. You fall in love with the sound of his voice when he’s just talking, his stretched out s-sounds that only really peek through outside of his constructed scenes. You find yourself missing him a little on days he doesn’t post. 

You’ve gotten used to waking up with him, falling asleep with him, checking in on him during the day. His message announcements in Snapchat don’t feel like they’re for everyone, they feel like they’re for you. You know that’s not true of course, you know you’re paying a hefty monthly bill just to feel like this, but you don’t care. It’s been a while, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t just need some company. 

It’s a Thursday when everything goes to shit. 

You wake up far too late, forgetting to set the alarm on your phone after falling asleep directly after yet another Ryu narrated orgasm, and everything has been off kilter since. You’re scrambling to get to work on time and every little thing is going wrong. Your coffee machine isn’t turning on, the sweater you want to wear is still in the wash, and your umbrella will not open despite the rain that’s ruining what would have been a good hair day. 

When you decide to stop into the coffee shop across from your office it’s not even a want, it's a need. You’re already thirty minutes late, why not make it forty-five? 

You’ve never come here, not once. You’re used to going to the shop around the block from your apartment, and this place is new. Ongozisin is the kind of place you’d normally take your time in. The space is clearly industrial, concrete walls and flooring made to look unfinished. The aesthetic is still warm though, with natural dark wood furniture and bamboo accents, Joseon era paintings and a juniper bonsai along the back wall. 

To the left side of the cafe stands a bay of tall windows and the very modern, very clean point of sale. The line isn’t too long, but you can see that the pace of this place is slower by design, so maybe you’ll just round up and call it an hour late. A door opens to your left and you watch as one of the baristas steps out from a kitchen holding two black plates of colorful, carefully constructed pastries. 

The line moves ahead of you, and the person behind you softly clears their throat to jog your attention. 

You step closer, only one person ahead of you now. 

When you hear his voice you nearly reach for your phone. 

“That’s perfect,” It’s Ryu, clear as day. His voice is distinct and deep and here. 

Your eyes snap up to the barista behind the counter, your body frozen stock still as you take him in, mind spinning. 

“Do you want any cream?” He says to the woman ordering. 

Blush lights up your cheeks and all you can think about is the video you watched the night before and his voice in your ear - Do you want my cum inside you, pretty baby? 

You should leave. There’s a reason this man is anonymous on the internet, never showing an inch of his face, and Ryu isn’t even his name, it's just what you call him. He never calls himself anything in the videos, never reveals what part of Korea he lives in, never talks about his job. He doesn’t want to be found. 

You’re about to turn, run, scramble away, but his voice comes again and this time you realize he’s talking to you. The man, Ryu, smiles, “Good morning, can I get you something?” 

You’re frozen. 

“Miss?” A little crease between his brows. 

“Sorry,” You jump forwards, ignoring the annoyed huff behind you and shaking off as much of this panic as you can, “I don’t know where my head is this morning,” 

“That’s alright,” He says warmly, “that’s what I’m here for,” 

You can’t say anything, your mind blanks. 

His eyes flick over you and then he nods, “You know, coffee? To wake you up?” 

“Right!” You nod, “Sorry, yes, an americano please,” 

“Iced or hot?” He asks. 

Are you feeling hot, babygirl? Do you need to take something off for me? 

“Hot,” You say it on a reflex but then you remember yourself, “no sorry, iced, iced please,” 

“Okay, sure,” He smiles, “iced,” 

You make it through payment without too much more embarrassment, apologizing again, and then you step to the side. Another barista appears, slotting into Ryu’s place so he can turn his attention to the drinks he needs to make and you take the moment to get composed. 

He’s handsome, that’s a given. You expected that, but still he looks even better than your imagination conjured up, more real. He looks exactly right for this cafe too, his black hair long enough to brush the base of his neck with half gathered into a ponytail, pieces loose to frame his angular face. He’s dressed smartly too, black oversized trousers and a fitted black t-shirt, slim black boots, and an open jacket in a dramatic modern-hanbok style. You realize you’re staring the minute his eyes hold on yours and they crinkle up as he smiles. He has a birthmark, a smooth light pink flush across his eye and your heart thumps in your chest. 

“Long night?” He asks you, passing off a coffee in a mug to the woman who had been ahead of you in line. 

He just puts you at ease and you nod, “Something like that,” 

“Ah,” He knocks out the round cake of used espresso from the portafilter as he talks, “and you look like you got caught in the rain, don’t you have an umbrella?” 

“Broken,” You grimace, “it’s been one of those mornings,” 

“Mm,” He nods, focusing on queueing up espresso for your americano, but while the shots pull he turns back to you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?” 

You shake your head, “No, first time,” 

“Do you like it?” He gestures around with a nod of his head. 

“Very much,” You smile, “it’s a great space,” 

He smiles again, looking proud, “I’m glad you like it,” he says, “we haven’t been open very long, but so far people have seemed to enjoy it,” 

“Oh,” You watch him pour your espresso over ice, “is the cafe yours?” 

He nods, “Mine and my friend’s,” 

You wish you weren’t late, you wish you were able to stay just a little longer. 

“Well,” You tell him honestly, “it’s beautiful here, I’ll have to come in more often, I only work across the street.”

“Ah,” He nods, “I thought you looked familiar,” 

Blush creeps up your neck. 

“Did you need cream?” He asks and you hope he doesn’t notice the way your pulse quickens at his words, but he nods towards your coffee and you shake your head. 

“Thank you,” You take the cup off the bar and step back, “I appreciate it.” 

“I hope that helps,” He says, and then he glances behind you at the large round window, “actually, I’m sorry, can you wait one moment?” 

“Sure,” You watch him duck out from behind the bar, making a quick beeline for the swinging door that leads back into the kitchen. You have no idea what he could want, there’s no way you’d be recognized by him except as a stranger on the street, and your stomach knots up. 

It takes him a moment, but he darts back out, a long black umbrella in his hand, “Take this,” 

“I can’t do that,” You wave a hand, “I’m only across the street, but that’s really kind of you,” 

“If you’re only across the street then I know where to go to get it back,” He shakes his head, “just take it, it’s raining like crazy out there,” 

He presses the handle of the umbrella into your free hand, and your breath catches in your throat, his skin brushing against yours. Your eyes flick over his rings, just the same as always. A signet with a deep black stone, a hammered silver band, a clearly vintage one on his index finger that looks like an old Catholic saint token, the finer details rubbed away with age. 

“What time do you close?” You ask, accepting the umbrella. 

“Seven,” 

“I’ll bring it back after work then,” You tell him, “is that alright?”

He nods, “But if it’s still raining, just keep it. Bring it by tomorrow,” 

“Tomorrow,” You nod. 

“Mhm,” He nods, something warm in his expression, “this will have to be your new usual spot,” 

Is he flirting? You’re wholly and entirely unprepared to deal with that considering the way you moaned his name last night. Something clicks in your brain at that thought though and you nod, “Maybe it will. I’m y/n, by the way,” 

“Yeosang,” He smiles, “it’s very nice to meet you.” 

Yeosang.

“You too,” You dip your head, “and thank you again for this,” 

“Of course,” He says, “I hope this turns your morning around a little,” 

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a voice from the cafe bar that slices cleanly between your conversation, “Yeosang-ah!” 

Yeosang glances back and then he sighs, just a little, “I have to go,” he tells you, “but I’ll see you again,” 

“See you again,” 

He’s back behind the bar before you can blink, focusing on each customer’s order. The man who called his name is grinning, and you wonder idly if he’s the friend who owns the cafe with Yeosang or just a part-timer. 

With your stomach fluttering, you push out into the rain to get to work, Yeosang’s name on a loop in your brain for the rest of the day. When you get home, his umbrella resting by the door, you delete his Snapchat from your contacts and unsubscribe from his Fansly account. 

Ongozisin becomes a daily ritual. 

The money you used to spend on his Fansly now goes straight into the cafe, first thing in the morning before work and a last lingering stop in the evening before you go home. 

On busy days you barely get to see him and sometimes you’re left just chatting with Wooyoung, his best friend and business partner. You like him too, you like the atmosphere and their kind warmth, but if you’re being honest you find yourself living for slow days. The days where you’ve timed it just right to have a little talk before the rush of the day or the closing tasks of the evening. 

Little by little, Ryu fades from your mind, and the man in front of you is just Yeosang. The guy who runs your favorite coffee shop, the guy who dresses almost otherworldly, who smiles wide but only when you say something truly funny, who sometimes gets lost in his own head while he’s making cappuccinos. 

He’s lovely. 

Sometimes you think he might be flirting, a little more suavely and charismatic than his business partner who asked if you had a crush on him since you were coming into the cafe so much. Sometimes Yeosang adds a little extra treat to your plate of food or he adds pretty latte art to your cup if you’re staying in the cafe. That might be nothing, but it certainly might be something. 

It isn’t until another day of rain, harsh pelting rain, that Yeosang appears at your table. 

“We close soon,” He says, and when he sees the brief flash of concern that you’ve overstayed your welcome on your face he shakes his head, “sorry, I meant to ask, how are you getting home tonight?” 

“The train,” You glance outside. 

His nose crinkles, “You don’t have an umbrella today either,”

“True,” You look down at your belongings, “I didn’t check the weather,” 

“If you wait a bit for us to lock up,” He says, “I’d be happy to walk you to the station,” 

“Oh,” 

“Or if you’re not busy,” He clears his throat softly, “I could walk you to this little restaurant around the corner?” 

Flirting, then. 

You smile and nod, trying to keep your eagerness tamped down to a normal amount, “Are you asking me out, Yeosang?” 

He grins, “I’ve been trying to,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly, “I’ll wait, dinner sounds nice,” 

His shoulders sag, a little relief in his expression and he clears away your empty cup as he says, “I’ll be quick,”

You catch Wooyoung slapping his friend's shoulder as he disappears into the back room, and before you know it you’re blushing and sitting across from this man at the restaurant down the block. 

Dinner is so smooth it feels surreal. It turns out you both like the same music, and several books too, and you’ve never been on a date with a man who asked you so many questions about yourself and didn’t just talk your ear off. Dinner stretches long too, and you’re strangely grateful it’s a Friday when you finally do check the time. He has to work on Saturday at the cafe, but not until a little later in the morning, and so neither one of you really wants to call it quits. 

The after dinner walk turns meandering, and then his hand is brushing against yours, knuckles to knuckles. 

You don’t think of him as Ryu until his fingers brush down your back, lips close to your ear when he finally asks you. The way he does makes your body melt - I hope I’m not ruining things by asking, but would you like to come home with me tonight?

You agree before your mind catches up to itself, but every step of the walk to his apartment has your heart picking up speed. You had forgotten on the date how you met him, really met him, and your gut churns. 

Do you tell him? Do you lie? 

Everytime he grins at you, touches you, tucks his long hair behind his ear and nods, you can’t imagine a one night stand. You could maybe swallow the truth if that’s all this was to you, but it’s not, and so you can’t. 

On his block you feel the internal countdown ticking. 

“You can change your mind, you know,” He offers, noticing how you’ve gone quiet, and it pulls you straight out of your thoughts. 

“Oh,” Your head snaps up, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to change my mind at all, I just got a little lost in thought.” 

He nods, this time finding your hand and giving you a squeeze, his steps slowing as you approach his building, “Can I ask what about?” 

You nod, returning the soft pulse of his hand in yours before separating your skin from his. His eyes flick down to your hands, and then back up to your eyes. 

“I have a bit of a confession,” You swallow hard, “something I think I should tell you before we go upstairs,” 

“Okay,” He leans against the stone wall behind him, “is everything alright?” 

“I hope so,” You nod, “I just feel like there’s something I should say now, and if it makes you uncomfortable at all, just be honest. I’ll go home, no hard feelings,” 

“y/n,” His brows draw together in confusion, “what’s going on?” 

You take a deep breath, taking a step back to get a little breathing room, “I recognized you when I came into the cafe that first day,” 

“Recognized me?” 

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, your chest feeling tight, “for the past few months I’ve been… a subscriber,”

“A subscriber,” He repeats, and for a brief flickering second you wonder to yourself if this man just looks and sounds and feels exactly like Ryu but isn’t, but then his face blanches, “oh,” 

“I’m not anymore,” You shake your head, “and clearly you like your privacy, so I didn’t know how to just come out and say it, but if you’re actually interested in me and not just being flirty at the cafe then I just can’t lie to you… I don’t want to start something with a lie,” 

He’s quiet, and then his eyes flick down. 

It was so, so nice while it lasted. 

“I should have told you sooner,” Your stomach flips and you take another step back, “and I completely understand that you’re upset, I’ll just, I won’t say anything to anyone and it was lovely getting to know you, and I’m sorry, I’ll go,” 

His head snaps up, “Go? y/n, stop, slow down,” 

His hands smooth down your forearms as he jumps forwards, pulling you gently back towards him. Your heart is beating so loud you can practically hear it, “I’m sorry,” 

“I’m not upset,” He assures, “can we go inside to talk? I don’t want to do this in the street,” 

You nod, letting him lead you through the garden gate and up towards the house, but his words pulse on a loop in your mind. You hope he’s good at letting you down easy because this hurts. You should have known it that first day at the cafe, you should have stayed away and not played with fire. 

His house is small, but very nice and despite being sparsely decorated, you like it. You feel trapped in the entryway so unsure of what to do in this space, especially when you recognize the corner of his gray couch. 

“Can I get you a drink or something?” He interrupts your thoughts, “I have wine, probably some soju, and a bottle of truly undrinkable Japanese whisky,” 

“Undrinkable?” You blink. 

“I think it’s supposed to be very good if you like whisky,” He explains, “it was a gift,” 

“Ah,” You couldn’t feel more awkward if you tried, “wine, I guess?” 

“Okay,” He smiles, a close lipped polite smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “well, make yourself comfortable, I’ll get us a drink and then we can talk,” 

“Sure,” You’re still frozen as he walks away down the hall to what you presume is the kitchen. It takes a minute to unstick yourself, but you make your way to the couch and wait. 

He returns with two glasses of red wine and then he sits in the chair opposite you, not on the stretch of couch next to you. 

“Sorry,” You take the wine, stomach flip flopping, “I know this isn’t how you thought the night would go,” 

“Mm,” He nods, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know what to say,” You tell him honestly. 

He nods, looking anywhere but at you until he finally meets your eyes again, “You’re not a subscriber anymore?” 

“No,” You tell him firmly. 

“Why?” He asks, and the question hangs between you. 

“When I recognized you at the cafe and you were being so nice to me,” You explain, “it occurred to me that something might happen between us, as friends or otherwise, and it just felt wrong to know you as Yeosang and then… engage with your content that is clearly anonymous and meant to be private. I didn’t want to do that without you knowing,” 

He nods, setting his glass on the nearby coffee table, “I see,” 

“You are keeping it private, right? I feel like you’re careful to not overshare,” 

“Yes,” He nods, “no one knows.” 

“Then I really am sorry,” You set your own glass aside and lean forwards, “I’m sure you didn’t want to bring your real life as Yeosang and your online life as Ryu together, I just recognized your voice immediately that day in the cafe,”

“As Ryu?” He glances back up at you. 

“That’s what I…” You try to parse through it so it doesn’t sound like a parasocial affair, “fromryu, you know? That’s just what I filled in for your name, I guess,” 

“Ryusang,” He nods, “it’s the Hanja spelling of Yeosang,” 

“Oh,” You soften. 

“Why didn’t you mention you knew me before?” He asks, but despite his words nothing in his demeanor is upset, just curious. 

You take another large, steadying gulp of wine and nod, “I didn’t really think the cafe was an appropriate place to tell you that I’ve gotten off to your voice before,” 

He laughs sharply and looks down, “Okay, that’s fair,” 

“Right,” You murmur. 

“y/n,” He sounds hesitant and you look back up to him, “can I ask you something?” 

“Anything,” 

“Did you come out with me tonight because you wanted to go out on a date with the guy from the cafe, or because you wanted to have sex with Ryu?” The question is direct and cutting. 

“With you,” You answer quickly, and now you know exactly why he’s putting this distance between you, “you, Yeosang.” 

He’s quiet, turning your words over, you can practically see him thinking. 

“Yeo,” You murmur, fighting the urge to reach out to him, “if all I wanted was that, I wouldn’t have told you. But I really like you, Yeosang, and I’d like to see more of you and see where this could go, but I completely understand if me knowing this part of you is too much. If you don’t want to go any further with me romantically or as a friend, this can just be a nice date we both had,” 

He nods and then says, “I have one more question,” 

You wait, your stomach in knots. 

“Do you have a problem with what I do?” He asks. 

“I mean,” You shake your head, “I was a subscriber, so no,” 

“I don’t mean like that,” He clarifies his words, “I mean in terms of a romantic relationship. I like my work, both the cafe and the content, and if we start seeing each other I’m not going to suddenly stop making porn just like I wouldn’t close the cafe.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” You shift over on the couch and reach towards him, resting a hand on his forearm. 

“I’ve dated a few women,” He explains, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together, “this was not something any of them were comfortable with,” 

“Oh,” You nod, but he continues. 

“A couple of them thought it might be fun,” He adds, “but when things got more serious they expected me to stop for them,” 

“I’m sorry,” You tell him quietly, “I don’t expect anything like that,” 

“You don’t now,” He points out, “and neither did they in the beginning.” 

You can see the way this has fucked with his head a little, the way he keeps his shoulders stiff and turned away from you as he explains, and you suppose you might react the same way if you were in his shoes. 

You chew the inside of your lip as you think about how best to say this to him, but finally you manage it, “Yeosang,” you get his attention, “what you do for work doesn’t change what we do on a date or in bed,” 

He turns his head a little, the only indication you have that he’s really listening. 

“I have no expectation that you’re some… sex god,” You smile a little, “though my guess is that you’re pretty good at dirty talk,” 

A small smile appears on his lips. 

“If I didn’t like what you do for work I’d go find another guy,” You continue, “and I’m sorry if the other women you dated weren’t comfortable with it, but I’m not so shy about it. I like what you do, and you’ve helped me plenty, and there’s nothing more flattering than knowing you liked me enough to even bring me upstairs,” 

“Don’t sell yourself short there,” He looks up, shaking his head, “when you said yes to dinner I thought I’d be lucky if I got to so much as touch you,” 

Your heart quickens in your chest, “You, what?” 

He turns his body towards you properly now, “y/n,” he says, “I like you, I’ve liked you since you walked into the cafe soaking wet and exhausted, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks.”

“I think I’m dreaming,” You breathe, and he grins at your words. You clap a hand over your lips and groan, “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that outloud,” 

“It’s honest,” He says, “I like that about you,”

“Well,” Your hands naturally separate as you lean back onto the couch, “then believe me when I tell you that I am fine with your work. All aspects of your work,” 

His eyes flick over you, gauging how honest you’re being now, “All aspects?” 

You nod again. 

“y/n,” His voice softens, “what tier subscriber were you?” 

It clicks in your brain that you haven’t really told him everything, all the things you know about him and his work. Little audio videos here and there might be forgivable to some women, but more might be too much. 

“The highest,” You tell him, “when I say everything I mean it, the videos, the Snapchat, all of it.” 

He seems to relax at that, “And if this does go somewhere,” he gestures between you both, “if we keep seeing each other. If it becomes more than a few dates,” 

You nod. 

“You’re alright knowing that even if we were dating and going to bed together every night, I spend my free time making people come on the internet for money,” He says it so plainly that you have to blink at him. 

You turn his words over and then sigh, “There’s one thing,” 

He leans back in his chair, putting a little more distance between you both, obviously braced for your words. 

“I just have a question,” You ease him, “just something I should know, I think.” 

He nods once, his shoulders tense again. 

“Do you ever talk one on one with people?” You feel your cheeks heat, “I know you do, you have the discord, but I mean do you ever do what you do alone with someone?”

He softens, “No, no I don’t,” 

“Okay,” You nod, the tense knot in your stomach relaxing, “okay, then,”

“Would that be a boundary for you?” He asks. 

“I think so,” You tell him, “it’s different when you’re making a video to upload for anyone and talking to someone, at least to me,” 

He nods, and then he moves, shifting from his position on the chair to your side on the couch. The nerves that were knotted deeply inside you start to unfurl, his proximity feeling like a peace offering, like an acceptance of your words.

“Subscribers aren’t lovers,” He says finally, “and some people blur that line with their content, but I don’t.” 

“Then, Yeosang,” You take the opportunity to slide yourself sideways a little closer to him, “I am fine with all aspects of your work, more than fine.” 

“Will you tell me if that ever changes?” He asks. 

“Yes,” You make him this promise, “I like you too, all I want is to be honest with you,” 

He nods, his fingers flexing on his thigh as he thinks. Finally, he swallows tightly, his skin flushing a little now that you’re almost pressed together on the couch, and he asks what he’s wanted to ask all night, “y/n,” he turns towards you, “can I kiss you?” 

He’s stunning this close, enough to render you speechless, breathless. You manage a single word, “Please,” 

He’s on you in a flash, and Yeosang’s lips are warm, soft and plush and as he presses into you and winds his arms around you. Your body relaxes into his instantly, the feeling of his warmth, the scent of him, rich coffee grounds and sugar infused into his skin from his work at the cafe. 

His tongue probes your mouth, his breath hot as he sighs. Your body feels alight, hot and feverish and desperate from just a single kiss. You need him inside you yesterday. 

When he breaks the kiss, you realize you’re half straddling him. Somewhere in the heat of the moment and the muddled fog you hitched a leg over his and his hands dragged you up against him so you’re chest to chest. When your mouths break apart, you’re still merely inches from each other and panting the same little breath of air. 

“y/n,” His hands explore you slowly, moving over your skin like he’s trying to learn you, “normally I would try to keep the kink to a future date, but since you already know all of my deepest, darkest fantasies, maybe we can skip ahead?” 

“Yes,” You laugh softly, “definitely,” 

“But I am realizing something,” His hands find the curve of your ass, “I’m at a disadvantage here, you’ve seen my videos, but I don’t know anything about what you like.” 

“You,” The word bubbles up and you flush red again. 

“My voice, I’m sure you like that,” He drops it a little to emphasize the husky bedroom quality of it with a teasing smile on his face, “but what videos do you like? What were your favorites?” 

He’s about to ruin you, there’s absolutely no question. Even if he was all talk you’re sure to be coming just from his words alone, but his hands, the way he touches you, there’s no doubt he has the skills to back up everything he’s ever said in the videos too. 

“Now I’m a little embarrassed,” You admit, “an hour ago we were on a first date,” 

“An hour ago I didn’t know the woman across the table had fucked herself to the thought of me,” He counters softly, “and we can slow down if you want but judging from the wet patch on my thigh I think you want to keep going,” 

You jerk your hips immediately, angling to pull them away so you can stop embarrassing yourself all over this man after a single kiss, but his hands lock down hard over your ass and he holds your body firmly against him. 

“No, no,” He adjusts his leg so that his thigh is pressed even more firmly against your cunt, “don’t be embarrassed with me,” 

“Right,” You blush darker. 

“I’ll tell you what I want,” He offers, “would that help?” 

You nod quickly. 

One of his hands shifts to lovingly stroke up and down your back as he speaks, “I want you to enjoy this more than anything. There is nothing that gets me off harder than making a partner absolutely fall apart for me, and knowing I did that for them, and I think you already know that from my content. That’s real, that’s me.” 

You shiver a little and he leans up to kiss you, softer this time. 

“I’d like this to be good for you,” He continues, “and honestly I already want to see you again, but in case it’s only one night for you I think we should make it count.” 

The night went from nothing to everything so fast your head is spinning but you nod, surging up to kiss him with your hands pressed against his chest for balance. Your core drags along his hard thigh with your momentum forwards and you gasp a little into the kiss, your hips bucking softly on their own at the sudden pleasurable sensation. You feel something stiff and warm pressing into your belly and you feel a rush of sensation between your thighs. 

“So,” He kisses you again, leaning away so he can talk to you, “tell me what videos you liked,” 

“The um,” You clear your throat softly, “the guided ones,” 

He smiles, “Those are your favorites?” 

You nod. 

“And the roleplay?” He asks. 

“Good,” You nod, “everything you do is really good,” 

“But the guided ones get you off, hmm?” He squeezes your hips. 

You nod again, “You’re very good at what you do,” 

“Guided,” He says, almost to himself, before he drags your hips up and back along his thigh, “so you like when I talk you through it?” 

You rock your hips on your own this time, picking up on his cues that he wants you to grind on him, “Mm-hmm,” 

“Tell me more about what you like,” He keeps one hand planted firmly on your backside, but the other starts to wonder, fingers teasing the skin of your collarbones before he cups your breast through your sweater. 

  “Y-you’re so comforting,” You manage as you slowly rut your body against his, “even when you’re edging me and telling me what to do, you’re just, I don’t know,” 

“Is that right?” He teases softly, his fingers toying with the top button of your closed cardigan. 

“Mm,” You sigh, pleasure truly starting to build inside you as you rock your clit lazily against him, “and you understand it takes time for women,” 

The button opens. 

“You take your time with the build up,” You sigh, finding a better position for your hands against his firm chest while you continue to rock, “and when you talk about what you wish you could do to me if you were there,” 

Two more buttons part open and he hums softly, appreciatively, “You like knowing what I want?” 

You nod, watching as he makes short work of your other buttons. 

“Maybe I should just show you,” He slides the cardigan off your shoulders until it pools around your waist, caught on your elbows, “wouldn’t that be better than just listening?”

“Y-yes,” You sigh, your hips slowing so you can let him take the lead. 

He shakes his head, pressing his hand against your ass again to keep you moving, “That’s it,” 

You moan softly, fingers gripping his shirt, “Yeosang,” 

He chuckles at your needy whine and brushes his fingers between your breasts, stroking up your chest, down and over the wire of your bra, and lower still over the soft flesh of your belly. 

“There you go,” He smiles, “I know that feels good,” 

You nod, “So good,” 

“Jagiya,” His hands slide your bra straps down, letting the soft material of the mesh cups fall and reveal your breasts to his hungry eyes, “look how pretty you are for me,” 

You’re close. 

“Don’t stop,” He murmurs, shifting under you so that he can sit up further and press his lips to your chest, “I need you to come,” 

“Yeo,” You whine, your hips sinking into a quick rolling rhythm that feels so right. 

“I need to take my time with you,” He confesses, lips traveling from the center of your chest across the swell of your breasts, “but I don’t think I can,” 

“I-I don’t want you to,” You moan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to stay steady, “please,” 

“I want to,” He groans, “but, fuck, y/n,” 

“Yeo,” You shudder, pleasure snapping up and down your spine, “it’s not one night, it could have never been one night for me,” 

He exhales a heavy breath against your skin, hands tightening pleasantly on your rutting hips. 

You’re startlingly close to tipping over the edge, the bubble growing closer and closer to bursting, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly to focus on the sensation of him, “I-I need,” 

He grips you harder, “Tell me, baby,” 

“I, I,” You stammer, body stumbling towards coming. 

“Come on,” He says lowly, “tell me what you need, baby, I’m right here,” 

A tight sound bubbles out of your mouth and you figure it out in a second, your hand winding into the back of his hair to direct his head, pushing his mouth until you feel his lips ghost over your pebbled nipple. 

“Oh,” He groans, his tongue catching your nipple firmly and sending a shock down your back, “there we go, I’ve got you,” 

His tongue flicks over your nipple again, closing his lips over the hardened bud to suck sharply in exactly the way you need to take you right over the edge. 

“I’m,” You grip him harder, losing yourself entirely now as you grind against him for your release, “I’m so close,” 

“Come,” He pants, latching back onto your breast to keep lavishing the same attention, his arms banding tightly around you to hold your shuddering body close.  

Your finger tightens in his hair, he begs you once more to come, and your orgasm knocks into you sideways. You moan sharply, jerking against him as you fall apart, and you feel him start to move. 

He presses fast kisses across your chest, his voice soothing, “Oh, there we go,” he sighs as he feels you trembling, “fuck, what a good girl showing me exactly what she needs,” 

His words draw a groan from your lips, your head buzzing at his praise. 

“Perfect,” He sighs against your chest, “you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,” 

You shiver, “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” His fingers trace a circle around your nipple, and something in the way he’s touching you and the sound of his voice tells you everything. He’s about to tease you, edge you, make you come, and god willing he was about to fuck you. Yeosang flicks his thumb over your nipple and smiles, “Baby, I’m going to turn you over, if you want to slow down or stop at anytime you just tell me,” 

“I think I’ll be,” You start to say, and then he maneuvers you quickly in his strong arms, gathering you close so he can turn you over on the couch, leaving you lying flat on your back against the cushions. You squeak and the way he pushes your legs together, quickly undoing the buttons on your trousers and pulling down the zip, and he glances up at the sound to check your eyes but finds nothing but your lazy post-orgasm smile. 

As he kneels and strips your trousers off he groans, “God,” 

“W-what’s wrong?” You blink, finding his eyes. 

“Absolutely nothing,” He smooths his hands up and down your bare legs, “except I’m finding it very difficult not being inside you yet,” 

“So come inside me,” You smile. 

The corner of his mouth turns up at your words, “Already, baby? It’s only the first date,” 

You process your words and roll your eyes, “You know what I meant,” 

“I do,” He smiles wider now, “but you need to come again before I fuck you,” 

“Not that I’m complaining about you touching me,” You gasp sharply as he hooks his thumbs under the sides of your thong and yanks it away, “but I’ve been daydreaming about your cock for months, so,” 

He laughs sharply, tugging his own shirt up and off over his head as he does, “I’m flattered,” 

“Shut up,” You press your thighs together and let your head flop back onto the cushions. 

“Darling,” Yeosang says, kissing each of your thighs before he starts to slowly open your legs again, “how long has it been since you’ve been with someone?” 

“Honestly?” You grimace, “A while,” 

“And how long since you’ve had anything bigger than your fingers inside you?” He asks it so plainly, so calmly, while he widens your legs and starts to tip you open, another kiss to your inner thigh. 

You shiver in his hands, “N-not that long,” 

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased at that, “do you like using toys when you fuck yourself to my voice?” 

“Fuck,” You gasp as his finger traces the softest line up and down your slit. 

“Is that a yes?” He blows a cool stream of air across your throbbing clit and you jerk in his hands. 

“Yes,” You answer quickly. 

“What I wouldn’t give to watch that,” He says, kissing your inner thigh again before he continues, “but still, I’m probably bigger than your dildo, be patient with me,” 

“Oh, fuck,” You melt as he presses one finger inside your slick channel.

“Relax,” He soothes you, “just let go for me,” 

You don’t know how your life is this strange, how you went from listening to this man through your headphones while you touched yourself under the covers alone at home to his fingers sinking inside you. You’ll probably wake up from this dream with sticky thighs. There’s no way this is real. 

Those are the thoughts that dizzy you until he pushes two fingers flush into your heat and you moan sharply, your hand gripping down on one of the couch throw pillows. He feels pretty real. 

He groans, gently pumping his middle and ring finger just to get you used to the sensation, “Feel good?” 

“So good,” You sigh.

“How badly do you need to come, darling?” He asks, continuing the slow and steady thrust of his fingers. 

“So badly,” Your voice is whiny, needy, entirely informed by the feverish heat spreading through you. 

“Pretty girl,” He hums, “with an even prettier pussy,” 

“Oh, god,” You grip the pillows harder, and he’s barely doing anything to you but your legs are already starting to tremble. 

“Mmm,” His fingers begin to pulse more firmly and you feel his fingers curl, finding the spongy crook of your g-spot with practiced ease, “and you need my cock inside, don’t you?” 

“Ah, yes! Yes,” Pleasure blooms through your body. 

“Soon,” He promises. 

You moan again as he repositions, continuing the steady drumbeat of his fingers inside you as he reaches around with his opposite hand to separate your lower lips, the pad of his middle finger now alternating between maddening flicks and taps to your clit. 

“Ah! Yeo,” Your hips rock, “just like that,” 

“Good girl,” He murmurs, “telling me what you like,” 

A tight sensation fills your lower belly, a blossoming heat that spreads from your core up through your body in warm waves, “F-faster,” 

“Mm,” His thrusting picks up speed instantly, the angle slightly adjusting as he does, “that’s it,” 

The angle chance has his curled fingers pumping against your g-spot hard and suddenly the sensation drops low, almost painfully tight and sharp like you’re on the precipice of something. 

It occurs to you all at once what he’s trying to do, the way he’s trying to make your body sing, and despite the rolling waves of pleasure and how close you are to your second release, you don’t necessarily want the first time you squirt to be on Yeosang’s floor. 

“B-baby,” You whine, the pet name slipping off your tongue, “I’m gonna, I think, oh fuck,” 

“Fuck yes,” His fingers flatten down over your clit and he rubs fast, slickly rolling over your firm bud, “let go,” 

“I can’t,” You shake your head, sweat breaking out across your brow, “I’ve n-never, oh, fuck, Yeosang!”

“Come,” He commands softly, “that’s it, you come, right here, baby,” 

He’s not stopping, and with the way he’s working you there’s no way you could even if you tried. In a snap your body releases hard, a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt pulsing through your slick cunt and your legs jerk, hips snapping up as clear fluid pulses out of you. The sound that leaves your lips is wanton, broken and needy, and your ears are very clearly ringing. 

“Oh, fuck,” Yeosang hums, almost to himself, rubbing fast across your soaked slit to help coax every bit of slick from your center, “oh, baby, look at you,” 

Your legs try to snap shut at the suddenly sharp overstimulation, but all he does is take that as his cue to stop directly stimulating you and instead drop the warm flat of his tongue over every inch of your glistening pussy. You gasp sharply at the feeling, rolling your head forwards so that you can look down between your legs, and you moan softly at the sight. 

He’s buried between your thighs, lazily licking stripes up your inner thighs and over your cunt, but slowly enough that his aim isn’t to draw you into another orgasm, he just wants to taste you. To feel you on his tongue and ease you through your little aftershocks. 

“God,” You breathe after a moment, “oh, my god,” 

He chuckles, kissing the top of your mound, “Was that your first time?” 

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. 

He groans a little, palming his hard cock through his trousers to readjust, “That’s an ego boost, I’m not going to lie,” 

You manage a laugh despite your dizzy, orgasm fogged brain, “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” He strokes your thigh, “if you’re not careful I might get addicted to the way you taste when you come,” 

A shudder runs through you, “You can’t just say things like that,” 

  “It’s not a lie,” He says, “I’d spend a whole night between these thighs if you’ll let me,” 

“Mm,” You sigh, reaching down for him and brushing your fingers through his long, dark hair. 

“Now?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, “If you want my mouth, you just have to ask,” 

You shake your head, slowly starting to push yourself into a sitting position and slide your hips away from him, “Not tonight,” 

“What more can I give you tonight?” He murmurs, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, “Anything you want,” 

You cup his face, drawing him close to lock your lips on his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his nose, “Take me to bed, please, Yeosang,” 

“Let’s go,” He agrees, extricating himself from your arms so he can stand and offer you a hand up. 

You take it, but as you do you realize the wet puddle on the floor in front of the couch and you blush dark red, covering your mouth with your hand, “I’m so sorry,” 

“For what?” He blinks at you, and then follows your nervous eyes. 

“I didn’t realize,” You start to say but he interrupts you with a hard kiss. 

“Relax,” He says, “if we’re lucky you’ll make a mess of my room too,”

“I don’t know how I did it,” 

He laughs again, “I do,” he smiles, “now come on, I need to see you in my bed before I combust,” 

He tugs your hand, leading you down the hall until you’re in a large master bedroom. Your eyes flick over the details - industrial, warm wood, dark green sheets, soft ambient lighting. You’re about to comment on it, but he flips you back around to face him and captures your mouth in another hungry kiss. 

“God,” He backs you up to the edge of the bed, dropping you down and falling over you, “tell me I can have you,” 

“You have me,” You pant against his mouth, all thoughts of his lovely interior decor gone in an instant when you feel the hard shaft of his cock nestled between your thighs. 

“I swear next time we’ll go slow,” He grinds his hips down, rolling his length up and down your slit, only the thin fabric of his trousers separating you. 

“Please,” You buck against him, “I need you right now,” 

“Fuck,” His hands are hot, searching, “is that right, darling?” 

“Inside me,” Your hands scramble to find his waistband, “please,” 

He nods, lips still pressed against yours, and then he leans back just enough to undo his trousers and start to push down his pants and boxer briefs. 

Your mouth runs dry immediately. He wasn’t wrong about his size. You have fairly large dildos at home, thick and long and perfect for reaching all the spots you need it to, but Yeosang was bigger, thicker and longer than anything you’ve ever had inside you. 

“Condom?” He manages as he shucks off his pants. 

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his perfect, aching cock and nod, “We probably should?” 

“Right,” He doesn’t push you to make a different choice, he simply searches his nightstand for a moment and produces a foil packet. 

He strokes his cock twice while he tears the packet open with his teeth, before watching you beneath him as he rolls the condom smoothly down his length, adjusting it so that it fits perfectly. 

You’re trembling with anticipation, you can feel it and so can he. 

“y/n,” He murmurs, leaning over you and pressing a hand beneath your back to finally unclip your bra, “I want you to do something for me,” 

You nod, sliding the cardigan and bra off your body and pushing them over the edge of the bed. 

He grabs a firm looking pillow and folds it in half, “Lift your hips for me,” 

You lift up and he slides the pillow right under your backside to leave you propped up and open for him. 

“If it doesn’t feel good,” He murmurs as he maneuvers you into the position he wants, “or if I’m hurting you at all, just tell me,” 

You nod. 

“And I want you to tell me when you’re about to come,” He instructs, “I need to know,” 

You nod again, your stomach flipping with desire. 

He licks his lips, folding your legs open a little wider and slotting himself over you. He settles with one hand on your raised hip, the other braced on the bed by your head, his knees on the edge of the mattress between your splayed thighs. 

His cock finally, finally, nudges at your entrance and you grip down on the sheets below you. 

“Mm,” He groans, sinking just an inch or two into your tight heat, “you’re even tighter than I thought,” 

He pushes in a little more and you moan at the stretch, “Oh, god,” 

“Do I feel that good, babygirl?” He teases, pushing in a little more.

“So good,” You lift your head to watch the way his thick length splits you open. 

“I am bigger than your toys, aren’t I?” He rolls his hips this time, rocking himself deeper with every little thrust. 

“Y-yes,” You nod, your head dropping back to the mattress. 

“Can you take me, baby?” He murmurs low. 

“Fuck yes,” Your hips buck up again on their own as he opens you up, nearly fully sheathed inside you. 

“Just a little more,” He says, his hand tightening on your hip, “there we go, fuck, that’s it, you’re taking me so beautifully, baby,” 

Tears rush to your eyes, not from any kind of discomfort, but just from the overwhelming sensation of him. You’ve never been so full, never been so deliciously stretched and had these parts of you touched, and it rushes a blush to your chest and emotion through your veins. 

His fingers brush along your jaw, bringing your eyes to his, “Good tears, or should we stop?” 

“If you stop I’ll actually cry,” You laugh, blinking away the hazy sheen in your eyes, “you feel so fucking good,” 

“Oh,” He sighs, thrusting gently in and out of you, “what a good, good girl, you are,” 

“Jesus,” You shiver beneath him. 

“Yeah?” He starts to move now, just a bit more, rocking his cock at a steady pace in and out of your wet core, “You like when I tell you how good you are for me?” 

“Yes,” You moan, a shock of hot pleasure spiking up from your core, “please,” 

“Such a good girl letting me fuck her perfect pussy on the first date,” His voice has dropped low again, husky and direct, and you babble out a sound of pleasure as he talks, “so warm and wet,” 

“Fuck, fuck,” Your eyes roll. 

He collapses over you a little more, his desperate lips searching for yours and the angle deepens, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you with every downward thrust of his hips. 

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin, “Baby,” you pant, “your cock, oh god,” 

He hums against your cheek, head falling slack as his lips find your throat, sucking your pulse points and no doubt searing his mark into your tender skin. He pumps his hips harder and you moan under him, cursing again and scrambling to hold him closer. 

“Such a dirty mouth,” He nips at your neck, “are you always like this, or is my cock that special?” 

All you can manage is a taught moan in response, his cockhead now continuously connecting with your sweet spot over and over and rendering you unable to string a coherent thought together. 

He groans at the way your cunt flutters and spasms and he kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair, “One of these days I’ll feel you for real,” he pants, “nothing between my cock and your sweet cunt,” 

Your back arches, your mind spinning at the thought, “Yeo,” you moan. 

“Fuck,” He chokes, “the way you’re squeezing me,” 

You make a tight sound, something between a pleasured whine and a sob, and his hips stutter and stop, pressing his cock in as deep as possible as he grips down on whatever parts of you he can, breathing hot and heavy against your skin. 

You can’t really move well in this position, but your hips rock in tiny back and forth motions to try and keep the sensation rolling through you. He’s panting into your shoulder, clearly trying to keep himself from coming too soon, and your mind commits to an idea before you have a second to double check yourself. 

“Yeo,” You tap his arm, “baby I need to move,” 

He pushes off you, his cock sliding out of your soaked core and you leg your legs straighten out, “What’s wrong,” 

The words are barely off his tongue before you’re sitting up, grabbing his hand and drawing him back to the bed, pushing him onto his back with a guiding hand to his shoulder. He lets you lead, watching you as you put him where you want him this time, and he smiles, eyes flicking over you appreciatively. 

“I need you,” Is all the explanation you can give, and maybe with a stranger this is foolish, borderline stupid, but you know him. He’s not a stranger really, not to you. 

With a feverish pulse of need inside you, you shift to straddle his hips, and with quick, sure hands you roll the condom up from the base of his cock and toss it to the side. 

“y/n,” He manages, but you’re lifting yourself over him now and his hands fly up to brace your waist, “are you sure?” 

“So sure,” You connect his cockhead with your slick hole and drop your hips down fast, taking the whole hard length of him inside you in one smooth motion. 

It’s his turn to moan, his head dropping back at the sensation of your wet walls and he grips at you, his hips stuttering beneath you. 

“God,” He bucks up into you, “you’re perfect,” 

“So are you,” You rock against him, finding the perfect place for your hands on his chest, “you’re so deep,” 

He moans again, and when you start to bounce up and down he curses tightly. 

“J-just don’t come inside me,” You keep bouncing, a steady fluid motion in your hips that you can tell is driving him crazy, but you have to keep your head at least a little. 

“F-fuck,” He groans, his jaw tightening as his eyes flick down to the place your bodies are joined together, “you’re making that kind of difficult,”

“I just wanted to feel you,” Your shaking arms buckle a little and you find yourself flush against his chest while you work his cock. 

“Me too,” His hands find your ass again and he starts to direct the pace, “God, I could fuck you forever,” 

A moan drops from your mouth, your hands tightening on his chest. 

“Don’t stop,” He urges you, and you realize your hips slowed at his words, “you feel so good riding me like that,” 

Your thighs are burning already, but you hardly care, every fast shift up and down leaves you closer and closer, “Love you cock,” 

“Mm, yeah? Say that again,” 

“I,” You curse as a spike of pleasure rolls through you, “fuck, I love your cock,” 

“Good girl,” He grips you tight, his hips jutting up to meet you now. 

Your pace falters slightly, “Please, please,” 

“I’ve got you,” He adjusts just enough to hold you steady as he fucks up into your tight heat, “I’ve got you,” 

You moan, dropping your head into his chest and shuddering against him, “Baby, oh fuck,” 

“A-are you close, jagi?” He pants, fingers digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises. 

“Don’t stop,” You beg, “please, god, don’t stop,” 

He groans, keeping the pace of his thrusts and using his hands on your ass to maneuver you to meet his hips. 

“Shit,” You shudder in his arms, your orgasm fast approaching, “I’m coming,” 

“Come here,” He shifts you fast, rolling you up and off him and manhandling you up to your feet. 

You make a surprised noise at the lack of him inside you when you were getting so close, but you don’t have to worry for very long. Before you can open your mouth he has you standing, facing away from him, and bent over ninety degrees to brace your hands on the bed. 

He thrusts back inside you sharply, slamming his hips into yours and leaving you moaning and curling in on yourself, your legs starting to tremble. 

“Come on my cock, pretty girl,” He palms your ass before planting his hands on your hips and using the leverage to pull you back into each of his thrusts, “you’re so close,” 

Your eyes slam shut, fisting the sheets as you hang on, every sharp push of his cock driving deeper and deeper. You’re going to have bruises, you’re going to be sore, but none of it matters when he’s making you feel this good. 

You sob out a moan, collapsing forward into the bedding but he holds you up, “I can’t,” 

“Yes, you can,” He pants, his sweat slick skin connecting again and again with yours. 

“Fuck,” You groan, “I’m almost, I’m so,” 

“Touch your yourself,” He directs, interrupting your pleasured ramblings, “rub your clit for me, baby,” 

You slide a hand between your legs, locating your slick bud with ease and rolling your fingers over it quickly. 

“Fuck, there you are,” He groans, “that’s right, baby, come on my cock,” 

The same new sensation drops in your gut, your legs start to shake and you’re fairly sure that without his sure hands you’d be crumbling. 

“That’s it,” He coaxes you up, never once slowing the sharp snaps of his hips, “there you go, that’s my good girl,” 

Something unravels in your gut and you come with a shout, folding in on yourself as your legs quake and your mind whites out. Yeosang wraps his arms around you, curling over your back to keep you steady, and his cock slips free so he can stimulate you through your orgasm with his fingers, more liquid pulsing out of you as he fucks you over the edge. 

You’re a quivering mess, and he lets you drop into the sheets, pushing you onto your back so he can stand over you, one hand fisting his slick cock. 

“I’m coming,” He groans, “w-where?” 

Your hands cup your breasts automatically, and you arch up to offer yourself to him, “On me, baby, come all over me,” 

Yeosang groans sharply, his hips thrusting into his tight grip as ropes of silvery white cum paint your skin, covering your belly and breasts and dripping down your chest. He’s panting, his skin flushed pink and sweat covering every inch of his toned chest. 

It takes you both a moment to recover, both trembling in the same position as you try to regain your breath, but after a few moments he smiles a hazy, satisfied smile and finds your eyes, “You’re so beautiful,” 

Suddenly you feel a bit shy, even despite everything you’ve just done together. 

“So beautiful,” He sighs again, pushing his hair back out of his face, and then he drops to his knees. 

He hushes your soft protests and this time he tastes you slowly, but with intention. After such rough, intense sex, he follows it with the softest, slowest orgasm you’ve ever had. With slow sucks and gentle licks he brings you through a languid rolling wave that softens your limbs and leaves you sleepy and pliant in the sheets.  

You drift, falling into sleep too easily for a first date in a sort of stranger’s apartment. 

You wake a little later to a warm sensation on your skin, and you blink your eyes open to see Yeosang sitting next you, freshly showered and wearing black sweatpants and a familiar blank tank top. He draws the wet washcloth over your skin and then stops and smiles when he sees your eyes open. 

“Hey,” He murmurs. 

“Hi,” You reply softly, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” 

He shakes his head, “Don’t be sorry,” 

“I think you scrambled my brain a little,” You laugh, covering your face with your hands. 

“Hopefully in a good way,” He nudges you. 

“Beyond good,” You look up at him, “are you kidding?” 

He smiles a little wider, “Good,” he says, “I drew you a bath,” 

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise. 

“I thought you might be sore,” He explains, “I know I was a little rough, I hope you’re not feeling it too much,” 

You shake your head, “Just a little, but in a good way,” 

He nods, “Does the bath sound nice, or would you prefer a shower?” 

“Bath is perfect,” You can see that he’s suddenly a little nervous, back to the same man from your date, no trace of Ryu’s husky tones. 

“Here,” He offers you his hands to help you up, and guides you towards the connected bathroom suite. It’s large, crisp and clean, and in the corner stands a large spa-like tub filled high with warm water. 

“Thank you,” You murmur as he helps you slip into the cocoon of water, the subtle scent of lavender wafting up from the steam. 

“Mhm,” He nods, pulling a bamboo stool from the side of the sink and setting it down so he can sit at the edge of the tub and be at eye level with you. 

“This is nice,” You murmur, still finding yourself a little shy in the post-orgasm clarity of it all. 

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingertips dragging over the surface of the water and then he bites his lip. 

Your stomach sinks for a moment, nerves coming back tenfold at the idea that maybe he’d prefer you to go after this, maybe this is all you’d ever have. Maybe he reconsidered what you know about his online persona and maybe he wasn’t willing to take the leap. 

“y/n,” He sighs, “this might be forward,” 

You look up from the rippling water. 

“But what do you think about staying the night? We could order some dessert, maybe keep getting to know each other a little?” He asks. 

You can’t fight the smile that blooms over your face, “I thought you might have changed your mind,” 

“No,” He reaches into the water to find your hand, twining your fingers together, “not at all.” 

“Yeah?” You squeeze his hand. 

“I’d be crazy to let this be a one-time thing,” He lifts your hand from the bath and presses a kiss to the back, “I hope you feel the same.” 

“I really do,” You twist to the side, leaning over to find his mouth and lock your lips together. 

Yeosang cups your cheek, deepening the kiss tenderly, his tongue sweeping against yours, “What are you doing tomorrow night, then?” 

“Tomorrow?” You lean back a little. 

“Let me take you out again,” He kisses you again, softly this time, “I’m probably supposed to wait a few days, Wooyoung would tell me I seem too eager, but,” 

“Who cares about that?” You grin, leaning out of the bath far enough to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, “It’s a date,” 

“And Sunday?” His hands slide down your back. 

You nuzzle his nose with yours, “I have a date,” 

“Oh,” He says, deflating instantly. 

“You might know him,” You tease, “he owns this lovely little cafe,” 

He laughs, his forehead leaning on yours, “You’re mean,” 

“You like me,” You peck his lips. 

“I do,” He nods, “I really, really do,” 

[jnnul]

riding enhypen hc's <3

a/n: entirely self-indulgent filth is at your service! i spiraled & sunoo's is genuinely dangerous. word count: 1.4k genre: nsfw...straight smut.

yang jungwon

freaks out

when you asked him if you could ride him, he freaked out

first, he had to figure out the logistics, then why you wanted to do it in the first place, then - !

you tell him to just stop thinking and let you make him feel good

so when he hesitantly agrees, he's still worried you're somehow going to manage to hurt yourself

until you finally, finally ease yourself down, pausing every so often to get used to his length

and then you bottom out

and jungwon sees heaven

he's too busy trying not to cum like a virgin the second you bottom out to remember why he was so worried in the first place

looking at his expression, you move to lift yourself off of him when his hands find your hips and keep you seated

"don't move. feels good."

you almost laugh at the neanderthal language your boyfriend is using but suddenly, he's guiding your hips forward and you're too shocked to laugh

goddamn. you knew it would feel good for him but not this good

jungwon never tries to control your movements when you have sex but clearly, this was a new experience for him

you like it. a lot.

as you do it more often and jungwon gets more used to it, he likes being a little more dominant by telling you to stop or keep going

mostly because knowing that you like it makes him horny as fuck

lee heeseung

b e g s you to do it

except he manages to do it in a way where you’re convinced that it was your idea in the first place

tries his best to keep his hands to himself

fails every time

kinda like jungwon, his hands always just naturally gravitate towards your hips

loves to control your pace and drag your hips slowly against his

bc he knows how much you hate it

he makes sure to bring you to the edge and rip your pleasure away at the last second

he's a fucking asshole (and you tell him as much) but he just laughs and kisses your tears away

definitely the type to tell you to sit slowly only to knock the wind out of you by thrusting suddenly

loves it when you grab his shoulders, trying to steady yourself

he gets such an ego boost when your thighs are shaking, and your grip on his body is too tight

he likes knowing that he's the single man on earth who could make you feel this good

will 100% kiss your collarbone when you're leaning over him

riding him is fun, teasing but also really romantic when he wants to be

absolutely will not flip you over, even when you get tired

"you're tired? that's alright, baby. we've got all night and nowhere to be."

park jongseong

such a cutie patootie bc he's always thinking abt if you're going through too much trouble

honestly, you would only be able to ride him when he's really tired

or when he's feeling a little down or when you just wanna spoil him

bc he l o v e s it when you ride him but he's always so worried abt you :(

sits against the headboard so that you can have more stability

presses so many kisses against your chest and neck

loves it when you're slow and grinding against him, just enjoying how full he makes you feel

loves it even more when you're riding him like it's the only thing you can think of doing in that moment

absolutely runs his hands up and down your thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck to kiss him

always is kissing you btw

no matter how fucked out you are (or he is, tbh) he's always kissing you bc you're going out of your way to make him feel good

just so incredibly love w you

will absolutely be asking if you want him to flip you over and make you feel good

doesn't believe you when you say that riding him does make you feel good

accidentally leaves bruises on your hips from how hard his grip is on you

kisses every single one of the bruises he leaves because he feels so sorry :(

definitely a groaner and his head falls back when you bottom out

he's such a romantic omg

jake sim

so excited cannot control himself

will beg you to ride him and is not ashamed of it

"yeah and you would too if your s/o was as hot as mine."

is kinda silly abt it because for him, pleasure is the ultimate goal

so even though you're riding him, he will 'accidentally' thrust upwards just to see you gasp

absolutely the type to do goofy shit in the middle to see you lose your breath

gets such an ego boost when you're sweating, trying not to cum before him when he's making it so hard for you

is a rlly sensual person so if the vibe is kinda serious, he will absolutely be pushing your hair back, pressing kisses against your shoulders

prefers you to ride him when the two of you are sitting

like sitting in an armchair or some shit

he feels like he's closer to you and he rlly likes the feeling of you clinging to him (kinda like heeseung)

is super versatile? like he gets turned on by pretty much everything and is into everything

so he can go from having a rlly serious vibe and kissing you senseless while you're seated full of him

to bouncing you on his dick faster than you can even register the switch

gets such a kick of adrenaline when you're fucked thoughtless when you're riding him

especially when you're babbling nonsense about how you don't want to stop and that you're in love w his dick

ABSOLUTELY goes feral for the praise

park sunghoon

one serving of a cocky ass mf when you first suggest it ("LMAOO you like like me")

kinda like jay in that he feels bad at first bc he rlly only lets you do it when he's feeling rlly tired

or when he just wants to be taken care of

since most of the time, he likes it for you to just sit back and relax

when he finally gives in though, he enjoys it to the fullest

absolutely accidentally edges you while he edges himself

everything feels so intense that he just needs you to stop every so often for you to catch your breath

and for him to get his head straight

but his thoughts grow cloudier and cloudier the longer you ride him

eventually, he gives up the reigns to you and that's when the fun really begins

he's such a sweetie when he's so far gone

tries his best to be quiet but just starts babbling when you ride him like it's the only thing you can think of doing

his hands are all over your body, trying to find something to anchor himself to

mark. him. up.

loves feeling special to you and feeling like you'd never give anyone else the chance to make you feel good like this

i wouldn't say that he's subby necessarily but he kinda gives into a more gentle and pliable side of him that you normally don't see

and when he cums, good god praise him so much pls :( he deserves it

kim sunoo

actually the best person to ever ride (i say this from personal experience)

slightly more dominant than usual because he loves seeing you melt when he takes control

snaps his hips up when you least expect it to see you whimper

gets such an ego boost when you lose your strength and fall into his arms

will hold you close to his chest as he fucks into you

kisses you when you're leaning into him

very slow and steady and purposeful with his movements, making you want more when he does the slightest movements

laughs when you nearly pass out after you cum (not in a mean way) (in a slightly mean way)

thinks you're absolutely adorable and likes watching you fumble for a couple moments before he starts guiding you

honestly probably doesn't let you do it very often bc he has to be in a very specific mindset for it

probably only happens when you're feeling RLLY needy

it's also probably just foreplay to him before he flips you over and fucks you until your mind goes absolutely blank

might even get freaky with it

do not get surprised if he ties your hands behind your back with a tie or smth

and tells you to 'get moving' in teasing way

overall, unlocks a side of him that you rarely get but absolutely love every time that you see it

[gilverrwrites]

Thinking about clit slapping again, per 2.5 asks, ya’ll make some great observations. Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy.

Bruce

Thinking about Bruce who loves to tease you with a straight face. Who tells you to “be patient”, who’s helping you build on your self-restraint by touching every inch of you with those big, thick hands except the one place you keep begging him for.

Bruce who keeps you on edge until it’s unbearable, until on a whim you decide if he’s not going to do anything about it, you will.

Bruce who grumbles in your ear, low and restrained; “What did I tell you?”

Bruce who opens your slick folds, in a controlled, slow motion which only serves to make you needier until he comes down on your sensitive clit with his other hand. The obscene smack that rings through his chambers is almost drowned out by your anguish, desperate cry.

Dick

Dick with his long, dexterous fingers who loves to explore every crevice of your body. Who would do anything to keep hearing you make those pretty noises for him.

Dick who knows the key to keeping you sex dazed is working your clit until it’s dark and swollen and you’re incapable of following a thought. So he rubs and grinds against it, swirls his tongue around it, and laps until his jaw is soaked in his own saliva and your juices.

And then one day, with no forethought, Dick flicks it with the back of his middle finger and the resulting sob was so delicious he had to eat up more.

“You’re so perfect, baby.” Dick purrs between sloppy kisses and strikes of growing intensity. “Do it again, baby. Come on, just for me pretty girl.”

Jason

And Jason, who is big and tough, and rough around the edges but would do anything you want to hear you praise him.

“You like that, sweetheart?” He asks you over and over again, basking and melting just a little bit more every time you reply with “Fuck, yes Jason! Feels so good baby.”

“Who? Who makes you feel good?” He begs for more. “You Jason, you!”

So when you ask Jason to try slapping your clit, he doesn’t hesitate. He slaps it once, savouring the way your body tremors under the force of his brawny hand. Twice, and he can’t believe how lucky he is to have found someone so beautiful and shameless as you. Three times, with no end in sight.

Tim

Tim read about it in an cosmopolitan article and can’t wait for the chance to experiment with you, and he knows if he plays his cards just right you’ll always cave.

“Spread your legs.” He murmurs in a voice that’s assertive but so soft. The tips of his long hair tickle your soft skin as he kisses his way down your torso. Tim’s warm, calloused hands guiding your thighs apart as he slinks between them. “That’s it hon, just like that.”

He intends to warm you up, to rub your pretty little clit beneath his thumb until you’re pleading for more, to spell T-I-M on it with his tongue over and over but; “I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet already?”

Before you can answer Tim used two fingers to spread your slick folds apart and delivers a sharp slap right where you’re most sensitive, blue eyes unblinking, soaking in your reaction.

Despite knowing from the way your back arches and your eyes roll back, Tim asks; “Did you like that baby, do you want more?”

Roy

Your body is like target practice to Roy, which is to say; he never misses.

Roy has every inch of you ingrained in his mind. Teasing, and touching, and getting you off is as easy to him as firing his bow, its muscle memory.

Not once does Roy need to break away from your needy, heated kisses as he undresses you. There’s not a thought in his head other than how hot you look when you’re dishevelled and riled up as he unhooks your bra or curls his fingers on your core.

Roy brags that he could find your clit, one-handed and blindfolded, and sometimes he likes to put that into practice. He tells you to “Lay back, Princess.” Then he closes his eyes, makes a show of spinning around or pretending to sniff you out and then he spanks your clit with the kind of powerful precision only he could possess.

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[nap-thym3]

Sebastian Solace(Pressure) x Reader/Self-Insert 🌊

Part-One /Fluff/1,886 Words

____________

Synopsis: In which when I first played pressure I just stood and stared at Sebastian’s character model for a solid five minutes. So this was born. yayayaya

____________

Army crawling on your knees and elbows, your chest rattles with your wheezing breaths. Truth was, you’d never been an active person. The most legwork you’d gotten in a day was typically at work, and even then, that was minimal. Suffice to say, being thrust into this shitshow of a scenario where running from constant threats was the norm, the situation couldn’t be anymore dire.

You wave a hand about in front of yourself, fanning away the disrupted layers of dust that fluttered in the cramped ventilation shaft as your rasping coughs bounce off the walls and create a cacophony of god-awful racket. You mutter a slew of curses to yourself, clapping your palm over your nose and mouth in a pitiful attempt to stifle your coughing fit. It would be just your luck for a nearby eldritch-horror to overhear your pathetic, asthmatic-self in the vents and drag you out by the ankles. The thought alone brings an electrifying jolt of anxiety through your person, and if you had the space you’d be looking over your shoulder in paranoia. Alas, the best you could do was put your jittering nerves to use and crawl just that little bit faster. Honestly, it was an accomplishment in of itself that you managed to shimmy-shammy your adult self into such a claustrophobic passage in the first place. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve just marched straight past the most convenient and inviting looking vent in the world. Probably assuming it to be a blatant trap. Except, you did know better. Just a few feet ahead lay maybe the only place in the entire bowels of this hellscape where you felt you were well and truly safe.

Crawling out of the shaft like an NYC subway rat, you’re finally free to hack up your lungs in peace without fear of death by angler. At least, no death from this one in particular. Blindly you lean back to sit on your haunches, eyes straining to pick up any movement in the darkness.

“Oh. It’s you.” Your shoulder’s jump as a voice drawls from the far-side of the room. Soon after, a gentle glow begins to illuminate the occupied space.

Now with your gracious host offering you visibility, you blink your adjusting vision over to watch as Sebastian seemingly just wraps up whatever file he’d been perusing in the dark. Before you can even attempt to try and sneak a peek at whatever he’d been reading, said folder closes shut with a swift snap. The merchant then carefully tucks the item away into his inner-coat’s pocket. A shame, your snooping has been so swiftly shut down before it ever had a chance to begin- you pout at the missed opportunity. Sebastian catches your longing gaze fixated on his coat, and gives a condescending little pat to the area where you know the concealed document is to be hiding. Wordlessly daring you to even try. Cheeky fish.

“Not even a ‘Hello’ or ‘How are you’? I could’ve been dying in there!” You bemoan in a familiar way of greeting, gesticulating between yourselves wildly as you saunter forward. Sebastian, unphased by your usual eccentricities, drags an unimpressed eye over your much smaller form. Analyzing. Probably looking at your absolutely filthy diving suit- sweat-drenched and caked in dust, grime, and maybe even a little bit of blood as it was. At least you assumed so, if the distaste visibly evident in his features was anything to go by.

“I was hoping whoever it was would die a little more quickly.” Was his dry response, before turning his head in indifference; seeming to have found whatever it was he was looking for on your person.

You scoff, “I see chivalry really is dead.” You gripe without any real bite in your voice. Already beginning to survey the merchant’s wares. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him as he begins to preen over his nails, pretending to be checking for dirt. Or blood, you didn’t know the guy well enough to say for certain what he did in his free-time. Your attention travels upwards, from his large hands up to his round face. The light emanating from his angler’s bulb casts an almost ethereal glow to his features. Especially with the way his eyes gleam that cerulean blue that’s quickly becoming a favorite color of yours. In addition to these qualities, there’s a very light sprinkling of bioluminescent freckles smattered across his cheeks. Sort of reminiscent to that of stars. Idly your fingers twitch, the sudden urge to reach up and map them like constellations startlingly strong. All these qualities make Sebastian feel so surreal, so out of this world. In juxtaposition to all of that, you’re confident to say that if he had the means, he’d be snobbishly turning his nose up at you right about now. The mental image brings a small, secretive smile to your face.

Sebastian rolls his eyes- or at least, you get the impression that he does. His lack of distinctive pupils makes it hard to tell.

“Are you going to actually buy something today?” He snips, cocking out a hip. “Or are you just going to keep gawking at me?” The merchant sneers through grit teeth(or maybe that was just his face?).

Snapping out of your reverie, caught with your hand in the proverbial cookie-jar, blood rushes to your head as you grin sheepishly up at his accusatory glare.

“Sorry, you’re just…” you wave a hand up beside yourself, willing the right words to come to you. Sebastian, amused by your silent floundering, quirks a knowing eyebrow at you. As if saying ‘Go on?’ The soundless goading sends you into a mental spiral- what did that mean? What did he think you were going to say? God- you don’t want to accidentally offend him, but you also don’t want to sound like a complete idiot. You gulp, mouth opening and closing a few times as you attempt to formulate words that will appease him.

Seemingly tired of you embarrassing yourself, Sebastian moved to speak, assumedly in an act of mercy from this sad display. Quickly, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, before he could beat you to the punch.

“You’re just really pretty.” Mortified, you clap your hands over your mouth. Yup. Those are. Definitely words that you just said. To his face.

Muscles tensing, you brace for his reaction. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, disgust, maybe? Mocking laughter, most probably. Any and all situations your brain can conjure up are absolutely humiliating in equal measure. However, as one moment drags into two, and the silence has still yet to be breached, you cautiously look Sebastian’s way. The sight that greets you is a rare one. The infamous Z-13, Sebastian Solace, is left speechless.

The Merchant’s smug expression falters, a look of genuine astonishment crossing his face. The dim light cast by his lure does little to mask the way his stature curls inwards slightly. A slight too much, in your opinion. You can see the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching- as though internally wrestling with a response. Just as you had been a moment prior. The knowledge that he was just as at a loss for words as you were eases the tension in your shoulders, if only by a hair. Miser so does love its company, after-all. There’s a brief pause, heavy and awkward, until he finally speaks, his voice softer than usual.

“Pretty?” he echoes, almost disbelievingly. He then swallows, visibly thrown off-kilter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called… At-At least- that is to say, not in a good long while.” The second half of his sentence is murmured, as if mostly said to himself. But you had overheard, and he looks as if to have noticed the way your brows pinch in a confusing whirlpool of emotions. Mostly sympathy, pity, among other emotions neither of you were too entirely ready to put out on the table. God forbid you two express emotional maturity and speak plainly like adults. Sebastian flexes his long tail, the serpentine appendage looking as if it were going to either pull or push you away. However, before it can make any progress in either endeavor, Sebastian, -noticeably uncomfortable- clears his throat.

“Silly little thing.” He croons, swooping down from his towering height to give you a patronizing pinch to the cheek with his clawed index and thumb. “You should be mindful of your tongue, hmmm?” As he speaks, his usual edge returns to his voice. Your head helplessly tilts side-to-side with the motion of his ‘affection’. Affronted, and a little whip-lashed with his quick recovery, you swat the offending hand away from your face.

“Jerk! I was trying to be nice!” Despite the biting words, you can’t help but feel relieved to be set back on familiar ground. Whatever emotional vulnerability present in the moment prior was slowly ebbing away, returning to your regularly scheduled squabbling. Sebastian chuckles, bodily retreating to his previous stature and re-clasping his hands before himself with an echoing ‘clap’. You rub at your reddened cheeks, whether their heat was due to Sebastian’s rough treatment or from an entirely other emotion, was only for you to know.

Sebastian continues on distractedly, seeming to have already recollected his composure. “Flattery will get you nowhere here, you know. But… thanks.” You think you see his eyes dart away for a brief moment, before locking onto yours again. A curl of his typical smirk splaying across his lips.

You gasp dramatically, a goofy smile erupting on your face. “The mighty Sebastian? Saying thanks?” You tease.

Sebastian waves a hand about in the air dismissively. “Yeah yeah, just don’t let it get to your head.” He says, crossing his arms defensively. He steamrolls on before you get anymore wise ideas to- eugh, compliment him. “Now hurry up and buy something already!” He snaps, motioning to the various goodies strapped to his person. Not having to be told thrice now, you hurry and make your selections. Eager to move on from everything and anything to do with word ‘cute’. Nothing major, just a few batteries for the road and a mobile hacker or two. Sebastian seems to approve of your choices, and if the price he demands of you seems a little cheaper than the usual- well. You certainly weren’t going to complain.

Getting everything tucked neatly away and ready to go, you begin to trek back towards the vent before being stopped once more by Sebastian.

“Oh! And Traveller?” He calls. With an answering hum, you look back to maybe your only friend down here. The merchant in question seems to look like he’s turning something over in his head, before continuing with a withering sigh.

“Try not to get yourself killed out there, alright? I’d hate to lose such a profitable costumer.” He sing-songs grimly. Despite the harsh words, you can’t help but notice a slight undertone of warm endearment. Feeling like a certified Sebastian-whisperer, you pride swells in your chest at being able to read between the lines. With a barely concealed snicker at his thinly-veiled concern, you toss a final farewell his way before retreating. All throughout the next dozen or so rooms, you journey forward with a skip in your step. Feeling invigorated with newfound determination knowing that a certain merchant was counting on your safe return.

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eeeughh I’m so rusty with writing. Like. It’s not even funny how long this took me for just a one-shot? Idk I might continue this, I just suck so bad at staying motivated for fanfics. Anywho, hope any fellow Sebastian enjoyers out there liked this, there’s not enough content out there of him👍 please make more content guys pls I’m starved for the fics puh-LEASEE