#little thing i had swimming around in my drafts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leclerc-hs · 5 days ago

Text

romantic chocolates? - op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader summary: in which you and your best friends brother accidentally eat aphrodisiac chocolate OR you and oscar get so fucking horny while on a yacht in the Maldives. warnings: smut smut smut, all smut basically. oral, p in v, dirty talk, language, marking kink, slight voyeruism, exhibitionism??, not sure what else...NOT PROOFREAD! (might be some typos) word count: ~3.9k author's note: SURPRISEEEE ITS OUT EARLY (I worked hard over the weekend lol) hope you guys enjoy!! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR OSCAR EVERRRR (aside from a one shot i've had sitting in my drafts for months lol) comment and let me know what you think!!! xoxo

ln4 cl16 mv1 op81

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

You’ve always had a sweet tooth.

Everyone knew it. Oscar especially. He used to tease you over it when you were younger. Would point out when your fingers were sticky with something sugary.

He never said it unkindly. Just amused. Soft. Something like you’ve got chocolate on your face and then passed you a napkin you didn’t ask for.

He’s always been like that. Gentle. Kind. The boy who was never loud. More of a listener than a speaker.

And he never made you feel silly. Not when you cried after falling off your bike and scraped your knee. Not when your towel slipped. Not even when you accidentally spilled juice all over your shirt on a long flight. He just handed you a new one from his backpack like he knew it’d happen.

You’d grown up like that.

And now here you were, years later. Sunburned and salty on a private yacht in the Maldives, still with a sweet tooth and one of his old McLaren shirts he gave you when he first got signed. Pulled over your bikini.

His sister, your best friend, left on in the morning for a tour with the rest of the group. Something about history and snorkeling. You’d both waved your hands declining. Something about being too burned and too sleepy for it.

“She’s going to get bored halfway through,” You sip on your drink. “Probably will call us in two hours.”

Oscar gives you a shrug. “I give her one.”

“She said it was a once in a lifetime experience.” You throw up your hands while repeating her words. Mocking her almost. Smiling.

“So is sitting here.”

And you laugh.

He’s sitting across from you, towel slung around the back of his neck, sun catching his shoulders. His hair is damp. Skin flushed from the sun. No shirt. Just a pair of swim shorts and bare feet.

You shift slightly where you are. Curled up in the shade. Bare legs stretched out. The oversized shirt clinging to you just a little too much where your bikini top was wet.

He glances at you when you move. Doesn’t speak. Just tracks it with his eyes. And looks away again.

His hand reaches for the table. “What’s this?”

You look over.

A little box. Dark. Red ribbon wrapped around it.

“Some welcome thing, I think.” You shrug. “Dropped it off yesterday.”

Oscar pulls the lid open, brows lifting. He picks up a wrapped square, amused.

“Well, well.” He says, looking at you. “Your kryptonite.”

You grin. “Shut up.”

“You gonna pretend you didn’t spot this the second we sat down?”

“I did not.”

He tilts his head, giving you a look.

“Mm, you’ve got that look.” He says.

“What look?”

“The one you used to get before stealing cupcakes at birthday parties.”

You roll your eyes, but blush. Cheeks reddening. “I did not steal…”

“You did.” He cuts you off. Already unwrapping one of the chocolates. “Always had sugar on your hands. Icing on the corner of your lips.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he tosses a piece toward you.

You catch it.

You watch him bring the chocolate to his mouth, tongue darting over his lip without thinking.

Peel open your piece and press it to your tongue. It melts fast. Rich.

You hum, licking a smear of it off your finger. “That’s actually really good.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

You glance up and catch him mid-swipe across his bottom lip. Looking dazed. Distracted.

Then he blinks, clears his throat. And nods. “Yeah, pretty good.”

He closes the lid of the box, slides it to the side. Then leans back, looking at the water.

And you sit there with him. Across from him on the cushioned benches. Chewing slowly. Feeling that heat bloom beneath your skin.

It’s soft at first.

Then deeper.

A warmth in your chest. A pulse between your thighs.

The wind sweeps your skin. And the fabric of your bikini suddenly feels too damp. Too thin. Too tight.

You swallow. Trying not to fidget.

Oscar hasn’t moved much. His gaze is still on the ocean, but it isn’t really. And you watch the way his jaw flexes. The way his foot shifts on the deck. Like he was grounding himself.

He doesn’t look at you.

And he always looks at you.

You shift again. Cross your ankles. Press your thighs together.

You glance at Oscar again.

And his lips are parted. Just a little bit. And his brow is slightly furrowed.

You sit up slightly. “You okay?”

He shifts. Then clears his throat, blinking. “Yeah. Just…hot.”

You nod slowly. “Same.”

He leans forward, breathes out. But his fingers twitch. And you notice as his back muscles roll slightly as he drops his head down, towel slipping down.

He stays like that for a few seconds. Then rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

His voice is quiet. Flat. “What was in that chocolate?”

You don’t answer right away. Because you’re fucking throbbing now. And your bikini is definitely soaked.

“Do you feel…” He swallows, throat bobbing. “Strange?”

You nod. And then remember he isn’t even looking at you. “Yeah.”

His jaw clenches.

He shifts again. Still not looking at you. And that’s how you know something is wrong.

Because he never acts like this.

You’ve seen him flustered, sure. After a race, dealing with the media, around too many people. But never like this. Not this tense. As if he’s afraid.

“I didn’t think chocolate could….fuck.” His voice cracks. And he laughs under his breath.

He grips the bench. Looking like he’s in pain.

“I think I need to go inside.”

And he stands too fast. Towel falling down. Hands clenched at his sides as he turns on bare feet and walks toward the main cabin.

You stare at his back. His shoulders. And he disappears down the stairs.

You’re so hot that you could cry. Unbearable.

You press your palm flat to your stomach. Like it’ll help.

But it doesn’t.

Because it’s not just the chocolate.

It’s him. Oscar.

Gone for less than a minute and his voice is the only thing in your head. The way his mouth looked when he licked the chocolate off his thumb. His hands. The muscles of his back straining as he leaned forward

The silence stretches heavy.

You make a quiet sound in your throat. Barely audible. And you can’t sit still. Can barely think. Can’t stop seeing him.

Your hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. You’re hesitant at first. But then trail your fingers to the center of your ache.

And your hips lift off the cushion. A heavy breath escaping.

Your other hand grips the bench as you rock slowly against your own fingers. Over the bikini. Slow circles. Each one, pressing harder.

You let your head fall back. And the sky above is almost blinding.

“Oscar…”

You don’t even realize you said it out loud. It just slips.

And a few moments later, you don’t even hear him come back. Your fingers still at your bikini. Rubbing.

You lift your head. He’s there.

Flushed. Hair ruffled like he ran his fingers through it a million times. Eyes fixed between your legs like he’s in some sort of trance.

He just stares. Doesn’t even speak.

“I can’t stop,” You whisper. Honest.

“You’re…” He blinks. Voice low. Stunned. Like he just walked into his favorite fantasy and doesn’t know what to do. “You’re fucking touching yourself?”

You nod. And he groans.

“To me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” You whisper.

“Jesus.” His hands twitch at his sides.

You shift, spreading your legs a little wider without meaning to. Unable to stop rubbing the tight circles.

“You look so pretty like that,” He mutters.

You tremble. “I need help.”

And his eyes widen.

“Please,” you whisper. “I can’t…Osc, please.”

He groans. Hands dropping to the front of his swim shorts, palming the hard line of his cock through the fabric.

“Come closer.” You plead.

And he stares at you with wide eyes. Flushed. He doesn’t move. At least, he doesn’t at first.

But then his gaze drops back down to your legs. Spread open. Your fingers rubbing slow, desperate circles. And his hands twitch.

“I…” He says, but he’s already squeezing himself. “I shouldn’t.”

“Oscar…”

“I shouldn’t be seeing this,” his mutters. “And I shouldn’t be this fucking hard.”

Your eyes fall to where his hand squeezes against his cock. Like he’s trying to fight the ache between his legs.

And you whimper. Hips jerking. “I can’t. I need….I need help.”

His hand squeezes himself tighter.

“Fuck.” A pause. A few silent moments of heated stares. “Do you know how many times I used to think about this?”

His voice has gone rough. And you blink at him. Heart stuttering.

“I used to jerk off in my room and feel sick after,” He whispers. “Because it was you. My sister’s best friend. Always walking around in those tiny shorts. That blue bikini. Always so fucking sweet.”

Your fingers slow. Jaw falls slack.

“I’ve thought about it,” His voice shakes. “Fuck. I’ve thought about this. When we were younger.”

Your breath hitches.

“Thought about your pussy more than I should’ve.” He mutters. “Wondered how soft you’d feel. How tight. If you’d let me take my time or if you’d beg me to fuck you rough.”

Your back arches.

“Wondered what you’d sound like when you come.” He continues. “If it’s all breathy. Or if you’d cry. If you’d say my name.”

“I’d press the pillow over my face after so no one would hear me,” He admits. “Every time.”

You gasp.

“I would.” You gasp.

His hand pushes harder into his cock. Groaning. “I’ve thought about fucking you with my tongue. Holding your legs and licking you for hours.”

You press your fingers even harder.

You whimper, other hand reading for a pillow or something to grab onto. “Osc, please.”

“You want my fingers?” He whispers. “Right here? Want me to fuck you with my hand?”

You nod. Repeatedly. Fast. Almost pathetic.

Oscar lets out a whimper. And then he’s kneeling in front of you before you can blink. Hand still pressing into his cock. The other trembling as his fingers brush your thigh.

“You’re so warm.”

Your hand falls away and he replaces it instantly. Pressing two fingers against the soaked fabric. Groans loudly when he feels it.

“Fuck, pretty…” He groans. “You’re soaked. Fuckin’ dripping.”

And then he pushes the fabric aside, stares. Pupils blown. “God, look at you…"

You shake your head. “Please.”

“I’ve thought about sliding my fingers into you since I was seventeen,” He pushes them in. Half-laughing. “Thought about curling them deep and slow….hearing you moan just like that.”

Oscar swears under his breath, leaning closer. Jaw locked tight. “I’d keep you like this for hours if I could. Legs spread and needy….mine to play with.”

You cry out. Rocking your hips.

And he curls his fingers. Watching your face.

“Yeah?” His thumb circles your clit now. Slow. “Right there? Knew I’d find it.”

And you careen forward. Hands flying to grab his shoulders.

“Come for me,” He mutters. “Right here. In my fucking shirt. On my yacht. On my fingers.”

And you do.

Hard.

And he watches every second. His lips parted. Cock throbbing.

And then he drags his fingers out of you slow.

Brings them to his mouth.

Licks them clean. Eyes locked on yours.

“Taste better than I ever dreamed,” He says softly.

And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck. Pulling your lips to his. Kissing you like he’s starving.

His tongue licks your mouth like its his. Like he already knows how to pull those sounds out of you and wants to hear every single one.

And his hands slip down your body. Down your shoulders, over your ribs. Brushing the dip of your waist. Until he’s gripping your thighs.

“Wanna see bruises here,” He says. “Want people to see bruises and know.”

He stays kneeling between you, chest heaving.

“You’re soaking, baby.” His voice cracks.

He leans forward. Kissing your inner thigh. And then opens his mouth, sucking hard. Pulling a moan from you.

You feel the bruise forming as he licks over it. Sucks it again. Fingers pressing into your skin, gripping it.

“That’s one,” He mutters.

He leaves another one. Higher.

Then a third on the other leg. Right by your cunt. So close that it makes your hips jerk into his mouth.

And then he’s standing. Grabbing you under your thighs. And lifts you.

Laying you down on the table. The welcome basket crashes onto the deck with a thud, but neither of you acknowledge it. The box of chocolates dangling on the edge.

He grabs it.

“What are you doing?” You ask. Breathless.

He doesn’t answer. Opens the box, takes out a single piece and holds it up. Gaze dropping down to your cunt spread open for him.

“Need to taste you with this,” He mutters.

He leans over you. Pressing the chocolate between your lips. “Bite.”

You do.

The sun’s hot against your skin.

And then he kisses you hard. Tongue lapping against yours, sharing the chocolate. You both moan and groan into each other before he’s dropping back to his knees.

“Look at you,” He breathes. “All messy. Want my mouth, baby?”

You nod.

And he leans in. Licks you.

One long drag up your slit.

You cry out. And he groans into your cunt. Licking you. Tasting you.

“Fuckin heaven.” He drags a hand to your leg. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

“Oscar…”

He doesn’t stop. Just hooks his arm under your thigh, and pulls you closer to the edge. Legs over his shoulder.

And buries his face in your pussy.

You grind into him instantly. Chasing every flick of his tongue.

Your hands fist into his hair, dragging his face closer against you. And he moans. Wrecked.

“Fuck,” you yell. “Oscar…oh my…fuck.”

He drags his tongue through you. Flicking your clit over and over.

“Keep fucking my face,” his voice is hot.

“You sound…my God..Oscar, you sound obsessed..”

“I am.” He grunts. Fingers curling in you as he nudges your clit with his nose.

And then he pulls one arm away. You barely notice it. Until you hear it and look down.

He’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, fisting it fast. Leaking.

He jerks his cock faster. Hips twitching into his own fist as his mouth works harder against you.

“Gonna come,” he confesses. “Gonna come from tasting you.”

You cry out.

“C’mon…” He urges. “Let me taste it, yeah?”

And it breaks you.

You moan into the open sky. Grinding against his face. Jaw slack. Eyes squeezed shut.

And then he groans, standing up and comes hard onto your cunt.

Hot, messy ropes of it. Spilling over you.

And then he’s dragging you off the table without a word. Not giving you time to even breathe. Panting.

His hands tight around you, and then he’s spinning you. Forcing you to face the ocean. Chest hitting the metal railing.

And he’s behind you. Silent.

You start to turn your head, “Oscar…?”

“No.” He says. Voice rough. “Stay just like that.”

His hands drag your shirt up. Slow.

His name in bold letters stretched across your back.

He groans. Violently.

“I should’ve fucked you in this years ago.”

Your breath falters.

“Fucking knew it,” He grabs a fistful of the shirt, twisting his hand in it. “Knew one day you’d bend over in this and I’d lose my fucking mind.”

You feel the heat of his body behind you, shoving your bottoms down with one swift flick of his hand. Cock thick and heavy. Dragging through your folds, collecting his come and your wetness.

He groans. You shake.

He presses forward, hips rocking against you. Grinding into your thighs.

“You’ve no idea what you look like.” His breath is heavy behind you. “Bent over. My name on your back. Come still dropping down your cunt.”

And you bite your lip. Arching into him harder.

One hand grips your hip, the other fisted around the shirt.

“You wore this shirt for years like it meant nothing,” His voice quieter. Mean. “Didn’t think about what it did to me every time you wore it.”

“Osc…” You attempt to say his name, but he shifts his hips into you harder and your voice cracks.

He laughs.

“Now look at you. Dripping all over me. Wearing my name like you belong to me.”

He sinks in slow. So slow that you feel every pulse. Every ridge.

And you whimper. He groans behind you. Like he’s in pain. Like he’s trying so hard to not ravish you.

But when his hips meet you, and he’s bottomed out. He just….stops.

Breathes in heavily.

“Fuck.” He says soft. “You’re so fucking tight around me.”

His fingers dig into your hip even harder. Bruising. Marking.

“You’ve ruined me,” He laughs. “Y’know that?”

And you don’t even get a chance to answer.

Because he pulls back and slams into you. Hard.

You cry out, hands gripping the railing that your knuckles turn white.

His pace isn’t gentle at all. It’s feral.

“Fucking ruined me,” He says again. “You in this shirt….you in my fucking name..do you even know what that does to me?”

You moan. So loud. And his hips smack into you. Over and over.

“You’ve been walkin’ around in it for years.” He spits. “Like it’s nothing.”

He thrusts deep, angling his hips at a better angle. “Like I haven’t been dreaming of fucking you in it since I gave it to you all those years ago.”

You’re babbling now. Unable to breathe properly. Your entire body trembling.

His hand slips from your hip and slides up your spine. He grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down. Just a little bit harder. Forces you to arch even more.

And fuck, he nearly collapses when he feels you clench tighter around him.

“You should see yourself,” He grunts. “Squeezing around me like you’re desperate to never let me go.”

And he’s lost all rhythm. He’s just slamming into you. Cock so deep.

“Can’t believe this is real.” He’s panting. “Can’t believe I get to fuck you in my shirt. Pussy covered in me.”

Your orgasm is close. And you’re shouting. Moaning.

"Bet she'd lose her mind if she knew what a slut you were f'me..."

You cry out. He feels you teetering on the edge.

“Don’t.” He snaps.

And you cry, “Oscar…please.”

“You’re gonna wait.” He demands, fucking into you more rapidly.

And he’s losing his mind. It’s sooo good.

“Say who’s inside you.” His hands squeeze the back of your neck. “Say it.”

You gasp. Jaw falling slack. Chest pressed harsh into the metal railing. “You…Osc..fuck, it’s so good..”

You sob out his name and Oscar fucking snaps.

“That’s it, baby.”

His hips hit you faster. Deeper. The filthy sound of it heard over the waves lapping the hull.

You sob into the railing.

He leans into you, head falling forward.

“Gonna come,” He chokes out. “Gonna come right inside you. Stuff you full. Let it leak out.”

And you break.

Orgasm ripping through you. Violent and hot. Back arching so hard into him. You sob out his name. Your walls clenching around him in a tight grip.

And he crashes with you. Body shuddering. Cock throbbing. Spilling into you.

He’s still panting against you when he pulls out. And it’s a fucking mess in between your thighs.

But before you can say anything, he’s dragging you upright. And you’re stumbling as he drags you across the hot deck. Hand across your stomach. Keeping you close.

And then he’s shoving you into the rinse off shower.

He reaches up. Turns the handle. And the water is so cold that you gasp from it.

Oscar laughs behind you. “Too cold?”

Your head falls onto his shoulder. “Asshole.”

And then he turns the temperature warmer, and then it’s all steam and heat again.

You expect him to rinse you off gently.

Instead, he grabs the shower head. Detaches it from the hook. And pulls your back against his chest.

“Gonna clean you up.”

You’re about to ask what exactly he means. But then he;;s nudging your legs apart. Brings the shower head straight to your cunt.

And you jolt forward with a sharp cry.

The heat. The pressure.

“Oh my god…Osc,” You’re mumbling.

And he watches you. Holding one leg to keep them apart.

“Stay open,” his voice is soft. “Wanna see you come again.”

And you whimper. Begging. “Too much…fuck.”

But he doesn’t stop. Just tilts the shower head just right. Hitting your clit.

“Thought I’d have to work harder for this,” He mutters. “But you’re soaking already.”

“Fuck…fuck.”

"Y'like this, hm?" He whispers into your ear. "Being used like some filthy secret?"

Your hands reach behind you and slip their way into his hair. Pulling it. He groans. Rutting his hips into your backside for some friction.

“C’mon, pretty.” He grunts.

And the water just keeps hitting you.

You sob. And then crash again.

Your legs shake. Cunt clenching around nothing. But he holds you up, turning you to face him. Pressing your back against the wall.

He finally sets the shower head down. Lets it spray onto the deck.

And then his hands are back on you. One at your lower back, one gripping your thigh, pulling it up to wrap at his waist. You balance on one leg.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Y’okay?” His voice gentle. Caring.

And you nod, pressing your head into his neck. And his heart stutters when you lean into him. Like he can finally breathe.

“I’ve got you,” He whispers.

And then, he sinks back into you.

Slow. Gentle.

Your mouth falls open. The stretch still almost unbearable after everything. But the way he slides in, feels too fucking good.

You gasp. Digging your nails into his skin. And he cradles you against the wall.

He moves slow. Rocking. No rhythm. And he feels massive. Thick.

“Oscar,” You hush into his skin. “You feel…Y’feel so good.”

He nods. “I know, baby. I know.” And his voice is a whisper.

He grinds deeper. Barely moving but pressing into you. “Can’t believe you’re still this wet…” He grunts. “Still want more? Want me to stuff you full again, hm? Fuck you til it leaks down?”

You nod. Mouth open. Moaning.

“C’mon,” He pants. Hips jerking. Cock throbbing.

It’s quick. The feel of you wrapped around his cock. The overstimulation of the stretch.

You both come quick. Crying out into each other’s skin. Soft kisses in between the moans.

And then you’re both laughing. Smiling at one another.

“Holy shit…I’m dying.” Your best friend announces. “Never let me go on another tour ever ever again.”

Oscar snorts from beside you on the bench, looking at his phone. “Told you you’d hate it.”

“You didn’t say I’d almost drown.”

You keep your face still. Sipping your drink.

And she plops down on the lounger across the deck, sighing.

And for a moment…it’s quiet.

Until Oscar leans in slightly, elbow brushing your arm.

His voice low. “Y’think she noticed?”

You glance at him. Shake your head.

“She’s never been less observant,” You whisper back.

And he grins. One of those fuck-you grins that makes you stutter.

And you hold back a smile.

Your best friend groans across the deck. “God, I feel disgusting. Should we order dinner in an hour?”

Oscar clears his throat. “Sure.”

“Yeah,” You say.

And then you lean, just slightly, into his side. Just enough that his thigh is touching yours again.

He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t stop smiling.

"Hey, what happened to the welcome basket?"

Oops? taglist (holy shit SO MANY OF YOU ILY): @landoscarinthefastlane @dudenhaaa27 @330bpm-whiplash @xoln04f1xo @sainzluvrr @minjiahyung @madicecream123 @star73807-blog @simpfortoomanymen @art-h1ve @annaswrites00 @forumlabee @butterfly-daisies07 @nothereneverherever @widow-cevans @suns3treading @fmejenson @megatrilss1885 @10iceicebaby @sh1nedreamsm1le7 @ptrickbateman @chasingosc @uuoozzii @idkwtdwml123 @pinkdeadtopia @chiara8104 @ellie-bellie-29 @piastri-my-boy @1-of-my-many-obsessions @8junejpg1 @jaydensluv @astrlape @idontknow0704 @whistlef0rthechoir @op814kitty @asmoothoperator @illicit-affcirs @lilith-123321 @teddybearbeth @saudianna @skylyn-vais @fleurdangz @angxedxtz @marekmybeloved @liafics @dxrlxb @gabyasworld @treebranch23 @drysdalesv @morganalatina21 @bigcatharmony @ilovemuppets @acina27 @angelabunbun @megatrilss1885 @ilikecarsalotsometimes @roxanne-ragnvindr @euphoriapillz @luminouskalopsia @trinity2058 @livsturnioloo @wdsara48 @ini3103 @shimmermotorsport @marslovesran4eva @wherethezoes-at @monsterdesandia @mythicalmaven @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @ella284-3 @landossainz @redcrescentmoons @jaeger-chan @altaccount283927 @ericasdumbworld @aerie717 @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ysavelelelel @phillza-my-beloved @thenalovescars @zicosbitch @scaroscar8115 @wertyuizxcvbnm @needy02 @dessashippr @quill-vy @o6hellnah @enchantedwaspwhisper @awesome-fandom-panda @biancathecool @lilorose25 @wowzees (not sure if all these worked but I took them straight from my comments on the sneak peak)

#oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81 #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut

2K notes · View notes

azzibuckets · 1 month ago

Text

i wanna see you [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: lil oneshot bc i can’t stop thinking about paige singing for azzi to open the door

masterlist

“I wanna see you.” Paige’s loud, sing-songy voice penetrates through Azzi’s supposedly soundproof Bose earbuds, and Azzi resists the urge to slam her head against her desk.

“Paige, don’t piss me off right now,” she calls out, trying to focus on the words swimming around on her laptop screen.

She’s been working on her paper for what seems like hours, with Paige curled to her side for the first bit. At first, she’d tried to make it work. Brainstorming was easy enough, and she jotted down thoughts floating through her head as she’d structured her outline. But then Paige had rolled over, insisting on lying her head on Azzi’s chest, which inevitably came with the full weight of her 6’0 self pinning Azzi’s arm down. See, the thing about Paige Bueckers is that physical touch is her love language, so of course that meant that with her, there was no such thing as just a simple head on chest. Paige found every opportunity for maximum skin to skin contact, which meant her entire body was slumped over Azzi’s - a habit Azzi usually found endearing, but not when her paper was due in three hours.

With a sigh, Azzi had relented to her fate of only typing with one hand. But after five minutes of only being able to write a single painstakingly slow sentence, her right hand started to cramp and her left arm started falling asleep with pins and needles. “Paige,” she’d said gently. “Can you get up please? I really need to finish this.”

With a huff, Paige had dramatically flung herself to the other end of the bed. “My girl hates me,” she’d goaded under her breath, which Azzi had pretended not to hear for both of their sakes. Thankfully, with a couple of feet of space between them and full range of her hands, Azzi was able to finish the first draft of her introduction.

Some steady progress was finally being made until she felt a socked toe start rubbing the inner part of her calf. Looking up, she was met with hooded blue eyes and a smirk. “You look sexy right now, mami, working so hard.” The blonde has always been a little bit more down bad for Azzi whenever she wore her glasses, which the younger girl always gave her shit for but secretly loved.

On Azzi’s end, it certainly didn’t help that Paige was fresh from the shower, her hair down for once with blonde strands spilling over her shoulders. Her sweater had ridden up to show the outline of her abs, and her sweatpants were hanging on so low to her hips that Azzi could see her v-line. It had taken everything in Azzi not to throw away her laptop and kiss the other girl.

“Paige,” she reprimanded, masking her desire with irritatation. “No talking, okay? I really need to lock in.”

Pouting, Paige had shut up and resorted to scrolling mindlessly on Tiktok, thankfully with her volume down. But soon enough, she started laughing to herself, quietly. Azzi closed her eyes briefly, waiting for her to finish so she could write in peace, but Paige seemed to find each video funnier than the one before, her soft giggles turning into full on belly laughs. Azzi couldn’t take it anymore. “What could possibly be this fucking funny?”

Paige froze, eyes flicking up from her phone. “Ummm. It’s a drawing of us. Wanna see? You look hella goofy.” She eagerly turned her phone around, scooting closer to show Azzi, but Azzi pushed her hand away.

“Paige. Seriously. This is important, and I can’t focus.” She nudged her shoulder. “You gotta go.”

“Are you for real?” Paige’s mouth dropped a little. “You kicking me out of my own room?”

“Either you leave or I go back to my room and there will be no sleepover tonight.” Azzi’s voice was firm, leaving no room for an answer.

“This is fucked up,” Paige groaned, getting up from the bed to collect her things. “What am I supposed to do?”

“The exact same thing you’re doing here - but there.” Azzi pointed towards the door. “I’m sure the other girls are doing something fun. Go join them.”

“My own room. My own bed. My headphones,” Paige grumbled, choosing to ignore her girlfriend’s suggestions. “You might as well just break up with me.”

That had been a brief 20 minutes ago, and Azzi had thoroughly enjoyed the brief period of peace until she’d heard a thud, presumably of Paige slumping on the floor on the other side of the door. “Let me in,” Paige began singing. “I wanna see your face.”

Azzi grits her teeth.

“Please open the dooooor,” Paige continues. “I need you to open the door.”

Azzi turns up the volume of her music, but to no avail.

“Just one kiss,” Paige moans from outside. She hears amother thud, this time from her girlfriend’s head hitting the door. “One kiss and I’ll goooo.”

When Azzi opens the door, Paige stumbles forward into her, surprised. Azzi grabs the collar of the older girl’s shirt, pulling her in to press a firm kiss to her mouth. Paige responds eagerly, tongue swiping at her bottom lip as she tries to deepen the kiss, but Azzi gently pushes her away before it can get too far. “Satisfied?”

Paige grins dopily. Azzi plants another kiss on her lips before releasing her shirt. “Okay. Go chill out.” With a roll of her eyes, Paige finally gives up, ambling over to the couch to join KK’s live.

Two hours later, Azzi is finally done. She slams her laptop shut, her eyes bleary as she wanders out of the room. KK is on the couch, playing Fortnite. “Where’d Paige go?”

“I think she went to your room. Said she was gonna take a nap,” KK responded, not looking away from the TV.

When Azzi opens the door, Paige is slumped in her bed and cocooned in her favorite purple blanket, snores coming out of her parted lips. Azzi climbs onto the bed, hand wrapping around the older girl’s waist and face nuzzling into the nape of her shoulders. Paige stirs slowly before blinking awake. “You finished your essay?” she asks groggily, flipping around so they’re eye to eye.

Azzi nods, slinging a leg across the other girl’s hips. “Tired?”

“Mm.” Paige closes her eyes, almost falling back asleep in Azzi’s arms before realizing she’s still supposed to be mad. Eyes twitching, she crosses her arms, angling herself away from the younger girl’s body.

“You mad at me?” Azzi kisses her cheek, watching closely for her reaction. Paige’s hands stay folded across her chest, but her fingers twitch with restraint. Azzi notices and bites back a smile. “I’m sorry, honey.” She bites at her ear, capturing the soft flesh of her lobe between her teeth and tugging gently, but Paige remains stiff. “I had to focus.” She rolls over directly on top of Paige, smoothing back her blonde hair away from her face with both hands and rubbing her thumbs across her cheeks. “Let me make it up to you?”

“Lock me out of my own room again and we’re gonna have problems,” Paige threatens, trying to sound as scary as possible. She knows she’s failed when Azzi’s dimples appeared.

“Never again,” her girlfriend promises, beginning a trail of sweet, open mouthed kisses down Paige’s shoulder. This time, Paige responds, hips pressing up into her as one hand finds the back of her head, guiding her motions. “You’re a big baby, you know that?” Azzi teases, smiling fondly down at the blonde, who shakes her head indignantly. “But you’re my big baby.” She smothers Paige’s face in more kisses until the older girl can no longer fight back her smile.

“You finish your paper?” Paige asks.

“Yes. But remind me to never try and do homework with you ever again.” Azzi dips her head against Paige’s forehead.

“That’s offensive,” Paige complains. “I can lock in.”

“Don’t even try me,” Azzi argues back. “And don’t get me started on your fuck ass singing. You’re so obsessed with me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been able to stay away from you,” Paige admits. “Not since I was sixteen.” And she’s not wrong. Paige has never been able to stay away: not when they were kids on a plane, heading home after winning a gold medal. Not when they were in upperclassmen in high school, facetiming each other after every game into the hours of the morning. Not when Paige was a freshman, sending Azzi highlight reels and talking about the day they’d win a national championship together. Not even now, when they see each other every day, but Paige still falls a little bit more in love the more she knows every little thing about Azzi.

But Azzi hasn’t ever been able to stay away, either. Admitting that, though? She can save that for another day.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconnwbb #uconn wbb #wcbb #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #fluff #fic #blurb

680 notes · View notes

mscherub · 18 days ago

Text

Emotional Support Shrimp

A/N: cutely drops in this fic I’ve had in my drafts for months…I’m still working on the Idia request. AND FOR THE OTHER PPL WHO REQUESTED STUFF I SEE U, I’m just unmotivated…Writers block is kicking my ass 😞

Tags: A little dark, supposed to be funny, fluff, Floyd being a menace…

Warnings:

Floyd leech causes harm (when doesn’t he?)

Violence

mentions of injuries (random student, referee)

suggestive towards the end

Swearing

Honestly, when is money not always a huge feat for you? The day you finally get your allowance from Crowley, it’s gone within a minute from being spent on only a portion of needed items. Last week you ended up running out of tuna for Grim, and for the love of the seven you don’t wanna go through that again. Everyone knew of your situation, wasn’t very hard to see, but you weren’t the type to latch on to others and use them like a pay pig, but many offered which is a little concerning, anyways, to each their own, you suppose. You had your own values to follow, but you did appreciate what they were willing to do.

Azul knew quite fondly of your situation, using you as a “backup” employee for when one of the servers or dishwasher at the lounge decided to call off, and you usually accepted because, hey, money! He didn’t exactly trust you in the kitchen, mainly based off of the liabilities he could face since you didn’t even have birth records or anything that he could “ok” for you to work within that vicinity, but everything else was a great option.

The laborious shifts were no stranger to you after having taken up a position there so many times, you could say you were used to it by this point, and an even bigger achievement, used to the ways of the tweels, specifically Floyd. Yes they were unpredictable, yes they were scary when they wanted to be, yes they gave off mafia vibes, but they somehow “accepted” you, accepted, of course, being a very vague term to describe it. Maybe tolerate is a bit better. They didn’t seem to wish to cause harm or other masses of stress like they would just for funsies with other guys around campus, but if push comes to shove, you bet they’d have no doubt and chuck you under the bus in mere seconds, hence why you try and stay on their good side.

Technically they all owe you one in a way, especially Azul with his little overblot, but that’s something in the past for you at least.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Incident One: Ice Bath

“Prefect, go reason with him!” Azul barks out the command. You sigh and turn around from his office and go to find Floyd. A cycle that repeats itself. Free Therapist for Floyd is a good title…no, wait no. Doesn’t make sense. Plaything would be more appropriate. The thought makes you shudder and shake your head.

The click of the dress shoes on the ground, the clamor of people in the lounge, drowns out as your thoughts officially take over.

This time Floyd messed around more than he should have with people on Azul’s black list, and he may or may not have gotten carried away. So now you’re back on the hunt to find him after getting an earful from the boss himself, and hearing him and the troublemaker bicker in his office. Fun times here at Mostro Lounge. Why’d you choose to work here. Should have asked Mr. Sam if he needed any help…

The door to the pool is stuck wide open and once you peer your head inside you see Floyd swimming in circles angrily, the water rippling swiftly around his body.

“Floyd.” You call out. It’s almost akin to a gentle coo. Where did that gentleness come from? Whatever…

“Wanna swim, Shrimpy? I’ll promise not to drown you.” He stops and smirks. Ok. Stay away from the water. “Or if you came here to chat…we can see if I’ve got the patience for that right now.” He sighs.

“Azul—“

“I don’t wanna hear it. Quit your yapping and go swim around somewhere else.” His eyes narrow and his fins tense.

“Look. If you just got back to work then—“ you’re cut off again.

“Work is the last thing I wanna do right now.” He glares at you, but then eerily a smirk forms once he beckons you over. “You can cheer me up if you swim with me.”

“I have to get back to working too— and ok, never mind…”

He hoists himself up onto the tiled floor, half of his tail still swaying in the water. And then he pouts at you. It shouldn’t do anything to sway your determination to get him on track again, but it crumbles down those walls and you find yourself walking towards him.

“Yay! You do like me a little at least then, Shrimpy.” He giggles, and before you know it he grabs your wrist and slips back into the water, pulling you in with him.

It’s cold. OH IT’S SUPER COLD!

Thrashing your arms in the water you bob back up to the surface, your uniform hat drifting away to the other side of this might-as-well-be ice bath. This was a lot colder than you remember when you went down to the sea the one time…

“Hah! Cold? Humans are just so weak…” Floyd’s voice rumbles from behind you and his slick, slimy arms wrap around your soaked clothes that act as a second skin, yet barely do anything to keep the bite of the cold away.

“But you’re my Shrimpy so I’ll keep ya safe.”

His warmth is shared with yours now, but it’s not enough, unfortunately.

“Floyd…lemme outta here. It so fucking cold holy shit.”

He giggles at your misfortune and spins around a few times with you in his arms slowly.

His chin rests on your shoulder and a silence falls over you two. It’s not uncomfortable. But it’s short lived.

“Hold your breath!”

“Floyd, wait— No!!”

Bubbles spew out of your nose and you force your eyes open only to see mismatched ones gleaming with amusement.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I can’t believe you two…the time spent, rather wasted, will be taken out of both of your checks. This is just unbelievable…” Azul groans. His hand runs down his face before he sets his elbows down on the desk and rubs his temples.

“Out of my office.”

The silence is loud as you two walk out, a towel wrapped around you and a sloppily dressed Floyd who was just earlier grumbling about having to drink that transformation potion.

“Do something like that again and…ugh…”

“Eh? I thought it was fun, Shrimpy! We’ll swim again soon for sure.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Incident Two: Plucked Petals

“Drag him back to work…” Again?

You heed Azul’s orders and you turn out of his office yet again, pushing open the door and heading on your way to search for the one and only…

He left midway through his shift. It had only been like 3 hours…and he already got “bored.” You’re just fed up with his excuses, and then you end up getting yelled at as well if you take too long. You need to get back on the clock, too, “be lucky I’m even paying you to go get him,” Azul says, “be lucky I even pay you in the first place,” Azul says. Ok…anyways.

Traces of Floyd are no where to be seen. He couldn’t have gone far in the span of, what? Five minutes? He had long legs, sure, but he—

“OFF WITH YOU’RE HEAD!”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. You knew who that was. Great. Now you had to calm down two people! Lovely…

You jog around the corner of the mirror chamber to the path way only to see Floyd with rose petals scattered about around him and a very angry riddle with his arms crossed in an exponential amount of annoyance and anger, as well as an unamused look.

“Oh-“

Riddles head whips in your direction and you prepare yourself for the onslaught of complaints…

“He broke a rule!” Riddle says, “He ruined my flowers,” Riddle says, “He came onto Heartslabyul grounds without invite and unannounced,” Riddle says. You had enough.

“Yea. He uh…mhmmm. I’ll take him back, just…uncollar him…” your finger points over to Floyd. He’s actively tugging at it and trying to crane his neck downwards so he can gnaw it off…is he ok?

“This is not the first time this has happened. I’ve let him get away with his actions one too many times. I shall send this matter to Headmaster Crowley now if you’d excuse me, Prefect. I have more pressing matters to tend to than dwaddle on a sorry soul who doesn’t know basic decency…”

“Riddle…I get where you’re coming from but Azul will soon have my head if I don’t bring him back and myself…so uh.” You sway on your feet.

He thinks for a moment. You weren’t untrustworthy, so maybe he could let this slide— just kidding, he’s Riddle. With a stern look and a dismissive tone, he makes up his mind and drags Floyd away to the main building.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“And now Floyd has earned a suspension?” Jade hums as he wipes off a table.

“From entering any other dorm besides his own, prohibited to participate in any club activities or work at the lounge, and now Azul’s making me work his shift and mine for at least a week…until his suspension is up.”

“My, my…I’d say it was deserved. As much as Floyd is held dear to me, he causes the outcomes with his actions. He finds them to be quite amusing, however, greatly so once you get involved.”

“Yea— wait…when I get involved? Is he doing this stuff on purpose?” Your hands perch themselves on your hips.

“That I cannot tell you.”

“Ugh…”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Incident Three: Balling

“What the fuck…” That’s all that leaves your lips once you step into the gym. People are chatting loudly and quickly and the only message that you got from Ace was:

Help. Floyd did sum shit. Tell him to get a hold and hopefully plan his words right so he doesn’t get a law suit

Safe to say you are fairly concerned. You push through the crowd of kids and find the familiar redhead accompanied by Jamil. Ace doesn’t let you speak one word once his eyes land on you.

“Ok, before you get all mad here, Prefect, you were the first one I decided to call cause uh…you know. You’re closer to the twins than anyone else really…” Ace attempts to reason with you but you’re entirely focused on something else. Someone else.

“Why is that guy passed out?”

The referee is surrounded by a few Sports med mages, all assessing the passes out form in the middle of the court. There’s a small pool of blood under his nose, which his nose is now plugged up with bits of gauze.

“Ok, yea. So…Floyd was given a penalty and he kinda hurled the ball at the ref…now he’s…” he motions vaguely to the motionless form. “Kinda knocked out. Probably has a broken nose. The look on the ref’s face was kinda priceless, though—“

Jamil smacks Ace and sighs.

“What?!”

“Floyd stormed off…” Jamil nods. That much is expected.

“Ok then…I shall…go find him.”

The suns setting. There’s a nice orange hue casted across the land. The setting would be really amazing to gawk at if it wasn’t for the task at hand. To find the culprit and ease him down from his hot headedness…you’re fine.

“Floyd—“

A hand grips your shoulder and turns you around. Face pressed against sweaty skin in under a second and you know who it is.

“Gross! Floyd!” His arms squeeze and, yep, don’t even try and breathe.

“That damn ref, you know? So sensitive! All I did was just trip someone…a couple times. RSA was kicking our asses again…just a tiny bit of foul play never hurt anyone…at least not too bad. Sports back in the sea were more fun!” His hold is steadfast.

“I once broke some poor guppies arm in a sport back home. Scuttle Ship. Fun game. And then I ripped his fins.”

“O-oh…ok…uh. On accident?” You struggle to keep your face from being muffled against his skin.

“Nah. Whole point of the game…whoever comes out less hurt is the winner.”

Oh…oh.

“Fun game…why are you here, anyways? Did ya come to watch the game? Hope you were gonna cheer for me.” His embrace, eases up.

“Uh, yea…and also I was worried…to see that you kinda left after what went down in the gymnasium…”

“Eh. He was a dumb ref like I said…”

You pause and clear your throat. “Your team needs you again…even id you’ll probably be benched.”

“Well then there’s no point in me going back. Plus. You’re better to hang around. I didn’t wanna play that game today, anyways…whaddya say we go scare some students walking around this late, huh?”

“Floyd…”

“Cmon.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Last shift of the week! Yay! You just gotta tough it out. Easier said than done. You’ll get your paycheck and then off to Heartslabyul to get Grim and then probably get force-fed some pastries by Trey which you’ll happily accept, and then back to Ramshackle.

“Jade, where’s Floyd? I need these orders for table 12, like now…” you huff as you shift the tray out from under your arm and place it down on the counter, looking back in the kitchen through the doubles doors that swing at their hinges. Articulating back and forth in a fluid motion.

“He got called into Azul’s office.” He hums as he idly writes down things on his notepad

“Again?” That’s just great news for you. “If I have to call him down again I might just quit for real this time.”

Jade doesn’t even turn his head at your words. There ones you’ve said before yet you’re still here.

“Always, he’s been slacking off, as usual.” He smiles. “I can go ask the cooks where the meals are if you’d like.”

“I’d…appreciate it. I need the tips from customers tonight so I need all the tables I can get. Thanks a bunch.” You sigh, leaning against the counter and pulling out your phone. You read a few of the messages sent to various group chats you were in, the first year group chat oddly talking about how Professor Crewel is, quote, “a kinky mf.” Yea, you’re just gonna put your phone away again…were they wrong though?

Jade comes back out carrying another circular tray, you straighten up and you take it off of him. “Thank you, Jade. You’re a financial savior for me.” You chuckle as you move your hand around on the bottom till it rests balanced on your palm.

“It was nothing, really.” He gives a small bow and goes back to his duties.

You head off again back into the seating areas, weaving through the crowds of people who were, for some reason, standing instead of sitting and ending up in your way. You make it over to your section and then over to the table, bending your knees a bit as you place the tray down on a smaller foldable table off to the side. A random plate is selected and you put on your happy face and act for the people sitting around in the booth.

“Here you are, the seafood bake, uh, then you, you got the lobster dish here…then you ordered the salmon, and then you ordered the snow crab! That’s it I believe? Does anybody need anything before I head off?” You clasp your hands together and look frantically around the table as you wait and watch for any of them to speak. You’re met with small shakes of their heads and soft sighs of no’s, taking the hint and giving one last bright smile before you nod and walk off.

Off in the distance, a muffled slam of a door is heard and you see Floyd walking out of Azul’s office, a grimace etched onto his face as he heads back into the kitchen and passes by Jade, who, just glares at him before he goes to finish his own tasks.

You knew what would happen next, Azul would find you, then make you “calm him down.” It was never something you liked mainly because it was putting your life at risk, which was ironic because Azul explicitly stated he didn’t want you partaking in any harmful activities, but whatever. It’s sadly another small side job that’s forced upon you just so Floyd can get back to work himself. All for money…

The other waiters grab dishes and scurry off, moving far away. The chatter and yelling within the kitchen dies down significantly, going quiet as pots and pans slam against the stove top, the only culprit of that being Floyd. You take one breath in before you go inside and pick out the teal-ish colored hair from the other bundles of students and walk over to him as calmly as you could. It’s better to do the things you know that you’ll be asked to do before they happen, so…you got this. And you’re only doing it because you know you’ll be asked to and totally not because you like Floyd maybe a little. That’s not it. Definitely not it. He’s scary why would you like him? Exactly. Anyways! No sweat! It’s just Floyd…that’s it! Just Floyd and no worries…everything will go swell and you’ll all be happy again! Maybe he’ll break a few ribs when he squeezes you but that’s nothing…you’ll just be magicked up later by the nurse mage and you’ll be just fine. Just fine. You’re sweating. Shit—

“Hey, Floyd. What happened.” You sigh with a slight pout on your face. He doesn’t even look at you, his face contorting even more into a look that said “leave me the fuck alone.” It was worth a shot…he usually found that to be a dumb look on you but I guess not today. Oh no. He’s royally pissed right now. Hopefully Azul didn’t sneak a waiver somewhere in that working contract you signed…

You straighten up and glance at the other chefs in the kitchen, all of them giving you questioning gazes. One in the back clasps his hands together and bows his head and— wait, is this guy really praying right now? Geez…

“Floyd…” you try again.

He works away harder at the random meal he’s cooking. The contents already looked charred…

“Don’t wanna talk, Shrimpy,” He huffs, “Go.” He says gruffly.

“I’m not gonna go—“

“I’m busy! Since Azul wants me working my fins off then you know what, I’ll do just that!” He spits out. It sounds threatening, filled with warnings, but before you could try one last time to get him to ease up, one of the students bumps into him, sending the dishes they were carrying flying into the air. The guy stumbles back, food splattering on the floor and plates shattering, Floyd acting like a brick wall and staying still as he slowly turns to look down at him. No words are exchanged. None at all. He simply dumps the hot oil and food that he had into the pan onto him.

Screaming, yelling, a lot goes on within the span of a few seconds. Azul comes in, Jade follows behind, other waiters peer into the kitchen to see what’s going on.

You take the initiative and you grab Floyd’s arm while he’s distracted and take the pan from out of his grasp and set it back down on the stove. You turn the burner off and you look back at him, then to the, now injured, guy upon the floor.

“Floyd. This is coming out of your check, and you’re banned from the kitchen.” Azul comes over quickly with an aura of anger. Floyd rolls his eyes and pushes past him to walk out.

“Prefect, go after him, will you? I don’t need him hurting another person who doesn’t deserve it.” Azul waves his hand at the situation. It was common so no one really took much time to dwell on it since Floyd partook in these types of activities just to pass the time. A common occurrence if you will.

Azul gives you one last stern glance to tell you again silently to go do what he had asked of you. You reluctantly nod and you go out to search for him. It’s absurd, really, having to do all of this. It’d be better if they left him alone to blow off some steam, but no, you have to go calm him down, you have to be the one to watch him like a helicopter parent.

You go to the tweels shared room and knock on the door. It was a just a guess he’d be in his room, but you silently hoped he wasn’t so you’d have some time to avoid either a life or death situation. You liked your life at least a little now…

Silence. You’re met with silence. Ok, try again, just once more to make sure he’s not in there. You knock again, a little louder this time and announcing yourself to being there. And silence again. Maybe fate is helping you out today…

“Floyd? Are you in there?.” You’re about to knock one last time when the door is quickly ripped open, an angry Floyd peering down at you. Brows furrowed, eyes squinted and dark, glazed over with frustration and anger, a scowl etched into his lips. Yep…and here you were, standing in front of him, practically helpless and without anywhere to run because you know he’d find that a fun game and catch up to you in a second.

You straighten up under his gaze and clear the lump in your throat that you didn’t even know formed.

“Hey…”

Floyd doesn’t make any noises, instead opting for what he likes to do when he’s this mad, and wraps his arms around you and squeezes tight. He brings you into the room and closes the door with his foot, going over to his bed and taking you down with him as he nuzzles his cheek against yours.

You try and squirm out of his arms but he’s insanely strong and the efforts you make are useless. You’re already waiting for your back to make a popping noise…

“Floyd— heyyyy…let me go.” You murmur out as you struggle to breathe with all this extra weight on top of you.

“Shhh, Shrimpy. Quiet.” He mutters. He moves his face to the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning against the side, which in turn causes you to tense up. What the fuck is he doing. You try to shrink away, but that was a mistake because he squeezes you against him even more.

He brushes his lips over your pulse point and smirks, but it quickly fades away as he opts to keep his face pressed up against your neck, not doing anything. He likes to feel your heart racing…

“Always trying to make me feel better, Shrimpy…” he sighs. “And you do…meh, sometimes…you don’t have to listen to Azul…but ya do. Starting to wonder if you just like being around me…” he nuzzles into you again, teeth grazing your skin.

“For one, I kinda have to listen to Azul…” you whisper. “I can’t be like you with him. Plus…I don’t mind you all that much since—“ he squeezes again. For sevens sake. “Ease up! I don’t mind you, yea…you’re fine to be around. That’s it.”

“Liar…” he chuckles. “You’re so silly…” he pulls his face up and looks at you, his mismatched eyes calculating, inspecting that gaze in your eyes towards him.

“You’re stupid, too…for liking someone like me. But it’s so cute, Shrimpy.” His lips quirk up into a smirk and he bears his razor sharp teeth to you. “I could easily hurt you, Shrimpy….”

“That sounds vaguely like a threat but…you don’t really hurt me— not ever actually. Scare me? Yes…but not hurt.” you murmur. His smile softens a bit and he nods, moving his forehead to rest against yours. If you weren’t already flushed, you were now.

“No…but I could, that’s the point.” He giggles before moving away again. He was teasing. “Do you know why I don’t?” He hums as he sits up, letting his arms unravel from around you. He looks out the window connected to the sea. You sit up as well, taking in a well deserved breath of air.

He’s silent for a moment, watching as the fish pass by without a care. Your uniform is all wrinkled now, great—

“Cause I’d be kinda pissed off without you around, y’know. And not just how I usually am…I’d be mad all the time.”

You stop. He stops and looks at you. You make very awkward eye contact with him, but both of your gazes soften. That’s sweet of him in his own way. Quite frankly you didn’t think he was capable of that since it’s not usually like him. Why is your heart beating a bit quicker now? This time it’s not so much out of stress or the fear of being eaten alive, Floyd looks fairly sated so…what’s this feeling for…

“What do you think of me, hmmm?”

You don’t know how to respond to that. Does he actually care what people think? No, not really. You see that all the time with how he even talks to teachers. But if you had to say, the few people he listens to, slightly, are Jade, Azul, and…you. That doesn’t mean anything! This is an odd question coming from him. “I think you’re…ok. Being around you is fun sometimes…uh…I don’t really know.” That’s great. You probably ticked him off more…

“Just ‘ok’? Ouch, Shrimpy…” he pouts as he looks at you. He inches his face closer to yours again, personal space being far out of the question at the moment. He looks down to your lips before smirking again and then locking on to your eyes.

“You just saying that cause you’re hiding something?”

That’s not…you weren’t, no. Definitely not. You didn’t really want to say how well he made you smile or laugh on days where you were down, or that he cared that much to make you happy again. Or whenever he’d always seem to find you to be his go to person to bug now for, well, everything he did.…you didn’t wanna say you liked getting him out of trouble, didn’t want to tell him you do enjoy being around him, he’d get all smug about it…and that’s it! Totally nothing else behind it. Nope.

“Be honest, Shrimpy. You like me? Cause I like you…for some reason.” He sighs. He moves closer again.

Kinda straight forward, no?

“What…huh?! WAIT WHAT?” you manage to stammer out. Floyd nods along to your words with an unimpressed look.

“I like you.”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Do you like me?”

“Ok…well…no! Wait…maybe? Yes? How do I even answer that right away?!” You’re freaking out and he’s enjoying it.

His smirk widens again and he laughs at you…this guy.

“See? Silly Shrimpy…” his arms lace back around you and his face is right in front of yours again.

Without taking anything else into consideration, Floyd pushes his lips against yours.

You don’t move, you don’t try and push him away, and out of all the times Floyd has ever given you a chance to stop him in any of his acts, you could tell this moment was one of them. His eyes are still locked onto yours, lidded and a smirk forming, gaging your reaction. His arms barely touch your body, giving you a chance to get the fuck out if you’d want to. But you don’t move away. You push your lips against his more and you flutter your eyes closed. Floyd takes the hint and he holds you again, though this time, it’s gentle.

After a moment you both pull away, a goofy grin across his face. “Hmmmm…” he giggles, “I feel a lot better now, Shrimpy. See? I’m bored now…cmon, let’s go somewhere and ditch that stupid work Azul’s got us doing…”

So! Wasn’t the best, yes, I know, but it’s something…

Also I feel like some parts from my courting fic for Floyd wiggled its way in here—

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

300 notes · View notes

kisblle · 10 days ago

Text

Dark Paradise IV

Pairing: Low Honor Arthur Morgan x female reader

Part One Part Two Part Three

Word Count: 7,396

Summary: You're reminded that happiness doesn't last forever, especially with Arthur Morgan.

Tags: Heavy angst, pnv, toxic relationship, smut, porn with plot, 18+, MDNI

Author's note: Sorry this took longer than usual to get out, I really wanted to perfect this one because I've had this chapter and the next in my drafts since I got on Tumblr, I just decided to merge it into this story line. Also life has just been so draining lately with my new job and all, I make a lot of money, but at what cost? I feel like I have little time for enjoyable things nowadays.

In a steady, unrelenting rhythm, Arthur moves inside you - again and again. His sweat slicked skin sticks to yours with each powerful thrust, droplets rolling down from his forhead not only from the intensity of your bodies merging, but from the thick, humid air that laces the land of Lemoyne.

He looks down at you gorgeous, wild, and undone. Naked as the day you were born, your hair sprawling like a halo across a patch of shaded grass on the bank of Ringneck Creek. Your breasts bare to the breeze, your warmth wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. The green hues of the grass blend beautifully with the glow of your skin, your eyes telling him everything.

Just the two of you, naked and untamed, lost in the wilderness like creatures meant to mate under open skies. Feral. Primal. Right. Wild. Just animals ritualistically fucking in nothing but the bodies they were born in.

With one final thrust, his eyes lock on your lip between your teeth. “I - I love you,” he gasps, voice breaking as he reaches his climax, pulling out to spill across your soft, heavy chest. He collapses beside you moments later, the earth cool beneath his back, breath catching in his throat as he stares up at the blue sky broken up by branches swaying in the soft wind above him.

Had he really just said that?

Your stomach flips for a moment before he exhales slowly, still smiling, before turning on his side to face you. You wanted to say it back, say those three little, enchanting words as he stares at you completely spent. But something had stopped you. The nerves maybe, or the way he had said it almost too casually, like it had slipped out by accident. But soon, you're not even sure why you're arguing with yourself. The moment fades, lost in the way his lips curve into that boyish grin. He doesn’t bring it up again, and either do you. But those three little words still hang at the end of your tongue, waiting for just the right moment to say them back.

“Lucky no one saw us,” he mutters with a chuckle, breaking you out of your daze. Without thought, he lifts up his hand and scratches his day old stubble before resting his hand on your thigh.

You arch a brow with wide eyes, “You said this was some secret spot you found?”

Arthur laughs, running a hand through his messy hair as he glances toward the pond that curls off the creek. He just laughs, “It's actually a real popular fishin' spot Javier showed me some time ago."

“You bastard.” You purse your lips, pressing a hand to your chest to try and protect your non-extistant modesty as you scan the nearby grass for your discarded dress.

But Arthur only grins wider. Catching your hand before gently pulling you back onto his lap, your bare body melting into him. “C’mon,” he groans softly. “Let’s enjoy it a bit longer. Take a swim? Cool down?”

And when you look into those deep pools of blue when he smiles at you with that chipped tooth grin - it’s damn near impossible to say no.

He holds you bridal style in his broad arms, standing up as he walks to the creek bank, wading in slowly before the sting of the cold pond water hits your bottom, and in a second he drops you from his arms. The chill of water making your nipples peak, catching the attention a a certain pair of wandering blue eyes.

It felt like living inside a storybook, a fairytale you never expected to be part of.

It hadn’t been long since Clemen’s Point, maybe a month and a half, but in that short time, Arthur had done his best to keep the promises he'd made to you. He cared for you in every way he said he would. Steadily and real, like he had promised.

When Sean died, he didn’t pull away like you'd feared. He held you close instead, comforted you not just with touch, but with presence and support.

And then, as the gang's luck soured further, Shady Belle became the saving grace that everyone had needed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, life had rhythm. You were still on chore duty most days, same as always, but Jack was home and safe, and the boys were mostly just laying low. A robbery here, a stagecoach there - even a fancy party hosted by some Brönte guy you knew little about. And for once, everything felt right. Right in a way your godforsaken life rarely allowed.

Maybe it had taken Arthur nearly dying to shake something loose, to snap the both of you into reality. At first, you kept yourself guarded, unsure whether to give him all of you. But slowly, in the quietest ways, you began to trust him.

Falling asleep in his bed. Riding along on his little side quests. The way he actually looked at you like he liked you - needed you, even.

It was such a stark contrast from the months before, it almost felt like he’d turned into someone entirely new, but not new, just changed. His rough edges were still there, his sharp tongue and occasional arrogance - but all of it felt familiar now. Manageable. Nothing you hadn’t already endured.

Arthur smiles as he lowers himself into the water, vanishing beneath the surface for just a breath before rising again, water trickling down his chest and stubble. He gives himself a quick, careless rinse - splashing under his arms, through his light facial hair, and even lifting the girth of himself to splash down there too...his version a bath apparently.

You roll your eyes before dipping lower, letting the cool pond water wash his spend from your body. The tips of your long hair dance across the surface before dipping beneath the waterline, the cool sensation absolutely heavenly against the humidity. You fall into the moment, letting the cool water baptize your skin, letting each curve of your body fall to refreshing sensation.

That is until a strong, wet hand seizes your arm and yanks you up with a jolt.

“Arthur!” you snap, voice sharp with surprise.

“Shhh,” he hisses quickly. “Someone’s comin’. Go hide behind that oak, I’ll grab our stuff.”

Without a second thought, you scramble from the water, feet slipping in the grass as you make for the tree. Behind you, Arthur snatches your disgarded dress with one hand and the rest of his belongings in the other. And just as he fumbles behind the large oak, two men mosey down the creek with fishing poles resting on their shoulders.

They’re too far to see anything crude, but Arthur is still smiling like he's gotten away with murder. Which he has....several times. The cowboy lets out a soft chuckle as you rip your dress out of his hands and quickly slip it over your slicked body, the fabric catching on your curved body from the droplets of water still scattered across your frame. The dress is all that hides you - no bloomers, no chemise, just the thin cloth of light blue dress, one that nearly matches the soft glow of Arthur Morgan's delicate eyes.

“That was a close one,” he laughs, pulling his corduroys over his bare hips, reaching down his fly to adjust his member as he smiles at you with a toothy grin.

Your lips purse under a furrowed brow as he buttons his pants, his eyes not leaving you as he reaches for your hips to pull you close. In a swift motion he pins you to the tree, locking his lips to yours as you wrap your legs around his frame. Wild and free.

You swear there’s a part of him that��likes being nearly caught. No matter how much he insists it’s embarrassing, there had been too many close calls for it to just be an accident. Too many actual incidents for you to know that he really doesn't care if he gets caught anyway. Sure there was the incident with Ms. Grimshaw, but that incident with Dutch....that had been too far for you. Yet here he is again, with a grin and flushed cheeks. Like he’s chasing the thrill of being seen out in the open with you, doing something utterly vulgar with two sets of unknowing eyes just a few yards away.

Still, he doesn't care.

It's several minutes before his mouth leave yours, your lips sore and red from how he curls around you. He drops you to your feet, all smiles before he places two fingers between his lips, eyes still focused on you; whistling for that damn nag of his

By the time you and Arthur return to Shady Belle, the sun dips low behind the moss covered trees. The air is still thick, but the worst of the heat had passed. Your heart is still heavy and your mind still swollen frome those three little words he had said to you just a few hours ago - but you try and act like you hadn’t even heard them. Arthur dismounts his nag first, then takes you by the waist and lifts you down gently - hand lingering just a second too long as he palms your ass with a firm, deliberate squeeze.

You swat at him, “Oh, stop it,” you scold with a soft laugh, stepping ahead of him with your head turned over your shoulder.

He doesn’t apologize, just watches you walk away with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he knows exactly who you belong to. Like he enjoys annoying you.

But the tender moment is short lived.

“Arthur,” a familiar voice calls out.

It’s Hosea, standing at the edge of the bridge, tipping his hat as you pass. Then his eyes settle on Arthur. “Mind if we have a chat?”

Arthur’s gaze flickers to you, almost as if he's asking for your permission. You turn over your shoulder with a smile, still not used to the way he's become almost so attached he doesn't want to leave your side. But with a raised brow, you smile. “I’m gonna find Mary-Beth.” Excusing yourself into camp without another word.

Arthur watches you walk away for a few beats too long, dazy smile resting on his face. Utterly hyptonitized by the way your hips swing back and forth, turned on knowing there was nothing beneath that dress of yours.

But Hosea’s already walking, motioning with his head toward the small dock poking out near the Lannahechee River.

The gunslinger follows, completely ignorant to whatever Hosea plans to chat about - his mind still only focused on one thing; you.

“What’s this about?” Arthur asks, half paying attention, half not.

Hosea doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out at the river, at the soft ripples reflecting the light of the dying sun.

“You remember Bessie, Arthur?” Hosea says finally, turning to the outlaw with a wise smile.

The gunslinger is taken aback, but he answers, "How could I forget?"

Hosea chuckles for a moment “Course you do.” His eyes seemingly fogging over like he's trying to recall a distant memory. "I remember when she nearly tossed your entire wardrobe into the Montana, claimed it was too smelly for her to wash."

Arthur lets out a soft humorous exhale, recalling the moment from his boy hood. "Woman knew how to make her point."

Hosea's eyes lose the memory, turning to Arthur with a stiff, serious presence. “I loved her you know." The old man waits a few long seconds before turning his gaze deep into Shady Belle. “And that girl of yours… she make you happy?”

Arthur scratches at his beard, caught off guard by the question. He might have been flaunting you around camp these past two months, sure. But that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around and chat about his relationship with you, especially not with his patriarch.

Still, Arthur follows Hosea’s gaze back toward camp, where your laughter carries from the porch. You’re leaned over with Mary-Beth, face glowing, mouth wide open in pure joy as you hit her arm in amusement.

God, you’re beautiful. You were finally starting to get that glow back you once had before he took it all away from you, all those months ago.

With a soft hum and a smirk he doesn’t even realize he's staring as if he's hyptnotized by your laugh. Shaking himself out of his daze before responding, "she's a fine woman.”

Hosea’s eyes flick back to him in a matter of seconds. “But do you love her?"

Arthur’s caught off guard again, brows furrowing as he tears his gaze from you and focuses back on the older man, his voice sharp and confused. "Now why you askin' me a question like that?"

Hosea just chuckles as he notices his son's discomfort, "Cause she brings out somethin' in you that we'd all thought you lost Arthur."

A line forms between Arthur's brows before Hosea lets out a loud exhale. "You were goin' down a bad path for a while son. We all saw how you treated her back at Horshoe Overlook."

A blush of embarassment creeps onto the cowboys cheeks, knowing Hosea wasn't wrong. But even more, recalling all the unwanted chaos and hurt he'd brought you by his actions, and how embaressed he was that he was even capable of such acts.

"I know," Arthur manages to say, voice low and rough.

"She's a good girl that one. Not like you and me." Hosea goes on, his voice soft but positive. "Reminds me of my Bessie."

The cowboy looks down at the tips of his boots before shaking his head back and forth, only looking back up at Hosea as his lips part. "Now I mean no harm, Hosea," he says, squinting slightly as he hooks his thumbs into the loops of his gunbelt. "But why we talkin' bout this?"

Hosea just shakes his head, turning his gaze back to the setting sun bleeding over the river. "I went to pick up the mail yesterday, Arthur," the older man says, straightening up a bit.

Arthurs lips part, but he doesn't make a sound.

Hosea hesitates, then reaches into his satchel, fingers lingering there a moment longer than necessary. "Now, I know you're a grown man." he says, voice low and rough. "And you don't have to listen to an old fool like me."

Slowly, he pulls out a letter, the edges brushing against his wrinkled fingers. Hosea studies the envelope for a long moment, thumbs gently tracing the smooth paper, as he stares at the handwriting. But finally, his gaze lifts, steady and weighted with meaning. "I'm trustin' you not to hurt that girl again," Hosea says, voice stern with something between caution and warning.

The old man presses the envelope into Arthur’s hands, his touch firm, before throwing him one last hesitant look. And before Arthur could even reply, the patriarch turns and walks away, disseapearing back into the heart of Shady Belle.

Arthur’s eyes drop, shoulders stiff as he stares down at the letter in his hands. That damned pale purple envelope. He doesn’t need to open it to know who it’s from, he’d recognize that messy curl of handwriting anywhere.

Mary Linton.

He sighs, long and tired.

What the hell did she want now?

Part of him wants to rip the thing to shreds and throw it into the river without even opening it. But the other part, the bitter, bruised part of him remembers her voice too well. Remembers that last day in Valentine, the look in her eyes before she stepped onto that train like everything she'd ever gone through was his fault.

And it pisses him off.

But worse.

It makes him curious.

His thumb runs under the wax seal, opening the letter against better judgement. And then he’s reading it, eyes skimming over Mary Linton's wonderfully messy handwriting like she was writing to him like they were twenty two again.

A thanks for helping Jamie.

Blaming him, again, for not being the man she could marry.

And a new request; come see her in Saint Denis.

Of course she’s in Saint Denis.

Out of all the places a woman of her standing could be, she just had to be in the same city Arthur was no more than an hour's ride from.

Of course it had to be like that.

It didn’t matter where she went. Mary Linton could’ve written from the edge of Earth, and she knew Arthur Morgan would find a way to get to her. That was the kind of man she had made him into.

Nothing more than a pathetic dog.

But this time, something felt changed.

He’s read that damn letter four times before he lifts his head up from it, holding it tighter than he should have. And as he walks back into camp, he can't help but to feel completely conflicted.

His heart doesn’t belong to Mary anymore, not all of it at the least, Maybe half. Maybe less. The rest... that part was yours. You’d stolen it so quietly he hadn’t even noticed how far it had slipped out of his control.

Hosea had been right, he had become a miserable bastard. But with you, things felt... less so. You made him better. Or tried to. And he wanted to be that man, for you.

But still.

He felt torn in two. Like a man wrestling with a giant.

He shoves the letter into his coat pocket, muttering a curse under his breath, as he trudges towards the center of camp. The cowboy grabs a bowl of stew from the pot bubbling over the open flame, and then a bottle of warm beer from Pearson’s wagon, doing his best to try and clear his mind, and fill his stomach.

He finds the table at the center of camp, empty besides a couple scattered dishes. It only takes a handful of minutes until his spoon is scraping the bottom of the tin bowl as he takes his final bite, but his mind is still caught in the mess of the past. Confliction and guilt tearing him up inside .

But then theres you - bouncing over, smiling like nothing’s wrong in the whole damn world. You drop into his lap with a laugh, arms winding around his neck, eyes soft and wide.

Still wearing nothing underneath.

Your fingers trace his chest, up to his chin, thumb brushing against the roughness of his jaw with a smile. You hesitate for just a moment before saying the words that have been eating you up inside since the afternoon.

“I love you too.”

Four words. Light and easy. But to a man like Arthur Morgan, it was nothing but bullets raining from your mouth.

The gunslinger stiffens. His brow furrowing, nose scrunching like he’s confused, irritated even.

“Why’s you say that?” he mutters, voice low and almost offended.

Your smile instantly drops, freezing for just a moment in his arms before slipping out of his lap and standing up. Blinking at him like he's pulled out his Cattleman's Revolver and shot you straight in the gut.

“Well... this afternoon...” you swallow uncertainly as a worry line forms between your brows, thumbs tangling together in something between frustration and worry.

And then, in the midst of everything, he remembers what he said when he was inside you just hours ago. Flushed and stupid, in the heat of the moment.

He hadn’t lied.

But he also never planned on saying those words so carelessly. Forgetting that he had even admitted that so recklessly to you. The words had flowed from his mouth like instinct, yet, he hadn't thought you'd take them seriously.

For god sake's he was balls deep inside you - you should have known better.

“Yeah, I remember,” he interupts you, much colder than what he means to be. “Just... don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

Your jaw sets and something tightens behind your ribs.

Don’t wanna talk about it?

Talk about what?

Could he not even say it to you?

You fold your arms, bitter laughter bubbling in your gut before you can stop yourself.

“What? Can only say you love me when you’re eight inches deep?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, sighing as his fingers reach for his temples, “You know that ain’t what I meant.”

But you do. You do know. Because this is Arthur Morgan. And no matter how much you love him, no matter how much he'd swear he's changed. He hadn't. Wouldn't. And more than likely - couldn't change. And tonight, he makes you feel like a fool for trying to believe otherwise.

Without thinking a bitter scowl deepens on your face as you grab his beer and dump what’s left of it on his shirt, dropping the glass bottle rather dramatically on the grass next to him. The stew stained tin clatters as he pushes back from the table, arms jolting as he tries to shake off the warm beer now soaking his chest. His jaw sets like stone as his eyes cling to you with nothing but frustration. But before he can say anything, you turn around and shuffle away with tears in your eyes.

“Stupid whore!” He barks after you, the words cutting much deeper than they would have just months ago, when things weren't so serious.

And it’s not until you’re far enough away to cry without being seen, that it really sinks in.

Arthur Morgan couldn't change.

...

It feels like he’d been punched in the gut.

Arthur drags himself up the splintered, rotting staircase of Shady Belle, the weight of everything on his shoulders making him feel that with any step he could fall through. And against better judgement, halfway up the staircase he yanks the damn letter from his pocket again, eyes scanning the words he already knew by heart.

Mary Linton.

God, he was such a fool.

Why hadn’t he just said it back? Why couldn’t he have been normal for once - just said I love you, kissed you breathless, carried you upstairs and fucked you so good you’d say it again and again until he forgot anyone else ever existed?

But no.

You had to say it then, when Mary was still sitting heavy on his chest like a ghost that refused to let go. Right when his heart was stuck in a tug of war. Unsure if he was ready to let go of the past or ready to start really choosing you.

And now, with you gone and that broken look still burned in his memory, all he had was silence. And no matter what the silence meant, he knew one thing.

That his small bed would feel much bigger without you in it tonight.

Arthur tosses the letter onto the chipped old armoire in the corner his room, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He strips off his beer soaked overshirt, finding his way to his bed as his rubs at his temples. Everything from Mary Linton to you, running a marathon through his brain.

And it isn't more than a few seconds later that he leans back, trying to atleast dream to forget the day.

...

Arthur wakes up later than usual, head foggy, and eyes heavy. Light from the cracked window bleeds into dusty room like some open wound. He blinks, the slight haze from his tired eyes clearing just enough that he could sense movement.

His body stiffens.

You were there.

Standing near the armoire, you're wearing nothing but a thin, pale chemise that catches the light just right. Your nipples peak through the silky fabric in such a way that Arthur almost forgets yesterday as a whole. You look like an angel, something so pure, so opposite of the man he was.

But your eyes... your eyes were wide and wet, lip trembling as he watches you gulp in horror.

And in your hand.

That letter.

He sits up fast, breath catching in his throat. A surge of heat burning in his chest. Guilt, rage and shame. Twisting together into something dangerous.

Your eyes catch him, looking down at him as if he's shot you like some dirty O'driscoll.

“Came up here to apologize,” you gulp, voice cracking like you might break in two. “Don’t even know why" you nearly laugh as you roll your eyes to the ceiling. "Apologizin?...... Apoligizin' for tellin’ you I love you…”

You wipe several tears away with the back of your hand, trying to hide the emotion now lacing your voice. “Well now I know why.”

Arthur’s jaw ticks.

Doesn't speak.

After a nearly restless night, Arthur had decided Mary wasn’t even worth the trouble in the end. But if you were so damn hell bent on painting him as the bad guy then fine. He’d play the damn part.

He's always been good at it anyway.

He sneers as he gets up from the bed, angry that you were already throwing baseless accusations at him at the crack of dawn. But as heat stirs in his chest, he ruffles through his wardrobe anyway. Searching for some nice overshirt that he'd know Mary would at least appreciate, and maybe one that could teach you lesson.

For snooping. For touching things that weren’t yours.

It didn't take a scholar to figure out that he was pissed.

Not just at you for going through his things but at himself, for leaving the damn letter out in the first place. For getting close enough to you that stupid shit like this even mattered. It was Mary for god sake, it's not like she'd even ever want him back.

Just a game of back and forth that they'd always play, and he'd entertain.

You step toward him as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Don’t ignore me,” you snap, voice cracking under the weight of every emotion you've ever had for him.

He turns to you slowly, something hard and venomous behind his eyes and the look he gives you is poisonous.

“You had no right to go through my things,” he growls, nose flaring like a wild dog. “Ain’t your business what I do. Think just ‘cause I fuck you that means you get to own me?”

The words were sharp, cruel, meant to slice deep. And as much as every flick of his tongue stabbed you, you couldn't help but to feel that he was lying.

You had seen it for a while now, last night even, when had asked you with his eyes for permission to talk to Hosea. Deep down you knew he was just projecting.

But you still flinch, lip trembling again, eyes wide with something between disbelief and heartbreak. Mary's letter still fresh on your mind, his words still bleeding you dry.

And without another word, he brushes past you, out his bedroom door, down the creaking staircase.

You don't hesitate to chase after him. Mary’s letter still crushed in your fist, your feet pounding down the stairs after him. You loved him for god sake, you refused to believe any of his fighting words. Refused to believe that he would choose some ghost of a woman over you.

He storms through the front doors like he was being chased by something a hell of a lot worse than the woman barely stumbling behind him. But your mouth still spits hell fire. "You goin’ to see her?" you accuse him.

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn't even look at you.

You follow him into the heart of camp, the morning air cool and damp against your bare feet. Your voice raising, louder now. Angry, so that anyone could hear.

“So all of this... nothin’ to you?!” Your eyes widen in worry as you march after him like a bat out of hell. "Jus' some waste of my time?"

People turn and watch, but Arthur doesn't stop. Face laced with an etched scowl, eyes locked on his Turkoman and nothing else.

"You bastard!" you shout, grabbing at his shoulder, trying to pull him back to you. Stop him from leaving. "Least look at me! Say it to my face! Tell me I wasn’t enough! Tell me you don’t want me.”

He turns so fast you take a step backward on instinct. His glare vicious, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. An entirely different man than you'd come to know...come to love.

“You weren’t,” he snaps, voice low and mean, like he wantsto hurt you. “And you’ll ain’t ever be her.”

Your mouth drops open, wind knocking from you like a punch to the ribs.

Sure, you’d never be Mary. But you swore that what you and Arthur had shared was more real than the dress sitting on your damn body, then the mud stained to his boots.

You had seen it. Saw it. Nursed it back from the fucking dead.

Just to lose him to some woman that'd never let him go.

In one last act, you grab at his shoulder, letting him hear your final plea as he starts to mount his horse. You heart nearly breaking in two.

"If you ride off to see her, I'm done, Arthur," you spit, voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness. "I’m leavin'.... won't be here when you come ridin' back."

Arthur’s hand freezes on the reins.

Then, slowly, he looks down at you.

Sneering.

With a jerk of his arm, he violently pulls his arm out of your grip - hard enough to send you stumbling. You trip on a raised root, falling straight onto your behind in the overgrown grass. Legs cocked open pathetically, palms weighing heavy on the ground. Gulping like he'd shoved you down with the force of a million words.

He leans forward in the saddle, adjusting himself as his cold eyes stare at your sad excuse of a body.

“And where you gonna even go?” he asks, voice sharp and cruel, almost as a laugh because in reality he knew you had no one. He gives you one hard stare before digging his spurs into his nag. Leaving you with nothing but the echo of his departure, and the last pieces of your dignity.

For moments you sit there, on the knotting grass. Horses shuffling all around you as tears stream hot down your flushed cheeks, fists clenched in the grass, chest heaving with the reality of your situation.

Caught up in a mess of Arthur Morgan once again.

And the worst part?

He was right.

You had nowhere to go. And he knew it. Knew that you couldn’t go if you tried, no money, no family, just the familiarity of the Van Der Linde gang that was starting to eat each other from the inside.

But in a mess of feelings and tears, you feel the rush of a set of arms engulfing you into a warm hug. It’s Abigail Roberts, her frame slight but her hold firm. She sits with you, stroking your hair, whispering soft comforts even as her voice shakes with something that sounds like fury. “That no good son of a bitch,” she mutters, pulling back just enough to wipe away your tears with her thumbs.

Your eyes meet hers, they're icy and firm, telling a million stories but also a million warnings. “I love him,” you croak, barely able to get the words out.

Abigail had known that kind of heart splintering pain. She’d felt it more times than she could count with John. But you? Still young, still unshackled, no child clinging to your hip, no ring on your finger. The black haired beauty was smarter than what she gave off, she knew what had to happen.

“You gotta get out of here, darlin’,” she says, rising to her feet and offering a hand to help you up.

You sob.

That was your last promise to Arthur anyway, wasn’t it?

“He's right. Got no money. Nowhere to go,” you cry, shaking your head, voice breaking as all you wanted truly was to be gone. Forget him. Forget everything. Respect yourself enough to stop playing outlaw.

Abigail’s mouth tightens, leading you beneath the shade of her tent, easing you down on her cot. She rifles through her wardrobe as broken sobs escape your mouth. But in the midst of it all, she pulls out a thick, lumpy sock, and turns back toward you. “Was gonna use this for myself, once upon a time,” she says, tugging out a fistful of cash, slapping it on her hand a few times. “But it’s too late for me. Not for you.”

Your eyes are wide, still glistening, staring at the chunk of bills resting in her hand. Your lips parting as she attempts to slip the wad into your hand.

“I - I can’t...” you whisper, cheeks wet with tears and hesitation.

“No, you are,” she cuts in, firmer than you’ve ever heard from her. Something maternal in her tone, something resolute. “Trust me, a girl like you’s got a future. A bright one. Brighter than whatever all this is.” She pauses, her voice softer now. “And Arthur....better leave now before you wake up a few days late with a swollen stomach."

Your gaze locks with hers, wide and wordless.

Her words hit you harder than you thought they would.

And suddenly you understood.

It was time to go.

...

Twenty minutes later, you’re back in the room you’ve shared with Arthur for the past month. His clothes are still scattered around, his beer stained overshirt from last night crumpled at the foot of his bed. You wonder who’ll wash it now, it wouldn't be you this time.

You gulp and reach beneath the bed, pulling out the old suitcase you brought with you to Milwaukee all those years ago, chasing something better. It had belonged to your mother before Typhoid took her.

You pop it open. Inside: a few forgotten pieces of a past life. A locket with your parents’ faces inside. A shirt you never wore but couldn’t throw away. And a small black and white portrait from Blackwater, the one you took just hours before Arthur took your innocence.

You stare at the photo. Less than a year had passed, but you hardly recognize the girl in it. Smiling, light still untouched. So different from who you are now. Used and broken.

And before you pack the last of your things, you set the portrait on the table beside Arthur’s bed.

You wanted to forget him, forget the hurt.

But part of you, wanted him to remember.

Wanted him haunted.

...

Outside the rotting mansion, Hosea stands waiting. Pulling you into a soft, fatherly hug, his voice low with sorrow. “I’m sorry, girl,” he murmurs.

He’d seen it all. Last night’s heartbreak, this morning’s silence. He watched Arthur ride off, watched Abigail hand you that money with trembling hands and a tight jaw. Heard her beg you to go. Guilt weighing on his shoulders as he knew the cowboy would still be here if he hadn't handed him the letter.

But Arthur was a god damn adult. And Hosea had agreed with Abigail, better to leave now before other circumstances could tie you to him.

And as much as it hurt Hosea to see you go, he couldn't help to feel relieved. To at least know someone was getting out, someone good.

You swallow hard. Tears gone, but grief remains.

You weren’t just leaving Arthur.

You were leaving the only family you’d known for years. The people that had taken you in when you had nothing to show, and no one to care for you. Family more than friends at this point.

“Say your goodbyes,” Hosea says gently, rubbing your arm with his thumb. “I’ll take you to Rhodes. Buy you a train ticket to wherever you need to go.”

...

The streets of Saint Denis buzz with life, hooves clicking on cobblestone as the sun shines high in the midst of the Lemoyne sky. Mary Linton’s delicate arm loops through Arthur’s as they step out of the Rauler Theatre, both of them smiling.

Arthur could admit it, he’d had a good time. How could he not? Mary had once been his world. Maybe part of him would always feel something for her. But as they strolled toward the trolley stop, shoulder to shoulder through the heavy air of the city, something felt utterly different.

Hollow.

There was no fire in his chest. No ache. No heat behind his eyes.

It felt less like love and more like memory, a good time with an old friend. Sonething he could cheerish, but didn't need to survive.

And that’s when he remembered you.

The way you made his pulse jump with just your smile. The way your voice sounded like angel's singing, even if you were just telling him off. He remembers the way you smiled even when he didn’t deserve it. And then, above everything, he remembers the way you looked at him the last time. Eyes full of hurt, mouth trembling as he shoved you away.

While Arthur just didn't want to feel controlled, you felt betrayed.

And now all he felt was sick.

His boots slow on the busy sidewalk. Coming to a full stop without truly realizing where he was or who he was with.

“Arthur?” Mary’s voice breaks through his deep haze.

He blinks, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she had said since they left the old threatre. “Sorry,” he mutters.

She watches him for a beat, her chocolate eyes unreadable. “I said... is it too late for us?” Her voice cracking slightly, more a plea than a question as she holds his hands tighter.

Arthur inhales through his nose, heavy and ragged. He knew the answer. Had known it for a long time.

“I can’t lie, Mary. I... I got a woman back home” he says quietly, almost embaressed. Gently slipping her arm from his.

Mary’s expression falters for a brief moment, her face clearing from any found emotion. But in a few short seconds she grins with a sense of meloncholy.

“And I ain’t even really sure why I’m here,” Arthur adds, voice breaking with sudden clarity, the weight of his betrayal sinking in. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I’m sorry.”

Mary nods, her composure surprisingly steady despite the slight shimmer in her eyes. “Treat her better than me,” she says simply.

And in a second, Arthur turns and leaves, heart pounding, stomach in knots.

He’d fucked up.

But more than anything did he want to fix it.

Not with words. Not with excuses. But with a promise.

By the time he reached the jeweler, his hand was already on the wad of cash. He didn’t want something stolen. Didn’t want some rag tag ring from a fence.

No, this had to be real. Something with weight. With meaning.

Something that said: I’m yours. For good.

Something with a promise.

...

Back at the train station, the sky had started to turn grey. Rain slightly drizzling over the covered platform as Hosea tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle as always.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, a small tear falling down your cheek.

“I’m scared,” you admit, glancing down at the train ticket in your hand. You hadn’t told him where you were going. You figured it was safer that way, for everyone involved. Hosea hadn’t asked either. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe he just didn’t want Arthur beating it out of him in the long run.

It didn't take much for you to imagine the storm of Arthur riding back into camp. Throwing tongue every which way when he realized his bed whore had gone missing.

The twisted thought slightly comforted you. You knew Arthur well enough to atleast know he would be mad at your departure, no matter what he had told you before he left

“You can always write,” he says, voice full of hope “Don’t know how long we’ll be at Shady Belle, though. You know Dutch.”

You manage a watery laugh." Oh, I know." You falter for a few moments as you gaze into the wisdom laced eyes of Hosea, his soft look sending you into a spin of tears. “I’m just scared of being…”'

"Alone," he finishes your sentence.

He chuckles. “We can’t be such a great bunch that you think there’s no one better out there.”

You give him a humorous look, tears still staining your cheeks. A happy goodbye. “You know that ain’t what I mean.”

The train’s whistle shrieks in the distance. Passengers begining to stir from their seats, grabbing bags, shuffling to the edge of the platform.

Hosea turns to face the tracks, then glances back to you. “Promise me one thing,” he says, his voice low and firm.

You look up, eyes wide like a doe.

“Don’t come back lookin' for us. Save yourself."

...

Arthur’s horse thunders down the muddy path toward Shady Belle, his coat soaked and his wallet a few hundred dollars lighter. The gold ring in his pocket - a golden band with a pearl in the center - feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He imagined you wearing it. Naked on the banks of Ringneck Creek, riding him, the ring catching sunlight as your hand brushes over his hair.

Utterly his.

The camp is quiet as he gallops in. He doesn't even bother to untack his horse, too charged with excitement. He leaps off and storms through like a mad man, eyes scanning the outlaw camp for a sillouette of you.

You weren’t there.

But your strange dissapearence doesn't even register until two small fists beat into his back.

“You no good son of a...”

He spins, catching Abigail Roberts wrists mid swing. She thrashes against his grip, wild with rage.

“What the hell?” Arthur stammers, confused and surprised it wasn't you beating on him. He would understand if it was you, warranted in fact.

But Abigail?

“She’s gone, you bastard!” the black haired beauty snarls, driving her boot into his groin as hard she can.

Arthur collapses, wheezing as he drops her arms from his grip.

From across camp, John jogs over, pulling his wife's arms behind her back in anyway to control her outburst.

Arthur's painful wheezes dissapear in a moment's time, turning to an almost panic.

“What...what she mean? She's gone?” he coughs as he looks up at John for clarification, moving back to his feet.

John grimaces. “She’s gone, Arthur. She left."

Arthur froze.

Gone?

No.

You didn't know how to ride, wouldn't dare try to find your way in swamps like these. And above everything - you had said you loved him, just last night.

You wouldn't leave.

And he was ready now. Finally ready to love you back the way you deserved.

His stomach twisting, panic shifting to fury, anger.

He turned to John, eyes flashing. “Where did you take her? Couldn’t stand that I was happy for one good time in my life.”

John face drops, angry at just the accusation. "I ain't take nowhere," John sneers, continueing to hold Abigail back from trying to rip Arthur to pieces. "But I don't blame her for leavin' you either."

If John hadn't been using Abigail as if she was a human sheild, Arthur would have torn his brooding equal to shreds at that very moment. But before he could push the black haired woman away, a gentle voice cuts through the shouting.

Arthur turns, all eyes finding the small frame of Hosea Matthews. The old man sits at the dominoes table, calm as ever. Standing up and pushing his chair in without his eyes leaving the game.

"I took her to the train station in Rhodes," he speaks

Arthur’s anger breaks, replaced by something broken and raw. Lips parting.

“I told you not to hurt her,” Hosea says, eyes finally meeting the cowboys. More dissapointed than ever.

Arthur couldn’t keep his gaze. His eyes dipping to the tips of his boots. Shame rolling over him like a wave. If it had been anyone else -John, Bill, even Dutch, he’d have thrown fists.

But it was Hosea.

The one who warned him.

The only who told him to do better.

Arthur’s voice cracks as he breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Where is she?”

Hosea shakes his head.

“Gone, she's gone Arthur."

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption two #red dead smut #smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut

196 notes · View notes

blondielockscherry · 2 months ago

Text

himbo!rafe and classy!reader date night

you and rafe did a lot of things together. you both took it in turns picking date night together. you usually requested a fancy dinner so you could get all dressed up and see rafes sexy muscles suffocate in a tight fitting suit shirt. rafes date plans on the other hand were very different. this hunk of a man asked if date night could be held at the local sweaty gym. after a good 2 days of planning you let rafe take you on a walk in the forest. it wasn’t the type of forest a bear would jump out on you, it was one by a pretty lake.

“i’m hyped not gonna lie.. you look hella sexy in that outfit too gonna fuck you against a tree no cap man” rafe said jogging lightly at the start of the trail. “do you think i could knock that tree down with a punch if i angled it correctly?” he questioned. obviously not. you nodded slightly looking around at the trees and the faint bird chirping in your ear sound. it was pretty here. you had brought a little bag with strawberries and a blanked in hope that you and rafe could sit down by the lake and some what of a conversation that isn’t like talking to a 5 year old.

“where’s this lake you was talking about?” you asked softly before grabbing your perfectly manicured hands onto his beefy biceps, 1, to make sure he’s not walking off a hill every five seconds, 2, because you couldn’t put this 6,2 strong man on a leash even though it’s like babysitting him, and 3 because who wouldn’t wanna hold his biceps??

“uhm… one sec let me get this guide thing out..” you watched as rafe pulled out some leaflet for the trail around the small woods. he had help upside down for a good 30 seconds before you flipped up the right way for him. “oh right. so yeah it’s like just down here see? cmon let’s go baby” you liked being rafes personal babysitter. he was funny, even when he wasn’t trying to accidentally kill himself.

to your surprise, there actually was a lake and rafe had actually brought you the right way. “you wanna swim?” obviously. he asked. the water was a pretty blue colour reflecting off the sun and it seemed clear. you watched as rafe took off his tank top already. you placed down your birkin bag and undressed into your underwear and bra. “whatcha doing let’s skinny dip cmon” rafe says unclipping your bra and you took your underwear off and rafe mirrored your action and you both jumped into the water. “oh fuck there’s a duck wait that rhymed i’m like fucking dr sued dude” you watched as rafe laughed at his own joke.

“you mean dr seuss?” you smiled softly at him as your legs wrapped around his torso and his hands held your thighs to keep him on you like a koala.

“yeah but when i said dr sued it rhymed again sooo… my dick is so hard right now and your tittes are all in my face” rafe stuck his tongue out and shook his head making his tongue wiggle (please someone know what i’m on about)

“shut up you himbo” you joked shimmying your shoulders your so your tits jiggled all up in face making him go crazy.

“yo i think a crab just like bit my toe no cap bro”

@jjmaybankmylovee

i’m already writing them again it’s in my drafts i love them sm if anyone has any asks lmk

#obx #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx imagine #obx rp #rafe fluff #rafe obx #drew starkey #nerd!rafe #rafe x reader #himbo!rafe

286 notes · View notes

silens-oro · 27 days ago

Text

Well Enough Alone: Part III

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: The unspoken line once drawn between Hawk and Pope is beginning to disappear. Word Count: 3,964 Content Warning: masturbation (m), typical Animal Kingdom warnings A/N: LISTEN we're starting to get into it and I've enjoyed the comments and messages I've gotten regarding this story so far. I'm rubbing my little fly hands together every time I read that someone has come over from The Pitt to Animal Kingdom territory. we're starting under a read-more because it is explicit right out of the gate lmao. Please comment & reblog :)

Pope tried to keep his grunting to a minimum, but the way his soapy hand glided over his cock as he watched Hawk in the pool from the bathroom window was too much for him this particular morning. The one way tint allowed him to look out without anyone seeing what he was doing.

It wasn’t the first time Pope had taken advantage of this, and it wouldn’t be the last.

The steaming hot water stung as it rained down on his freckled back. Pope braced his right forearm on the tiled shower wall, his face tilting into his bicep to smother some of the moans that tried to escape. Just the thought of Hawk taking his hand’s place was enough to send him over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck-” Pope groaned out through clenched teeth, his chest heaving as he caught Hawk climbing out of the pool just as his fist canted in time with his final thrust into his fist. White ropes of cum hit the wall in front of him in an orgasm that sent a shock through his entire body. He slowed his strokes as the last spurts of cum left him and his forehead came down to rest on his forearm that was still holding him up.

It was one thing to recall Hawk’s face and body from memory while he was locked up, but it was another thing entirely to have her in the flesh as Pope jerked himself off.

Pope stood under the stream of water, giving himself a moment to bask in the afterglow before the shame of what he had done would inevitably set in.

One day, he told himself as he sprayed the wall down to get rid of the aftermath that plagued his brain.

“You gonna keep giving me the cold shoulder?” Hawk ignored Pope as she worked. That seemed to be her usual morning schedule that he took note of since he moved in with her -wake up around seven, go for a morning swim, do some work at home, go by the shop, then either go to Smurf’s or come home. Pope nodded to himself at Hawk’s deliberate silence, pursing his lips in mild irritation as he leaned over the island into his forearms. “I was out of line,” He admitted. “and I apologized to the kid -we’re square. It won’t happen again.”

“For your sake, it better not.” Hawk didn’t look up at him as she continued to type. Her fingers hit the keys with more force than was needed, an indicator to Pope that she still wasn’t happy with him. He leaned down on the counter next to her and got her attention.

“I’m sorry.” He dragged out.

“You’re sorry?” Hawk asked with a less than impressed expression when she finally gave him her attention.

“I didn’t realize how close you and the kid were. Now that I know, it won’t happen again.” He explained as if that excuse was valid in any way, shape, or form. Whether Pope was genuine about what he was saying was something else entirely and Hawk didn’t really give two shits in that moment. She spoke her piece the night before and the emotions she was currently feeling were the aftermath of that. “I mean it.” Pope pushed. Hawk held his eyes for a few moments before nodding and going back to drafting an email to a potential client. Genuine or not, she had to let him know she meant every word that she said the night before.

Pope opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. He untwisted the cap with a loud snap and continued to watch Hawk as she worked. She ignored him as he paced the length of the kitchen, only glancing at him when his back was turned. Hawk tried not to let her eyes linger on the tight muscles of his shoulders as he moved his arms, and she definitely didn’t let her gaze fall further south. Definitely not. She quickly brought her eyes back to her laptop as he turned around.

“What the hell is this?” Hawk tried to keep the irritation out of her voice when Pope tossed a very obviously thick envelope on the island in front of the laptop. The sound of the envelope slapping against the granite startled her, the loud crack reverberated up to the tall ceilings.

“It’s for you.” He said with a nonchalant shrug, leaning his back against the counter where he was previously.

“Yeah, I get that,” Hawk shut the laptop closed and carefully peeled the flap open. “But why is there like,” She looked inside the envelope tentatively before looking back at Pope, “-ten grand in here?”

“There’s twelve. I figured that should cover the rooms and gas over the last three years, and to cover some stuff while I’m here.” He shrugged again, like this twelve grand was nothing, but Hawk knew this wasn't nothing. This was a whole lot of something, and she wanted nothing to do with wherever it came from. “You’ve sacrificed a lot for me. It’s only fair that I return the favor.” Hawk stood and rounded the corner to Pope’s side of the kitchen.

“I’m not taking this, Pope,” Hawk handed it over to him, but he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. The muscles in his arms bulged, nearly distracting Hawk. “I’m serious. I’m not taking this.” She smacked the heavy envelope on his forearm, but he didn’t budge. Hawk sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger as she placed the envelope on the island. “I didn’t do any of that with the expectation that you needed to give me something in return, much less twelve grand, Pope. That’s insane.” Hawk hissed, though not angrily. Oh no, this was out of complete befuddlement.

“Then why did you do it?” He stepped towards her, his arms dropping to his sides. Hawk nearly tripped over her own feet as she backed up with every step Pope took forward. “Why are you still doing it?”

“Because I care about you.” Hawk said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I’ve always cared about you, Pope.”

“Like you cared about Julia?” There was a brief pause. Hawk’s heart felt like it was beating in her ears as her eyes locked with Pope’s.

“No.” She breathed out.

“Is uh…everything alright?” J’s hesitant voice cut through the tension and Hawk met his alarmed eyes from where he stood in the entrance to the hallway. He must’ve just woken up, or he had been listening the whole time and felt this was the appropriate time to step in for Hawk.

Pope didn’t budge and kept his gaze on her.

“Everything’s fine, J.” Hawk’s voice cracked as she placed a hand on Pope’s chest to gently push him back, but he held her hand to his chest, right over his heart. His callused thumb rubbed gentle, soothing circles over the back of Hawk’s hand, and still his eyes never left her.

J did not like what he was seeing the second he stepped into the kitchen, dragging his feet and rubbing his eyes only to be faced with Hawk and Pope inches away from each other, locked in a very intimate conversation that he couldn’t hear from the other side of the room. And suddenly, as if a lightbulb went off over his head, J understood why Pope treated him the way he did. Sure, he was suspicious of J, but deep down Pope felt jealousy. Territorial might be the better word for it. The pieces were fitting together and J didn’t know if he preferred getting his ass beat by Pope or seeing Pope look down at Hawk like she hung the moon and the stars in the sky. J cleared his throat, feeling incredibly awkward.

“Just two adults trying to have a conversation, J.” Pope’s voice held a little bite to it.

“I’m uh, I’m gonna go to Nicky’s and then head to Smurf’s. Do you need anything from me before I leave?” He left the question open on purpose. Did she feel safe? Would she be in danger if he left? J didn’t think he could do much damage to Pope, but he could distract him long enough for Hawk to get out of the house if he had to.

“Everything is fine, J. Tell Nicky I said ‘Hi’.” J nodded, still unconvinced.

“Alright,” J nodded, still apprehensive. He hovered for a few more seconds before walking past Hawk and Pope to the entrance way so he could slip on his shoes. Hawk watched J until the door closed behind him, then brought her attention back to Pope. She brought her other hand up and cupped his jaw, her thumb rubbing at his cheekbone just under his eye. Pope leaned into it, his eyes finally closing as he took in the feeling of her palm’s caress.

“I’m serious about the money, Pope.” Hawk’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “I do appreciate the gesture, but you don’t owe me anything and you’ll never owe me anything just because I care about you. I want to make that abundantly clear. I’m not transactional.” Pope brought his forehead down to rest on hers in a brief moment of uncharted intimacy. The line that had never been crossed between them was starting to become muddy, unknown territory and it scared the absolute hell out of Hawk.

She took that moment to slowly pull back from Pope, gently removing her hand from his that was still on his chest and face. The loss of his warmth, and the strength in his hands alone was noticeable immediately. Could you crave someone’s touch when that touch was only just given to you? Hawk felt like she was losing her mind, her world going just slightly off kilter and Pope…Pope was trying desperately to hold himself together. He licked his lips anxiously and finally took a step back, allowing them both to breathe.

“Smurf wants us at the house later for lunch,” Pope mentioned once the dust had settled, making Hawk’s eye twitch. “I’ll drive.”

“I cannot tell you how good it is to have you around again, baby. I’m hoping you’re here for good this time,” Smurf eyed Hawk as she helped the matriarch put lunch together for the boys. All of the brothers, Baz, and J were outside roughhousing in the pool. Hawk felt on edge, knowing how rough the brothers could be and how J would be their target. “Being around you has been good for Pope since he got out of prison. I’ve noticed a change in him.”

“Yeah, it’s good to have him out.” Hawk responded nonchalantly as she finished slicing through the sandwiches she was assembling.

“You know what I mean, baby. Everyone can sense the tension between you. You’re telling me it’s completely one sided?” Smurf raised a brow, pouting her lips as she pushed some kale and bananas into her blender. Hawk sighed, slicing through two more sandwiches before looking up at Smurf. “Give me a break.”

“I don’t know what you think is going on there, Smurf, but nothing has happened. Nothing has changed between us.” Hawk definitely did not like the way Smurf was being pushy about this. Smurf didn’t have a genuine bone in her body, so when she pulled a pill bottle and set it on the counter, Hawk knew where all this sweet talk was going. “What is this, Smurf?”

“I trust you, Hawk. We may butt heads from time to time, but I know you’re sharper than a whip. Always have been.” Smurf pushed the bottle until it was directly in front of Hawk. “Pope is…struggling. I know you see it. He was outside, naked and howling at the moon the first night he was out. He has some difficulties with certain things and these help even him out. I can’t trust anyone but you with this. You care about Pope, I know you do, and you care about him deeply. You’re protective of him and I couldn’t be more appreciative, baby, which is why I need your help with this.”

“You’ve been giving these to him?” Hawk breathed out, a very bad feeling filling her stomach.

“I try to, but it seems he’s been spending more time at your place than he does here as of recent, so I can’t get him the doses he needs on a steady basis.”

“So you want me to give these to him?” Smurf opened a second bottle from where she grabbed the first and popped two pills out. She crushed them on the counter and tossed the powder into the blender that had one single serving of the smoothies remaining inside. Smurf put the lid on it and then set it to blend for a few seconds before shaking the last bit into an empty glass that was just out of the group of five other glasses. “Does he know you’re doing this?”

“He’s not the biggest fan of taking them, but it’s a necessary evil, Hawk. He’s his own worst enemy when he’s off the meds.”

“I don’t know how comfortable I am with this, Smurf.” That was a lie. Hawk knew exactly how uncomfortable this made her. Did Pope need some type of medication intervention? Maybe, but that should be something that he decides to do, not his mother, and definitely not hiding it in his food like she’s trying to medicate a dog with a pill wrapped in a piece of cheese. The whole thing felt bad and weird, and Hawk knew immediately that whatever Smurf was doing wasn’t to help Pope. If anything it more than likely just made him more agreeable to whatever fucked up bullshit Smurf wanted him to do.

Smurf was wrong in trusting Hawk with this. It could’ve been a test, Hawk thought to herself. It didn’t matter to her because there was no way in hell she’s actually go through with this. And if Smurf thought Hawk would, then she was more clueless than Hawk ever thought. The matriarch of the family was right about one thing, though -Hawk was protective of Pope (despite his altercation with J), and that protection was usually against his own family.

“He can become very dangerous without these.” Smurf switched to a fear tactic. “I’m not saying he’d ever hurt you, but sometimes he does things without knowing he’s doing them. This medication stops that. You’re the only person I can trust with this, baby.” Smurf repeated. She picked up the bottle and placed it in Hawk’s hand. Put these in your purse.”

There was no way Hawk would do this. No way in absolute hell. Pope trusted her, and she trusted him, and there was no way she’d do anything as nefarious as spike his food because it made him more agreeable. Still, not wanting to rock the boat with Smurf, Hawk merely nodded and stuffed the bottle into the bottom of her purse just as Smurf told her to.

“Good. Knew I could count on you.” Hawk nodded again, clearly lost in what to say after that revelation. “Now, back to the conversation at hand.”

“Nothing is happening between us, Smurf.” Smurf laughed, grabbing all of the smoothies in her arms to carry outside to the boys. To Pope. Hawk knew she should’ve done something, anything, to stop Smurf, but what could she do? Any kind of push back from her was just as good as spitting directly in Smurf’s face. It would be an offense that Smurf would not let flow under the bridge and Hawk knew that, so she did nothing except watch Smurf leave the kitchen with the glasses in her hands -ultimately powerless.

“Then maybe you should be the one to initiate, hm?” Smurf suggested as she picked up the tray of sandwiches and walked through the slider to the back yard. “It’ll be good for the both of you, baby. You know where his feelings lay. It’s hardly a secret. Bring the sandwiches out with you!”

“Jesus Christ, Pope.” The man in question was bleeding from his nose when Hawk finally made her way out to the patio. She set the platter of sandwiches down on the table and grabbed a towel off of a chair, then hurried over to Pope.

“I’m fine,” He brushed her away gently, glaring down at J. Hawk smacked his hand away when he tried to push her hand down from going up to his face. “J just got a little overzealous. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Stop,” Hawk demanded, dabbing at the blood. “Tilt your head back for a second to stop the bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” Pope replied dryly.

“Let her take care of you, baby.” Smurf called over with a big ol smirk as if to say I told you so.

“Let her take care of you, baby,” Craig mocked, Daren laughing next to him as they sat at the table and started making their plates.

“Enough, idiots one and two.” Hawk snapped and grabbed Pope’s hand to bring it up to hold the towel to his face.

“That was very unkind of you, Hawk!” Craig called back, a shit eating grin ever present on his face.

“Ignore them.” Pope said softly for only Hawk to hear.

“Just give it a minute, alright?” Pope raised a brow, but nodded to get her to stop fussing. When Hawk was satisfied, she walked back into the house to wash her hands in the kitchen sink. She needed a moment to collect herself and the kitchen gave her the much needed respite from the knowing looks she was now recognizing from the rest of the family every time she made eye contact with them.

As Hawk turned around, drying her hands on a clean kitchen towel, she screamed, clutching her chest.

“Jesus fuck, Pope! You’re going to kill me if you keep doing this!” She smacked him lightly on his bare chest with the towel before tossing it onto the island. Hawk took a breath to try and calm her pounding heart, but the proximity of Pope was stifling. “What’s up?” He didn’t say anything as he caged Hawk against the sink.

Hawk’s eyes were about to pop out of her head at the invasion of her personal space. The coverup she wore over her bathing suit felt like she was wearing a parka in the California sun with the way she was flushed from head to toe. His chest was nearly touching hers and Hawk was sure that Pope could feel her heart pounding as her eyes unintentionally connected every freckle on his chest until her eyes met his.

Pope kept his eyes on her, watching every little move she made as Hawk attempted to process what he was doing. Without losing eye contact, Pope raised his arms and turned the tap on behind her.

“Just gotta wash my hands.” Hawk swallowed thickly, sweat rolling down her neck and between her shoulders, causing goosebumps to break out over her whole body as Pope’s arms flexed around her. He somehow stepped closer, the entire front of his body pressed against hers with one of his thighs nestled between hers. Hawk’s hands instinctively came up to grasp around Pope’s very naked, thick, muscular waist. The contact was electric, like a current shot from his skin to hers and she didn’t realize she was holding her breath until-

“-Oh!” Smurf’s voice cut through the tension. Hawk felt the air physically deflate from her body, but still Pope didn’t budge an inch. Hawk felt her face get hot, red hot, and embarrassment at getting caught like she was a teen all over again swept through her. “Just pretend I’m not here. Grabbing the rest of these,” Smurf grabbed a tray with condiments. “You lovebirds better join us soon.” Smurf said, just to stir the pot. With that, she was back out of the slider, leaving an irritated looking Pope and a panicked Hawk.

If Hawk could’ve dissolved into a pile of ashes, she would’ve.

If Pope could’ve killed his mother right then, he would’ve.

Hawk was the first to break contact. She gently pushed Pope away just far enough to duck under his arms and took off through the slider without a word, mentally berating herself for letting Pope drive them both over instead of just taking her own car.

Pope watched her go, the phantom feeling of her body pressed to his was seared in his memory. The lingering heat didn’t do anything to stop the tug in his stomach when he saw the panicked look in her eyes as she fled. He brought his wet hands up to his face to cool himself down before he faced her and the leering he’d get from Smurf outside.

The ride back to Hawk’s was…silent. She could feel Pope’s eyes on her as he shifted his attention between the road and her.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” The irony of Pope himself sounding uncomfortable was not lost on Hawk. They were stopped at a red light and Hawk was fidgeting with her hands just like she did on the fist visit to Folsom. She was nervous and he didn’t like that at all, especially when that nervousness stemmed from him. “I’ve clearly overstepped-”

“I care about you, Pope. Believe me, I do.” Hawk’s thoughts went back to that pill bottle that weighed her purse down like it was made of lead.

“You’ve said as much.” He referenced their conversation from earlier that morning. The same conversation that didn’t give him an answer to what was going on between them. Twice Pope has tried to initiate, and twice he was unsuccessful.

“I just…there are a lot of moving parts here.”

“What are you afraid of, Hawk?” The light turned green. “Unless I’m reading this wrong, which I don’t think I am by the way, there’s something here. We’ve been tiptoeing around it, but it’s still there.”

“I’ve been on the outside of all this, Pope.” This meaning his family. “My life has remained mostly unaffected by whatever jobs you guys are pulling and I’m afraid that this is going to open a door I want to stay shut.” Hawk explained. “I’m not ignorant to what you guys do, why you went to prison. My rule of thumb has always been to not ask questions and don’t comment on any of it, but I know. And right now I’m breaking my own rule and I’m going to ask one question, Pope.” Hawk looked up from her hands to look at Pope. The truck was climbing the steep driveway to Hawk’s home and he nodded as he put it in park once they reached the outside of her garage. “Has he been involved in any of this?” Pope knew she meant J.

“Who? The kid?” He played dumb and shook his head, one of his hands rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Pope.” She pleaded.

“He’s not involved, Hawk. You said not to involve him, so he’s not.” She analysed Pope’s features, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. She didn’t think he would have any reason to lie to her, but he was a naturally hard to read person and he was also a Cody. “J’s good. With all of us.” This seemed to lift a visible weight from her shoulders. “He spends more time at girlfriend’s house than he does at Smurf’s anyway.” It was a believable lie, that much Pope knew, and Hawk seemed to accept it as truth. She would find out the truth eventually, and Pope would cross that bridge when he got to it.

“Okay.” Hawk nodded, looking into his eyes once more before she hopped out of the truck and waited for Pope to follow her into the house.

The second the door was closed, Hawk was on him.

please comment & reblog :)

#pope cody #pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody #animal kingdom fanfiction #animal kingdom tnt #shawn hatosy

235 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 1 year ago

Note

me very patiently waiting for that mothussy :3

oh and here’s another wittle thing i thought…i tend to hc price as a bear hybrid or other so i think he would go into hibernations,, since hes still on duty he wouldnt go into a long-term one like other bears, but simply sleep a LOT of the day…i would wanna cuddle big bear price so bad awaawaewfgwh 🥺 hes really hairy but instead of it being coarse hair, its more fluffy cause its the winter!! so his facial hair puffs up a bit…and his chest hair…and the happy trail…you get the idea :3 idk i just like bear price i want him to pound me into the mattress and suck my cock until it falls off hug me!!

-❀

Give me like a couple more days lol, I got ghost and soap more or less done in a rough draft format, just need to write out price and gaz then a quick rewrite to clean up the draft. Cause rn all mini drafts are about 1k and very rough so when I clean it up they're probs gonna be bumped up to like 2k? Just knowing me and how my drafts end up doubling in size lol.

Also duuude you are a treasure trove of ideas lol. I want bear price now and now I'm horny so here's a bunch of bear price

Help a Bear Out

CW:NSFW, MDNI, daddy kink, dom/sub, oral, somno, edging, foodplay, cockwarming. Bear Price x Top Male reader Ao3

Imagine Bear Price who is by no means a small man any time of the year, bear genetics + having to be physically fit to take down terrorists leads to him having a very strong and imposing build befitting a Kodiak bear. The fur only adds to the striking image, making him look larger and his arms appear thicker, letting him scare many young boars from trying to tussle with him lest he crack their skulls.

But he turns massive in winter.

He can't help it; There's no escaping the iron clad control nature has over his body as his dark fur thickens and gains a fluffy golden color. No evading the instinct telling him to eat and rest and grow fat for winter until his hard earned muscles disappear beneath the cloak of fat. No ignoring sweet lull of sleep's song when he's yawning every five minutes and the words on the report swim in his blurry eyes.

Imagine Bear Price who, in his younger days, used to be self conscious about the changes his body went through. Growing up surrounded by humans was tough, dread would start building in his heart the moment the first leaf from the trees would fall. He's lost count how many times the kids would laugh at him when he'd show up to school after winter break with a chubby face and barely able to run a lap with how tired he was.

As he grew and started being curious about sex, it only got worse. He'd snatch the porn mags his sisters would buy behind their parents back, spending hours looking in the mirror and comparing his pudgy belly and fat thighs to the chiseled abs and lean muscles of the models. He'd spend hours exercising and trying to loose the weight he'd gain, but it would be all for naught.

And it didn't stop when he graduated and went into the military. His superiors may have tolerated the extra sleep and rations Price needed because he was a monster on the field, but they by no means were happy about it. He'd end up with thrice the amount of work and run ragged in training until he returned to his pre-winter weight.

Imagine Bear Price who doesn't give a shit about how he looks like now. Why would he, when he sees how you look at him? How you touch him? How you worship him?

Your hands wind around his waist and the groan you let out when you realize the space between your fingertips has gotten bigger is hungry. Your face burrows into his chest, his soft fluffy fur tickling your face as you nuzzle his pecks. The way his pudgy belly and love handles jiggle under your wandering hands makes you wish you had more arms so you could feel every part of him.

A content growl rumbles from the bottom of his chest, eyelids open just enough to watch you. "My boy's forgotten his manners." He chuckles, but there's no way to hide the wagging of his little bear tail. The reverent way you touch him makes him feel like a king.

"Sorry sir." There's absolutely no shame in your voice or your actions, not when your mind is held captive by the soft fluffy fur and the warmth of his skin. Without thinking you slide your hands up to grope his chest and you groan — the squishy fat covering his muscles and makes his pecs so large they don't fit in your hands anymore, fat plumping up between your fingers and his flesh jiggling as you press his pecs against your head and motorboat him.

The surprised laugh you earn is like ambrosia to sweeten the heaven you're drowning in.

Imagine Bear Price who gets so sleepy as the nights get longer and colder. While he still gets the work done, and for the most part doesn't mind the 'old man' jokes his boys make, it's obvious how irritated he gets when he's forced to stay awake longer than he needs to; each extra second spent explaining to a muppet how to do his job makes his eyes darker and voice rougher until he's passively growling like a construction engine.

Luckily you're there to calm down the beast.

Groping his ass or scratching the base of his tail to distract him so you can kiss along his jaw and rub your cheek against his beard. "You're doing it again sir." You mutter, voice smooth and low enough to soothe his prickled mind. Kissing him sweet and slow so you can tug his lazy body back into his room, into his den, where you can give him what his mind and body craves the most — sweet sweet sleep. . . and you.

Imagine Bear Price who's chest rumbles with a purr without stopping the second you settle into his den, his clawed fingers sliding over and groping your naked skin with just as much love and adoration as you show him.

Wrapped in so many layers of blankets and furs, engulfed by his bulk and his own fur, you are so so warm that neither one of you need clothes. Price's favorite position is to hug you like a Teddy bear. Despite the irony, it lets him wrap his body around you so you're safe and protected, practically suffocating in his fur. Not that you mind, especially when Price can nuzzle his nose into your hair or skin, to breathe in your scent to his heart's content and purr low praises into your ear: "Good boy,"

And, if you're especially good, he lets you use his ass as a pillow. He'll growl and grumble about not being able to scent you or hold you, but he'll soon be sleeping peacefully with you slumbering on his large ass.

Imagine Bear Price who, between the long stretches of sleep, get's horny. It's a natural reaction from sleeping next to his naked mate, wanting to feel you and hear your moans, but he doesn't have the energy to actually fuck. His lethargy turns the feeling of languid arousal into Hell.

Both of you try to initiate a couple of times; fumbling beneath the sheets, wandering hands roaming and groping as far as they can reach, his teeth nibbling on your neck and your hungry lips laying hickeys on his thick neck. Not wanting to undo the tangle of limbs you two end up grinding against each other, breathing the same air between kisses as sweet pleasure burns in your belies.

Then you stop just long enough to grab the lube, and Price's mind, still half way in lala land, only needs a couple of seconds of inaction to pull him back into deep sleep. By the time you return to him he's already snoring, limbs reaching out to grip you tightly and pull you close, but all thoughts of sex are forgotten.

And Price is so, so, angry with himself when he wakes up and realizes he left you high and dry again, shame eating away at his stomach because what kind of bear leaves his mate unsatisfied? The unworthy kind.

Imagine Bear Price who's mind is blown when you suggest cockwarming. Hibernation is about sleeping and relaxing, not strenuous sex, so the thought of being able to feel you while still fulfilling his body's need to rest? Oh it gets him hard.

It takes a while to figure out the perfect position, Price is too big and heavy to lay on top of you without crushing you, and his fingers earn to grip and hold you close so spooning him viable either.

Finally you end up with him laying on his back, legs spread with you laying on top of him and oh, it's perfect. You can feel him purr as you slide inside his blistering hot hole, his strong arms wrapping around you and claws scrapping along your spine. "That's my boy, perfect f' daddy." He mumbles through the fog of sleep, throwing one heavy leg over yours to keep you close.

You can't help the shudder that races down your spine, his musky earthy scent curling in your nose and making your cock throb inside him. You only stretching him long enough to be able to take you without tearing something, and Price relishes the slight sting of pain nibbling on his nerves when your cock hardens.

You don't try to fuck him, by the time you're fully settled inside him he's already snoozing. A slow roll of your hips and the resulting tightening of his hole is enough to sate your lust when it arises, enough to keep you half hard and stretching him out. His pecs make such a good pillow, thick fluffy fur and chest hair tickling your skin, the slow and calm beating of his heart lulling you to sleep before you know it.

Imagine Bear Price who gets an insatiable sweet tooth. There’s not a single secret stash in his room that doesn’t have his favorite bottle of honey in it. Hell, there’s more honey hidden in his room than cigars.

And his lazy mind decides to combine his hunger with honey with his hunger for you.

"Hold still for daddy, baby boy." Price mumbles against your abdomen, big hand gripping your hip to keep you still so not a drop of the honey he drizzles on your cock goes to waste. "Good." He purrs, wide tongue lolling out of his mouth to lap at your tip, claws massaging the skin beneath them.

He can spend hours laying between your legs, lazily lavishing your cock with attention while satisfying his craving for sweets. Whine and moan as much as you want, uselessly buck your hips as best you can against his unfair strength, nothing will make him rush — with his energy drained he'll spend meticulous minutes following every vein on your cock with his tongue before he even thinks of gently suckling on your tip. "Relax my boy, just enjoy this." He mutters, lips pressed against the sticky flesh of your shaft.

And when he does take you into his mouth, it's just as slow. His mouth hangs open so you can see your tip resting on his tongue before he laps at your slit, drool and honey running down his chin and sticking the strands of his beard together. When all the honey is in his stomach he just drizzles more, nibbling on your thighs or stomach to keep his mouth and mind occupied with you before starting the torturous process all over again.

The slow torturous pleasure is easy to endure just so you can see his eyes light up when you start leaking precum.

Imagine Bear Price absolutely loves loves loves the salty tang your cum adds to the sweet honey, the delicate combination of flavor dancing on tongue and only fueling his gluttonous mind to demand more.

The distinct taste is the only way to cut through the fog of lazy pleasure in his mind, turning him greedy. Price mumbles and growls incoherent words around your cock as he swallows you down to the root, swallowing around you and holding you down when you try to buck up. "My boy tastes so good." He mumbles as he rises up, nuzzling his cheek against your weeping tip, looking up at you with hungry blue eyes. "Just for daddy, yeah?"

"Ye-yes sir." You whimper through your clenched teeth, your head lolling back against the pillows when he swallows you whole again, your tip bumping against the back of his throat. "Just fo- fuck, fuck,- just for you." You don't know how he doesn't choke on you but you don't have the mental faculties to even think about that when your brains are leaking through your cock.

Price smiles around your cock, the purr rattling his chest and making his throat vibrate around you. "Smart boy," He praises after he pulls off, precum and honey swirling on his tongue as he takes the moment to savor the taste. He knows how close you are, he can feel the cum churning your balls when he rolls them in his rough palm. "You can give daddy a bit more, can't you?"

You honestly don't know how long you will last.

Imagine Bear Price who can get so insatiable he growls like a tractor when you try to weakly push him off your cock, so aroused that you think even the slightest gust of wind will make you pop.

Price bites your thigh enough to hurt and only his hand squeezing down on the base of your cock keeps you from cumming. "And where do you think you're going boy?" He demands, claws digging into your skin to pull your hips closer, little kitten licks of his tongue driving you to the brink of madness.

"S-Sir!" You moan before you can stop yourself, your hips twitching uselessly against his hands, thighs shaking. "'m sorry, I'm fuck, I'm so close." You whimper, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Every nerve in your system is on fire, pleasure so strong it's turned to pain along your body.

Price huffs, but his tight hold lessens. "It's alright sweet boy," He hums, placing a sweet kiss on your cock head. "I know how you can make it up to daddy."

Imagine Bear Price who's only placated when you slide your cock back inside him. Your muscles ache from the strength it takes you to hoist his heavy legs over your shoulders and keep them there, but your rewarded with the tightening of his sweet hole, a pleased rumble leaving his throat.

“G-good boy-.” He growls, long claws scratching down your back as you pound into him. Your thrusts are slow but deep, making his toes curl every time you bottom out, tip scraping his prostate and making his cock spurt a dollop of precum with every thrust. “Fucking daddy so deep. I taught you well, yeah?”

"Yes, yes, yes!" You agree to everything he says without hearing any of his words, your body moving automatically to bully your dick into him. Every thrust is heaven and every second spent pulling out from his tight heat is hell, the sensitive veins of your cock scraping against his walls.

He moans when you manage to clip his prostate with your thrusts, one clawed hand sliding down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. "Harder boy," He demands, rolling his hips to meet you half way, other hand raising up to scruff you. "You can go har-hm!- harder. . . don't you wan- fuck, want to make daddy feel good?"

Clenching your eyes shut you slam into him as hard as you can, feeling the fat widening his frame jiggle with every hard thrust. Without thinking Price pulls your head down to smother you in his pecs, soft fluffy fur tickling your face as the ample flesh suffocates you. The sweet scent of honey mixed with his musk erases any vestiges of sentient thought in your head, leaving your animal brain to pick up the pieces — Pin him down harder and mate him, rut into him until he's roaring with his full chest, his hard cock slapping against your stomach.

Price reacts to the change in your behavior by pressing your face even harder against his chest, his walls clenching around your cock like a vice so you have to try harder to push into him. Price’s lips brush against your ear, voice low and rumbly. “My boy, come in daddy.” He urges you on, both legs now tightly wound around your waist so you can only hump your aching cock into him. “Co-mh!- cum, cum in me son, you want to be good for daddy right?”

That's all it takes to drive you over the edge, mind going black like a piece of paper as your orgasm rocks through you with the intensity of lighting. The sensation of your hot cum spilling into his hole triggers his own orgasm and he cums with a thunderous roar, sticky seed shooting across your abdomen.

You collapse on top of him, his legs keeping your softening cock inside him, not that you have even a single functioning muscle to try to pull out. His big hand cradles your skull, honey flavored lips placing soothing kisses on your temple. "That's my boy." Price murmurs, his chest rumbling with a soft purr. "Did so well for me." He yawns, eyelids fluttering as that fog of lethargy settles over both of you. "Now rest," The order is spoken in the softest voice he's ever used, and it works like a horse tranquilizer on you.

As you drift off to sleep, you feel his hole clench around your soft cock, the cum inside him squelching as his body unconsciously tries to persuade yours into filling him up just a bit more.

It's gonna be a long winter.

872 notes · View notes

andvys · 2 years ago

Text

Summer nights.. | S.H.

Warnings: 18+, minors go away! smut, fingering, mentions of king!Steve, slight degrading, Steve calling reader "slut" (affectionately)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 2k+

A/N: so this was a request and now I don't know who requested it cause Tumblr deleted my previous draft (thank u tumblr), it's been sitting in my inbox for a while now, I saw it earlier and just had to write it. i’m not that proud of it but oh well

stranger things masterlist

The water is cold, you feel the goosebumps arising on your skin. The smell of chlorine lingers around you, the sound of crickets and the music from inside the house filling the silence.

It’s dark out and you can barely see past the trees in his backyard. If it wasn’t for his presence, you would feel scared of what might be lurking in the forest behind his house. But under the weight of his eyes and the closeness of his body, you feel anything but scared.

It's the last days of summer and you both decided to spend the day by the pool in his backyard. You laid out in the sun all day, soaking up the last rays of the sunlight before you both decided to go for a swim.

He is staring. Eating you with his eyes. His lips are pulled into a smirk, his eyes are filled with smugness and mischief. He bites his bottom lip as he eyes you – taking in the sight of the pink bikini top covering your chest, he can see your nipples through the flimsy top. Water is dripping from your hair, your bottom lip is quivering a little, you’re cold and he feels the urge to warm you up.

The water splashes around you as you swirl it around with your hand, trying to focus on anything but him. He can see how flustered you are, how you try to avoid looking at him for too long. He saw the way your eyes widened when he took his shirt off before he jumped into the water before you – how you pressed your thighs together when you were still just sitting at the edge of the pool.

You’re a shy little thing, just like you were when you were still in high school. When he was King Steve and you were the awkward and shy bookworm – you’ve always been a sight for sore eyes though. Steve had always watched you, he had always admired you and how pretty you looked with your short skirts and dresses. He could’ve gone after you back then but, he didn’t want to do what he did with other girls, you were special – and you still are.

And you have changed, became even more beautiful, you have grown into your body – you are no longer just the cute and pretty girl. You are a woman and the woman that you are, god, Steve can’t count the amount of times he had to excuse himself to the bathroom to jerk off during one of your hangouts.

You are shy but you are a tease. You give him the eyes, you sit on his lap, you even went as far as taking his fingers in your mouth to lick them clean when he had helped you putting the frosting on the cinnamon rolls you had made. Alright, maybe you are not that shy.

Finally, Steve moves closer to you and he fights the urge to smirk when he watches the way you tense up a little more.

“Are you cold?”

You look up at him through hooded eyes and that alone makes his dick twitch. Fuck.

You lick your lips, giving him an innocent look that you know will drive him insane.

“A little.”

“Do you need me to warm you up, honey?”

His voice is so smooth and husky. It makes you shiver.

You bat your eyelashes at him and nod.

His large hands grab your waist and he backs you further up against the wall as he presses himself against you, letting his warm body touch yours.

“Like this?” He asks as he looks down at you, adoring how much shorter you are than him.

“Mhmm.”

You place your hands on his chest and gaze up at him. Steve had always been one of the prettiest boys. His beautiful hazel eyes, his stupid perfect hair, his plush lips, the cocky attitude had always made you weak but now he is just handsome. He’s a man. His hair is longer and right now, it hangs in front of his eyes, water dripping down from it and rolling down his sun kissed skin, the chest hair is something you never thought you’d like but, you love it on him. The black in his eyes makes the hazel in them disappear. He wants you just as much as you want him. Neither of you had been brave enough to cross that line yet. You both enjoyed the little game you were playing, a little too much.

His hands grip your waist tightly, he leans down to whisper in your ear, “or do you need more?”

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his lips on your earlobe. You suddenly forget about how cold the water is, the heat of his body and his touch makes you feel hot.

You can’t even help it, you press yourself against him and whimper at the feeling of his hard dick against your stomach.

He chuckles at your gasp.

“You feel that, honey?” He asks as he grabs your hand and pushes it under water, pressing it against his bulge.

Your lips part in surprise, your eyes widen, heat pools in your lower stomach and you have to press your thighs together again. Only this time, he doesn’t let you. He pushes his thighs between your legs, pressing it firmly against your heat.

“S-Steve,” you whimper as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

This. You had both been waiting for this. Waiting to cross the line. Waiting for the right moment to kiss, to touch each other like this. The anticipation was good but this is so much better.

You want him, you want to drag him out of the water, push him down on one of the loungers and get down on your knees for him. You want to worship him.

He chuckles darkly and he leans down, he brushes your hair back and places his lips against your neck, kissing you softly.

“You did that to me,” he whispers as his lips nip at your skin, his hand travels down to your panties, fingertips grazing the soft material, “you always make me so fucking hard.”

The feeling that rushes through you almost overwhelms you. Your body feels hot. The ache between your legs makes you whine. You’ve been needy for him all day – he had been teasing you from the moment he had picked you up in the afternoon.

You tilt your head to the side, wanting, no, needing more. And he gives you just what you want. His wet lips leave no space untouched. He kisses your neck, your throat, your jaw, your collarbone. He makes you whine and whimper with just a few simple kisses.

You grind against his thigh, desperately.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers finally find their way to your clit, “walking around in those short little skirts, looking at me with those desperate eyes – you want me just as bad, huh?”

You know it’s not a question. He knows that you want him. He is teasing you as always. Pressing his fingers against your clit, rubbing circles against your aching bud – slowly. He is torturing you.

You nod your head way too desperately, another whimper falling from your lips.

“Are you gonna let me–”

“Yes!”

He chuckles again and pulls back to look at you, “desperate huh?”

He admires your flushed cheeks and the way you are shaking as you grab his arms.

“Please?”

Who is he to say no to you?

He pushes your panties to the side, finally, touching you the way he always wanted to. He slips his fingers through your folds, hissing, “you’re soaked, baby, is that all for me?”

You shudder and gasp, swallowing harshly as you nod, unable to form any words. The butterflies in your stomach are wild, the burning in your pussy, making you whine. His fingers feel so much better than yours.

He leans his forehead against yours, your noses bump together before his lips finally find yours. He cups your cheek with his free hand, he kisses you, he finally kisses you after months of pining and yearning, he kisses you, desperately and roughly as his fingers circle your entrance.

Neither of you care about the slight taste of chlorine on your lips -- the taste of vanilla ice cream that you had earlier is stronger.

You moan at the feeling, bucking your hips into his hand. You throw your arms around his neck and bury your hand in his hair, tugging at it. He moans into the kiss and he slips his tongue past your plush lips as he slowly pushes his fingers inside of you, moaning yet again when he feels how tight and wet you are. He pumps them in and out of you a few times before he adds a second one, scissoring them inside of you.

“Steve!” You gasp against his lips as you pull away from the kiss, only to be pulled back in for another one. This time, it’s even more desperate. He cups the back of your neck, he breathes heavily and groans when he feels you squeezing his fingers.

You continue to tug at his wet hair, whining and whitering as he fucks you with his long fingers.

You had dreamed of this for so long. Every time you look at his hands, the veins in them, his long fingers, you just want them inside of you.

His heart is racing in his chest, just like yours is. Your bodies feel on fire. You wonder what it will feel like to have his cock inside of you. Just the feeling of him against your stomach makes you moan even louder. You need him.

He starts fingering you harder, faster. Loving the way your walls clench around his fingers – he can’t help but think about what it would feel like to fuck your tight little pussy, to spread you open with his dick, to make you whine, to see the tears in your eyes when you try to take his big cock for the first time – no one was ever able to take him fully before, he’s just too big.

The lack of air causes you to pull away from the kiss with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, breathing heavily as you bury your face in his neck and hold onto him, tightly.

You don’t even notice his heavy breathing but you can feel his throbbing dick against your stomach and it makes it all feel even better.

“You’re taking my fingers like a good girl.”

Your eyes roll back and you squeeze them shut when he curls them inside of you as he pushes them deeper than you could ever reach.

You cling to his body, pressing your wet chest against his as your nails dig into his skin.

Your lips are parted and you can’t even stop the moans from falling, you can’t even stop yourself from drooling when he fucks you harshly and sucks on your shoulder, kissing and biting your skin, marking you up.

“T-That feels so… good.”

He kisses your shoulder sloppily, grinding against you ever so slightly. The water in between you sloshes, his wrist is moving at a rapid pace as he fingers your needy cunt.

“You’re so easy to please, sweet thing,” Steve rasps, “it’s just my fingers and you’re whining like a needy little slut.”

You are surprised by his filthy words – you figure that this is King Steve talking right now. He knows you had a thing for him back then and as much as he hates his old self, this part of him never left – the one with a filthy mouth.

“Y-Your slut, Steve– Ah! R-Right there, p-please..”

He smirks against your shoulder, picking up the pace and fucking you brutally with his fingers. Rubbing your sensitive clit with his thumb.

Tears well up in your eyes when you begin to feel overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving you with just his hand. Your moans get high pitched, your walls squeeze tighter around his fingers and he groans in response.

Your thighs are shaking, he can feel it.

“I’m gonna, fuck – I’m gonna take you upstairs after this.”

You suck in a harsh breath.

“And I’m gonna fuck you so hard. S-Shit, the thing you did to me earlier? Sucking on my finger like that?” He grunts, “you’re a fucking tease.”

“Steve, please!”

“Just like that, keep moaning my name like that, shit.”

He grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you back, “let me look at your pretty face when you cum around my fingers.”

You almost feel ashamed to look at him, tears are blurring your vision, you are fucking drooling. He kisses your pout, “come on, baby, soak my fingers, cum for me.”

If it wasn’t for his hands holding your cheeks, you’d throw your head back in pleasure but he forces you to look at him as you cum around his fingers with a loud whimper.

“Just like that, honey,” he praises you and pats your cheek, “good girl.”

“I-I can’t–” You whimper when he keeps going, “please.”

“Aw,” he coos at you, “did I fuck you dumb with just my fingers?”

You are shaking and he holds you tightly as he peppers kisses all over your faces, slowly pulling his fingers out and putting your panties back in please.

He admires the way you are coming down from the high – not knowing what the night still has in store for you. But when you look into his eyes again and a smirk tugs at your lips, he knows, he just fucking knows that he is in for something.

“Can I suck your cock now, daddy?”

tagging my besties 💕 @prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @littledemondani @hellfire--cult

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things imagine

1K notes · View notes

sweetimpurity · 8 months ago

Text

Beach day fluff! Had to get this out of my drafts! Too bad summer is ending ;(

I love imagining Miguel coming out of the water glistening and perfect, drinking beer in the pool and playing with Gabi in the water at the beach. But after thinking about it, I think that Miguel would actually be a huge ‘poolside princess’

It would apply to both being at the pool with him and going to the beach. Even if you’re going with Gabi and the group, Peter and Mj with their kids and Jess with her family too. Maybe even Gwen and Miles join as well, the whole gang could be there. And he’s watching them all splash and play in the water and in the sand, all from the comfort of under the umbrella.

It took you literal days to convince him to come to the beach with everyone. It was a planned day and originally you were just going to take Gabriella and meet up with everybody else.

He gave you a list of reasons why he didn’t want to go but you asked him again and again and it finally came out. He didn’t want to feel left out.

“So come with us, we want you to come” You insist. An easy answer to the problem. “No, it’s better for me to just stay here. I’m a buzzkill at the beach, believe me.” He insists. You don’t believe him. And you keep trying to accommodate him and make him feel comfortable. He’s your husband, of course you want him to be included and feel comfortable at the same time.

It’s the heat. Miguel gets so hot and then he gets irritable and angry and frustrated. So he’s given up on trying to have fun at the beach. You’re determined to change that. You bought a new umbrella and new beach chairs this year. You brought cold water and cut up fruit in the cooler.

Gabriella couldn’t be more excited that her father is joining everyone. She bounds with excitement as you’re all getting ready. You’re helping her into her lilac bathing suit and trying to put some sunscreen on her little face to protect her baby skin. Miguel helps you pack everything into the car and grab Gabi’s swimming stuff from the garage.

And when you make it there, meeting Peter B and Mj, Jess and her husband and all the little ones running around, you set up shop and open the umbrella, insisting to your slightly grumpy hubby that everything will be fine and he’ll be comfortable. He keeps his darkest sunglasses on because thats the other thing. The sun is so harsh on his eyes. That’s why he keeps the lights mostly off in his office. His eyes are so sensitive to light and the sun reflecting off the water is like knives to his corneas.

And it’s also been so long since he’s been to the beach that he hasn’t really gone swimming in a while. Probably convinced himself that the water will be too cold and overstimulate him too.

“There’s a breeze, baby…” You smile, trying to make it seem fun and like he won’t have a horrible time. It’s not that he wants to be a grump, it’s just that he knows he’s not fun at the beach and he doesn’t want to ruin the day for everyone else. “You just sit and relax, okay? If you’re hot let me know…” you hold his face, pecking his smiling lips before turning to meet Gabi by the water and he gently slaps your bum on the way over. He couldn’t resist. You’re wearing that bathing suit he really loves.

Giggling and glancing back at him as you’re walking away and catching that smile on his face. Oh yeah. You’re determined to make him have fun today.

You, Peter B, Gabi and Mayday all make a huge sandcastle with a moat and are decorating the walls with seashells that the kids found. Miguel watches, smiling and feeling the slight breeze on his skin from the safety of the shade. It’s still hot but he’s not burning up and your kindness and care makes him feel a million times better anyway. He's really grateful for your patience.

“Papa! Come in the water please please porfi!” Gabi squeals, running over to him with her floaties on her arms, grabbing his large hand and trying to pull him up. He coos to her in soft spoken Spanish and you shake your head grinning, walking up to the both of them under the umbrella. “Gabi girl… let Papa stay cool okay?” You try to urge your daughter, but seeing Miguel get up surprises you.

“Yeah, I’ll come in.” He says it like it’s nothing. “You will??!” You and Gabi both squeal in unison. It’s like a miracle, neither of you can believe. “Come on come on!” Gabi practically screams, pulling his hand and he emerges from under the shade and into the sun. You smile watching the sun wash over his back. His skin glowing and broad muscular back on full display. That’s the other thing you’ve been missing out on. How dare he deprive you of his perfection?

You run up beside them, grabbing your husband’s other hand, the three of you walking to the water and Gabi runs in first. She’s already been a little fish all day so the water feels warm to her. “Come on babe…” You encourage and he winces slightly at the freezing water lapping over his legs. His senses going off like alarms. His sensitivity to temperature and changes in the environment are just so strong and unpredictable. It amazes you that such a big indestructible man can be so sensitive but that's what you love about him. “Just give me a minute…” He nods, still holding your hand and standing knee deep, adjusting and watching Gabi frolic around in the shallows. You wait with him patiently, giving him all the time in the world to be comfortable. Leaning into him and wrapping your arm around his waist, your hand on the hot skin of his back, head on his shoulder. He rests his head on yours, both watching your daughter having the time of her life. His big hand running up your side and to the back of your neck, just glad that he's here and included in today's fun.

"Okay I'm ready." He suddenly says, stepping forward and marching past Gabriella who's trying to grab onto his legs, giggling all the way. "You can take it slow!" You call to him. Is he crazy? He's just gonna go in just like that?

"Daddy I'm swimming too!" Little Gabi tries to follow him as the water gets deeper and then in the blink of an eye, Miguel's completely submerged with a big splash. You eyes widen with a gasp and Gabi squeals with excitement. Peter B and Jess hollering from the beach, watching the scene unfolding.

You don't see him, not under the crashing waves and the splash that erupted when he crashed into the water, not until Gabi's squealing and her father lifts her up from under the water, her little arms wrapping around him as he emerges from the blue glistening ripples. "I got you!" He growls and she giggles and squeals, her little voice spouting a million words at once, she's just so excited.

"My god..." You sigh, smiling and shaking your head. How did you get so lucky? You walk deeper into the water, kneeling down in the shallows where Gabi stands on Miguel's lap. Splashing each other gently in the water and having fun. "Ma!" Gabi whines, reaching out to you and trying to wrap her arms around the both of you at once. The freezing water from her skin making your back break out in goosebumps.

"Gabi! May found hermit crabs!" Peter calls from the shore. A group of them crowded around Mayday chattering excitedly about her finds. "Oooh!" Gabriella squeals, running off and out of the water to see.

"Whiplash..." Miguel sighs, shaking his head and smiling at Gabi's excitement and moving closer to you in the water. Sitting on the sand as the water laps around your waist and arms, the waves crashing on you two. "Yeah, right?" You laugh softly, watching Gabi run off to the rest of the group on the beach and making sure she's safely on the sand.

"You're right, this was fun. You having fun?" He asks, lifting a hand to your shoulder, the freezing cold water giving you shivers at it meets your hot sun kissed skin. "I'm having a lot of fun..." You smile, looking in his eyes. "More fun now that you're having fun too"

He smiles warmly, rubbing your back gently with his hand. The water lapping around you both in the shallows. Gabi is still on the beach with everyone, squealing and giggling about hermit crabs in May's blue bucket. Her little voice seems to carry across the whole beach.

You lean on Miguel, your head on his chest, your backs to the horizon and watching your little girl bounding across the sand.

237 notes · View notes

fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow · 4 months ago

Text

this is something i wrote almost a year ago, it’s not finished i was gonna add more people into it at the time but i just found it again in my drafts and thought i should post it otherwise ill never do it.

anyways here’s jason using less than savoury ways to help batfam members (not at all beta read)

Manipulation

“Fuck it this isn’t working. Get up and do star jumps.” The only response Dick can muster is a whine. He knows Jason is right, they’ve tried four other breathing exercises and they’re not working, but star jumps are quite literally the last thing he wants to do right now.

You’re probably wondering how he ended up here. Well, Damian almost died tonight. It had been eerily similar to Jason’s death. And now hours later, Dick was having a panic attack and just wanted to hear Jason speak. But his little brother knew something was up and insisted Dick actually deal with the panic that was trying to consume him. Hearing Jason’s voice had grounded him but now he just couldn’t breathe.

“Well it's that or I call Alfred and tell him you need help.” Oh god.

“Jay, no.” He breathes out, while shallowly. He hears Jason make a thoughtful noise.

“Yeah I’ll have to tell him and he’ll have to go up all those stairs.You really need help, thankfully his contact starts with A.”

“No!” He gasps moving to get up. His body feels like jelly and his hands are shaking.

“M’up m’up.” Holy shit he’s dizzy. “Jay m’gonna pass out.” He leans against the wall. His head is swimming.

“Yeah, that's what almost ten minutes of limited air will do. You can’t just expect to get up and be fine, dumbass. Take a second to acclimate and then start with the star jumps. They’ll help you regulate your breathing.” Jason is talking in a soft voice that he doesn’t usually hear. He listens, gives himself a second and when his bedroom isn’t running circles around him, he starts the star jumps.

After about four or five he starts to notice his breathing is a lot easier to control.

“Holy crap, it’s actually working.” He lets out an only slightly hysterical laugh.

“Well it was about damn time. I guess we don’t need Alfred after all.” Jason says in that fake thoughtful voice again. Dick stops jumping and sits down on his bed.

“I hate you, you knew that would get me up.” He says.

“Yeah everyone knows you would rather die than ‘bother’ someone,” There’s somehow audible quotation marks over the word bother. “And no you don’t.” He says confidently.

“No I don’t.” Dick lays down on his bed. He’s exhausted.

“Hey Jaybird?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

—

Pestering

Unlike a lot of her siblings, Cass liked to get out her frustrations by dancing. Right now she was blasting angry music and dancing around the room Bruce had redone into a dance studio.

Suddenly the angry music was swapped out by a childish theme song she couldn’t quite place. Confused, she walked over and reconnected her phone and changed the music back. It was probably a mistake.

Ten times later it was definitely not a mistake.

She wanted to scream. She stormed out of the studio and went to one of the only other rooms in the manor that had a google nest. The kitchen. Who would be doing this? Alfred? Dick? No he’s not allowed in the kitchen. Who then?

She was not expecting Jason Todd to be standing in the kitchen making himself some food. She doesn’t even get a chance to speak before he’s turning around holding two plates.

“You gonna talk about what the hells going on and eat or just stand there?” He says before placing both plates on the table. She stands there debating. Did she want to talk? Did she want to eat? Since when could Jason cook?

“Oi my cooking didn’t hurt you so, stop staring at it like you’re gonna start a duel and sit.” His gruff voice broke through her thoughts and she approached the table.

They sat there and ate in peace. The food was actually very good. Only after they had both cleared their plates did she finally speak up.

“Some girls at the dance studio were saying some…unfriendly stuff about me. I thought I was fitting in but I guess not.” She said the last part quietly. Jason hummed.

“To your face or behind your back?”

“Behind my back.”

“Pussies.” He said humorously. Her head shot up at the profanity. “What it’s true. If you’re gonna talk shit at least say it to the person’s face.” He shrugged.

“And don’t take it as you not fitting in. This is a sign you are.” She tilted her head. “They’re probably jealous and insecure. It’s just how those environments are, especially in high society. If you didn’t fit in they would say it to your face because they wouldn’t fear the judgement of others.” He said it like it was obvious. She didn’t know how he knew so much but she wasn’t going to question it because what he was saying made sense.

“Take pride in knowing at least you're a better dancer and better person.” And with that he stood up grabbing both plates and taking them to the sink.

“Jason.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

—

Minor Violence

Tim is so close to cracking his case he swears it. Maybe it’s been 10 hours straight of just sitting and working but he swears he’ll be done soon. Suddenly something hits him in the temple and lands in his lap. He puts a hand on his head and swivels his head around to find Jason sitting there with a box of food bars and smirking.

“Hey! What was that for!” He yells.

“You’ve been down here for ten hours, you need to eat.” Jason says blankly. Tim huffs and looks back at the computer screen.

“No I don’t, I need to finish this.” The only response he gets is another food bar to the head.

“Ow! Stop!” Jason just grins and grabs another one. Tim growls and turns his head to the computer again and decides he’ll just have to ignore him.

It takes two whole boxes of food bars for Tim to crack. The last one hits him in the side of the face and he’s so over it.

“Jason! What do you want!” He yells, probably a bit louder than he intended but he was tired and stressed. Jason places the empty box on the ground beside him.

“For you to eat.” Tim angrily reaches for one of the numerous food bars surrounding him, rips open the packaging and takes a bite. He ends up finishing it before he can even blink.

“Now we’ve gotten past the hard part, eat this too and drink the whole glass.” Jason says as he places a glass of water and a plate that has two slices of homemade pizza on it.

“Alfred made it so eat up.” Tim doesn’t really know what to say as Jason walks back to his chair and pulls out a book.

“Are you going to sit here while I eat?”

“Yup.”

Twenty minutes later he’s finally done and feels a lot better than he did. Jason walks over and takes his plate.

“Hey Jason?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

—-

Stubbornness

“Is there any pros to taking these? Because this list is kinda ridiculous.” Jason for the past hour has been reading the side effects of Steph’s birth control in a terrible english accent and if he doesn’t stop soon she’s gonna do something drastic.

“Yes, There is. Now can you stop?” He pulls the large piece of paper away from his face and gives her a look.

“Are you gonna take the heat pack and pain killers?”

“We’ve been over this I—“ “Then I will continue. Where was I? Vaginal bleeding.” He says in the accent again but pauses and looks at the paper again like he read it wrong. “Surely that’s a given.”

Steph lets out a groan. She just wants to lay here and rot. She doesn’t want to take pain killers because that would mean she has to eat and that is way too much right now.

He starts to get to the hard to pronounce diseases and she rips the paper out of his hands.

“Ok! Ok!” She painstakingly pulls herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She changes out her pad, thank god she got up when she did because she did not want to wash bloody sheets. (She knows Alfred would wash them for her but just the thought makes her shudder)

When she comes back out she’s already feeling a bit better. Jason is sitting on her bed with her purple teddy heatpack, some pain killers (the good kind of jason you legend) and some light crackers. She takes the pain killers and the heat pack and starts munching on the crackers. When she’s half way through the box she hands it back and rolls back into bed.

Just as Jason turns to leave she calls out.

“Hey Jay?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

———-

if you made it this far i’m impressed thanks for reading.

#batfam #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #headcanon #ramble #mini fic #kinda #batman #bat family

96 notes · View notes

regular-dog · 1 year ago

Text

Hey @five-rivers, happy truce! I decided to go with your prompt about danny attending a cultural ritual or event, and themed it around the far frozen. My explanation for it got a little longwinded so I've included it under a read more, along with a little extra art!

(tumblr’s probably gonna crunch all of these up a bit, so click for better quality)

I'll be honest, I haven't actually thought out the exact details of what this event would be, just the broad strokes - I tend to gravitate towards food as a source of celebration in my own worldbuilding, and I guess that bled through here as well in the form of “ice = water = probable fish based diet = important fish event?”

During drafting I couldn’t really decide between “event centred around observing fish migration and/or other seasonal habits” or “Danny being invited to come fishing with Frostbite and the other yeti”, but honestly I think either of those would probably fit. Originally I had planned to have one or two yeti characters swimming around with him to make the piece more dynamic, but a surprise attack from a migraine kind of cut into my plans a bit and I decided to downsize.

...at least until I got annoyed by the lack of a visible ghost friend in the piece and decided to paint a “small” “”extra”” “””doodle””” which rapidly turned into a whole other Thing,

There are shockingly few ghost fish in the show, apparently, or at least I could neither remember nor find images online of any examples, so I just kind of winged it. Their design is partially inspired by a short story you wrote a while back, although I ended up drifting away from the zebrafish motif as I was drafting them. I started thinking of them as maskfish as a stand-in name, and then promptly forgot to think of a better one, so. Maskfish it is. Here's some random notes I made while conceptualising them, because I constantly have specbio on the brain and couldn't not think about it

Maskfish flesh turns an opaque pale colour when cooked, and remains translucent when raw

Their eyes are covered in a clear, hard exterior, and can be hollowed out and sterilised for use in various crafts; along similar lines I could also see their bones being used to make glues, paints, and other such resources.

Their cores are located at the top of the spinal cord, in the head; their mouths are located on the underside, beneath the "mask", which makes up the entire top part of the head, and is a singular piece of a shell-like material.

Though they aren't particularly agressive hunters, they also aren't picky about their food, and will generally eat anything smaller than themselves.

Aaand finally, here's a bunch of isolated scans, since procreate ate a lot of the fine details in the collaging process.

#sorry this is a bit late the past weeks been a bit tiring. yknow how it is #danny phantom #phandom truce 2023 #phandomholidaytruce #danny phantom fanart #unsure whether it would be more accurate to tag this as digital or traditional so i guess its just #art #i am going to go pass out now sorry if this was mildly incoherent

524 notes · View notes

cosmicalily · 4 months ago

Text

"written by the aces" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

4. "i've loved you for so long" | hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

You're taking me back, babe, to where it all started, wearing your hair up in your New York apartment, I swear, I've loved you for so long, I'd do it again and again and again and again, baby

author's note: okay so fun fact the left photo in this header is actually a pic of a picnic i went on with my friend that i took off my pinterest (ee if you wanna look at it here's the link! my pinterest is my pride and joy). i've had this fic in my drafts for ages, i adore this song and it feels SO undeniably hyunjin, i hope you enjoy!!

There were always questions as to how a broke artist afforded an apartment in New York City.

You had reasons. You worked almost every possible hour outside of the studio at a local coffee shop, and had sold several of your favourite possessions, including your prized guitar handed down from your mother. You worked hard for what you had, and you appreciated it more so that way.

That’s always how it had been. You worked hard enough for something, you’d eventually get there.

Hwang Hyunjin came from a wealthier background and also lived in an apartment in New York City, albeit much more beautiful than yours. He was beautiful, and not in any way snobby as you’d expect. He felt very deeply, and translated it into his artwork.

He knew that if he wanted something, he’d get it, reasonably quickly. But he didn’t like things that way.

He loved the anticipation, the slow burn, the pining and wishing and hoping, which was exactly how he felt about you.

He didn’t want his own expensive personal studio. He used the local art space, which was available to rent for a few hours each day. That was where he first saw you. All of you.

You and your posture that gave you back aches when you sat sketching for too long, the way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought, your habit of tucking your hair behind your ears only for it to flop forward again within the next few seconds. He was fascinated by you, but he preferred admiring from a distance for the moment. He didn’t want to push forward or scare you away.

You thought he was one of the prettiest people you’d seen. He seemed so comfortable with his masculinity that he wasn’t afraid to step into his feminine side, wearing his hair a little longer, dressing a little more form-fitting. His lips were plush and sometimes scarred from where he nibbled on them, and he had brown eyes, so dark yet so warm, as if they’d melt you if you stared into them for a little too long.

It wasn’t as if you ever shared a conversation before he left New York. Even though you spent a lot of time together, it was comfortable silence. You sat, on opposite ends of the studio, working on your projects, trying to avoid catching each others eyes. One time though, when you walked past to go wash your paintbrush, you accidentally brushed against him, and he noticed.

The way your cheeks flushed, and your small smile.

Hwang Hyunjin didn’t expect his life to bring him back to New York City, although perhaps a part of him had always hoped it would.

He’d spent years travelling Europe, visiting art galleries and staying in beautiful apartments and villas, swimming in the ocean in the summer and taking photos of the mountains in the winter. He was inspired constantly, and filled his life with art, food, gorgeous views and wine.

He’d gotten to a point in his life where it was expected he would be married, or at least have entered a long-term relationship. Although he met some of the prettiest people he’d ever seen, he never pursued further than dinner and a kiss on the cheek.

He thought about you, and the way your cheeks flushed, and your small smile.

Your hair, piled up on your head in a way that was not at all structurally sound, letting fronds flop into your eyes and around your neck and collarbone.

He returned to New York a little while after he’d stayed in Paris, and spent time looking for an apartment. He’d been connected with a real estate agent, one that sold high-end apartments uptown. He decided to walk up instead of catching a taxi, and whilst walking past the studio where you’d first seen each other, he saw an advert in the window.

You were looking for a roommate, and applications were due by 5pm.

You stood on the other side of the apartment, your hair pulled up with a piece of blue-and-white gingham ribbon, taken off the wrapping of the book Hyunjin had bought you for your birthday. You wore a long denim skirt and pale yellow bralette, with lace around the edges and a soft pattern of tiny lemons across it, with one of Hyunjin’s white linen shirts over the top, unbuttoned and blowing in the wind that came through the opened window in the kitchen.

Hyunjin lay still in bed, flat on his stomach, admiring you from afar the way he always did. Even after two years, where all he’d done was live, breathe and love you, there were moments where he liked to remember how he’d fallen for you in the first place.

There were also moments where he wanted to be as close to you as possible. He shifted off the bed and walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your hair.

“Did you want to go out today?” he mumbled into your hair. “I feel bad that we stayed at home all day again; there’s not much point to weekends if we don’t do anything, is there?”

You looked up at him. “I didn’t really want to. I prefer being at home, anyway.”

“Good, because I didn’t want to either,” he smiled, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder. “Even though we don’t talk all the time…”

“I like our silence. We don’t feel like we have to say anything,” you finished, turning yourself around from where you were facing the kitchen bench and placing your arms around his waist. He shifted his to your shoulders, and pulled you in close, so you were flush against his chest.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” Hyunjin murmured, his forehead against yours, noses touching.

“You don’t just say it,” you whispered. “You show it. And that’s even more beautiful, I think.”

“I’ve loved you since I first saw you. And I know that you know, but I just want to remind you, that you’re what I’ve dreamed of for so long, and what I’ve wanted without realising.”

“You talk a lot sometimes, my love.”

“I mean everything I say. I like to talk about you. I like to talk to you.”

You cupped his face with your hands and brought your lips to his.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts - comment, dm or send an ask to be added!

90 notes · View notes

nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 10 months ago

Text

BIG OL HECKIN EDIT:

I am a dum dum who forgot how to spell @sassenach-on-the-rocks amid my existential terror and dread of the deleted-draft incident mentioned below, and then did a Dum Dum no Double-Down by forgetting to update until now. This headcanon is their brainchild and they deserve all the credit for it.

You may now continue with your previously intended brainrot viewing.

I'm VERY INCREDIBLY MIFFED, MY GUYS.

I had this entire post finished and almost completely formatted and saved it as a draft to finish formatting it on my computer

And it DIDN'T SAVE. And I nearly SCREEEEEMED.

It was for an ask request and I also can't seem to tag the person that sent the ask.

I am A N G E R Y

But after several deep breaths and reminding myself that violence is not the answer, here we are.

At any rate. The ask request was for headcanons involving One Piece boyos taking reader to a Masquerade ball.

To the asker, should you still be around to see it, I really really loved this and thank you so, so much for it ❤️❤️ I really enjoyed finding masks to match their aesthetics.

Only deviation I made was Zoro; you meet him there rather than going with him. It just felt right that way for some reason.

And awaaaaaaaay we go~

The Masquerade

Sanji, Zoro, Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy x Reader

SFW Headcanons

This was really so fun and cute and I thank Asker so so much for this.

♫♬Little By Little — The Fratellis♬♫

You wear your mask, I'll wear mine, they don't come cheap but they fit just fine

You can be her and I can be him, and we can both sink while the rest all swim

Sanji

He heard about it when you made port, and there's no way he's not taking you.

He's been looking for an opportunity to take you on the perfect first date, and this is it.

Perfect opportunity for the two of you to get away from the crew for and have a little alone time.

A little dancing, a little wine, a little champagne—it's perfect.

Makes sure not to tell anyone else, if Luffy hears there's free food he'll insist on going and the whole thing will no doubt end in chaos.

He doesn't even tell you—all he tells you, after presenting you with a brand new dress and jewelry (which most likely cost him every last berry in his wallet), is that he would like to take you out for the evening.

And how could you turn him down?

"Come on, love. I promise it will be the best evening you've ever had."

The effort he's already put in, those puppy-dog eyes....

You spend the evening dancing, talking, enjoying the free food, every ounce of his attention on you the entire time as he ensures that you feel like a princess.

Making sure that everyone has their eyes on the pair of you on the dance floor, that they know you're there with him.

Somehow ending up chit-chatting with the catering staff toward the end of the night and being invited to their far less formal after-party.

Stumbling back to the Merry hours later together, half-drunk and giggling and positive that it's the best night you've ever had.

Zoro

"What the hell...?"

He got lost and wandered in.

No idea what's going on, why are all these people wearing masks and dancing?? What exactly is going on this is weird as—

Oh hey there's an open bar, cool.

You recognize him from his bounty poster fairly quickly. There are a lot of marines here, and he really isn’t causing any problems, but he's getting a lot of strange looks...so you decide to do the guy a favor and shove a mask in his hands.

He looks at you like you're speaking another language as you explain where he is and convince him to just put on the damned mask already.

"A ball? I thought this was some kind of weird cult or something."

You just stare at him in disbelief—he thought it was a cult and he's just standing around enjoying the free drinks.

What.

You brush it off and tell him if he wants to fit in, then dancing is probably a good idea.

He's frowning at you again.

"Yeah, I don't really...do that."

You roll your eyes—there are still people eyeing him suspiciously, you have to do something, so when he finishes his next drink you just grab him by the wrist and drag him out to the dance floor.

Cue impromptu ballroom dancing lessons. He keeps stepping on your feet and mumbling apologies, but it's kind of cute how hard he's trying.

You really can't help but giggle at his explanation that he just got lost and wandered in here.

But you're glad he did—you doubt you would have had nearly as much fun otherwise.

Shanks

Heard about the whole shin-dig while in port.

"Hey that sounds like fun, we should crash it."

You try to be stern, but he pulls out the puppy dog eyes.

"Oh come on please?"

God dammit....

And maybe an hour later you're both making masks.

There's glitter and glue and feathers all over the captain's cabin and you're already dreading cleaning it up.

His has a giant gaudy pirate hat. Because of course it has a giant gaudy pirate hat. He's so proud of it, grinning like a little kid in an arts and crafts class when he holds it up to show you, that you can't even bring yourself to admonish him for it.

And of course the whole thing is invitation-only, and of course he manages to sweet-talk his way in anyway.

Just having such a good time, really doesn't care if anyone recognizes him.

Really doesn't care, just drinking and making small talk and joking with several lower-ranking Marines in attendance who are clearly very nervous.

Within an hour, while you're in the middle of dancing and deciding that maybe this wasn't *such* a bad idea, an announcement is made for everyone to leave immediately.

Judging by the sheer number of Marines outside there's no doubt as to why.

He just gives you a guilty grin before picking you up over his shoulder and bolting back to the ship.

Mihawk

Actually received an invitation, just rolled his eyes and tossed it in the trash.

You dig it out and pout about it until he rolls his eyes and gives in.

"Fine. No more than an hour."

At lease there will be free wine.

Unsurprisingly spends a great deal of time standing in a corner and sipping said wine while staring around haughtily at the other partygoers.

Would much rather be drinking wine back in his secluded castle and not having to deal with other humans.

Spends the vast majority of the evening standing in a corner and nursing a glass of wine while glaring around haughtily at the other guests, daring them to even think of attempting to make small-talk with him.

Doesn't move from his designated corner until he sees other guests daring to flirt with you, at which point he promptly saunters over to pull you to the dance floor and ensure everyone is well aware that you're there with him.

Lightens up a little after that (which may or may not have something to do with the several glasses of wine he's already consumed), but absolutely will not admit that it actually turned out to be a rather nice evening.

He will, however, hold this over your head and remind you that you owe him.

But you know the truth, considering he's a little more willing to attend such events with you after this.

Buggy

Oh what now? An excuse to be absolutely flamboyant and unhinged in public?

You're going. Period. There will no arguments.

He's already got a collection of masks and costumes anyway, this is going to be a blast.

You lose track of him shortly after you get there. You're pretty sure that the explosion that went off toward the back corner of the dance floor had something to do with him.

He finds you while you're sipping a glass of champagne in downright annoyance and proudly informs you that he's made bank going through pockets at the coat check while everyone was distracted by his little diversion.

"Ah, don't worry, babe, they won't notice. They're too busy schmoozing and kissing ass."

Standing around making small-talk with other guests in the most ridiculous put-on aristocratic accent he can possibly muster, introducing you variably as some foreign dignitary or princess from a far off land.

Literally can't take this idiot anywhere.

202 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 1 month ago

Text

the archives & lost files. / three wick candle / a geto x gojo x reader fic

i had this preview of a throuple fic i had planned like two years ago just sitting in my drafts, and i figured i could maybe start a series of 'archives and lost files'. aka the fics / concepts / etc that may one day rise to fruition - or may never come to be!

this was supposed to be a short series when i was really into jjk. maybe one day i'll return to it, but here's the prologue for those who may have been interested !!

pairing: geto x gojo x reader fandom: jujutsu kaisen word count: 1k+ tags: arranged marriage mention, forbidden romance, secret polyamorous relationship/throuple, angst, hurt/comfort, set around hidden inventory arc, dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“We could just… go.”

The words tumble out of your mouth faster than you mean them to.

Even with the hesitance hanging at the end of the sentence, your brain lags behind with the exhaustion weighing down your ankles.

You can imagine Geto’s expression, though you purposefully angle your peripheral to avoid it. A lot of your life has been this way: discovery and avoidance, a push and pull wearing the threads of your clothes thin.

Discovering his disappointment, his anguish, his ever-looming empathy will surely break you, so you avoid it. Push against the pull. Push, push, push—

And go.

Like it’s as simple as leaving this beach blanket crowding your shoulders together. Like it's as easy as Gojo’s laugh as he kicks water with his bare feet, thrilled at how cold the water is — you guys gotta get in here, it’s insane! — and oblivious to what looms ahead.

It’s easier not to burden the sole bachelor of the Gojo clan with more weight on his shoulders.

(You enjoy when he’s loud, a bursting firework to your melancholy. Telling him would fizzle that spark — or overcharge it to an accidental wildfire.)

You stare at the gradual sunset beyond Gojo’s spiny back. He bends at the hips, fumbling for the perfect sea shell to finish his trifecta masterpiece. The other two shells sit right by your little toe, finally dried from the afternoon sun.

One is black and strong in its ridges, bigger than any shell you’ve ever set your eyes on, but it has a tiny chip at its base. Gojo must have overlooked that tiny detail, too excited that he’s found one that can completely encompass your palm.

That’s Suguru, he proudly states.

(Suguru, like you, entertains whatever Satoru presents.)

The other sitting beside the black shell is a brilliant blue and smoother, as if exfoliated by sand with love. This one took hours for him to find — soaked to the bone, he crawled up the sand with a tinge of sunburn and a wild look in those bright blue eyes of his.

Gojo flicked the little thing to you in a coin toss, forcing you to catch it mid-air. Is that you?

Nope. The ‘p’ popped with arrogance. You.

Subverted expectations: the Satoru way.

Searching for the Gojo shell has taken up the rest of the evening, leaving you and Geto stranded as the evening hours begin to creep in.

Yet considering what awaits you in the upcoming months, you’re happy to hear your stomach growl from lack of dinner and to feel the chill of the incoming night.

“Is that what you want?”

The soft voice to your left takes you out of the moment.

Avoidance isn’t enough this time. Your chin turns, and soon you’re met with the compassionate stare of your friend.

In the orange glow of the setting sun, he’s ethereal; his wrists remain locked, his thumb and index finger looping together over his raised knees. His swim shorts have dried. Sand peppers his bare feet.

The rogue lock of hair sitting against his temple shifts when he turns closer to you, dropping his volume an octave.

“To leave?”

No.

You never want to leave Okinawa. You never want to leave your dorm room bed in Tokyo. You never want to see a single sunset like this again, not unless—

“Not unless it's with both of you,” you confess in a murmur.

Geto’s dark-eyed stare remains meaningful, brave, as he soaks in your words.

You stretch your legs out to give your aching body something to do, burying your feet into the soft tan sand ahead. “They’d probably find us pretty quickly anyway.”

“Not if Satoru knew.”

Geto remains serious. He remains staring at you. High alert, should you begin to falter.

An old habit — Geto takes care of everybody but himself.

Gojo whoops and hollers in the background, smacked into the sea by a surprise wave.

You both continue watching one another.

“If Satoru knew—”

“He should,” Geto interrupts gently.

“Suguru,” you warn just as lightly.

Whispers on the summer wind.

Just like your arranged marriage proposal, rotting away in a scroll somewhere in the bottom of the backpack you carried to the beach today. Even now you can feel its invisible presence in the salty air, threatening to choke you into submission.

Because that was the point of the trip, right? To enjoy one last day without burdens with the two boys you’ve always loved — that you always will love — until reality creeps up to what Jujutsu higher ups hiding behind opaque mirrors expects from you.

What Jujutsu society expects of you.

“Barbaric,” the dark-haired boy starts. “We both know that these archaic, barbaric traditions need to die. I’ve kept your secret like an oath, but I can’t keep Satoru out of the loop much longer. You want to run? Then say the word, because we’ll be on a plane tomorrow. But we aren’t leaving without—”

“I would never leave without him,” you interrupt this time, eyes shining with a flurry of emotions you so rarely allow bubble to the surface.

Swallow down, down, down — until they no longer exist.

It’s why you’ve enlisted the help of Suguru over Satoru. He knows a thing or two about consuming things that make you feel sick.

“I just… know how he’s going to take it,” you tell him, flickering your attention back to crashing waves to the shore.

Gojo’s back is turned to the two of you, basking in what little sun remains over the horizon. His white hair shifts in the wind — his Infinity is disabled.

At peace.

As carefree as he is, as arrogant as he can be, you know he very rarely feels peace.

“Likely as well as I did,” Geto reminds at your side.

Your head shakes.

“No,” you say. “Worse. Much worse.”

You can see it: the frown forming in your peripheral vision. You blink further to the right.

Avoid.

“If Satoru knew,” you finally start again, well aware of the infliction in your voice. “Then there would be no stopping him. If Satoru knew, then he would—”

“—help you.”

Geto’s Hawaiian shirt rustles as he detaches his hands to place one onto yours, his interruption soft. Reassuring.

You stare as his thumb runs across your skin before meeting his gaze, shaking your head.

“...he would burn them all to the ground.”

#gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x gojo x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #fic: three wick candle #amywritesthings #filed under: the archives and lost files

35 notes · View notes

terresdebrume · 9 months ago

Text

Work is kinda hectic rn, my knees are NOT liking how much traveling between floors I have to do, and I am missing sleep like crazy so my WIPs are staying largely untouched but I HAD to push out this concept for a maybe-someday fic in the I'm down on my knees universe

Written for the free square day of @painlandweek . Have some hurt/comfort ft Charles and how he feels about his mum. Also belatedly tagging @ghostinthelibrarywrites bc I think you'll enjoy it and I accidentally posted a thing that was meant to stay a draft again xD

Charles is sitting on the doorstep. It's almost eight PM on a weeknight, Edwin is just back from a fun-study session—which is really just Maren's way of saying she wants beer with her textbooks—tired, brain swimming with texts of law, and more than a little tipsy... And Charles Rowland is sitting on his doorstep. His building's doorstep. The difference is irrelevant.

Caught off guard, Edwin blinks, and stares at Charles.

He is curled up on the ground, spine back in that parenthesis shape it had back in school. His elbows are on his knees, hands buried into the hair at the back of his neck, his eyes closed. Edwin takes in the tension in Charles' shoulders, the way the fading sunlight catches the green vines tattooed on his left forearm, the slow, deliberate depth of movement around his ribcage, and decides against calling out to him. Instead, Edwin walks up to him until Charles can no longer ignore the footsteps, and waits for him to speak.

"Hi," Charles says, muffled, from between his elbows.

"Hi," Edwin replies, chest twisting when the last hope he had that Charles was just a bit tired evaporates like rhum from a flambé.

He steps forward again, then ignores the fresh layer of summer dust on the steps and sits down next to Charles, deliberately picking a position that makes their hips and shoulders touch. Charles leans into it immediately, turning a light contact into solid pressure, and Edwin sighs. Things could be worse.

"I did not expect you tonight," Edwin prompts, trying to make himself as gentle as he can.

Tuesday nights are when Charles and Niko's dance classes take place. Edwin has never known either of them to miss one, so Charles' presence here is one more sign that whatever is going on is not to be taken lightly. As if to confirm Edwin's suspicions, Charles sighs, and mumbles:

"I ran into my mum."

Edwin freezes. For some reason, in the few months since he and Charles reunited, it never quite clicked for him that Charles' parents, for all that Charles hasn't had any contact with them for nearly eight years now, exist in the same world they do. London is such a large, dense city, it is easy to make your life in a corner of it and never step outside its boundaries. Edwin's parents certainly treat Kensington like an insular country only worth leaving for the richer shores of Mayfair, when they deign to visit the capital at all. Just like Edwin and Charles existed less than ten minutes away from each other for months without having a clue, the possibility of him running into Mr. or Mrs. Rowland by accident did not even cross Edwin's mind. Nor Charles', from the look of things.

"That must have been a shock," Edwin says.

He does not know enough to infuse more feelings into his response. Charles, for all that he shares his smiles, his affections and the chief of his worldly possessions freely, has remained incredibly tight lipped about his past. The summary of what Edwin knows of Charles' youth is quite easy to make.

Fact the first: at the age of sixteen, not one term into his stay at St. Hilarion's School for Boys, Charles Rowland jumped into a pool full of a deadly allergy trigger to save Edwin's life.

Fact the second: for the remainder of that school year, Charles endeavoured to make Edwin's life as painless as possible. His presence remains, by far, the brightest highlight of Edwin's adolescence.

Fact the third: at the age of seventeen, or near enough, Charles ran away from what he described as a bad home situation exactly once and proceeded never to mention again. It is Edwin's understanding that Charles may have escaped with nothing but the clothes on his back that day.

Two of those facts, Edwin knows because he was a direct witness to them, and the third was only shared with him because he accidentally made it an implicit condition to renewing his acquaintance with Charles.

Charles Rowland is not an emotional sharer, and Edwin is sort of at a loss.

"Yeah," Charles mumbles after a beat. "It was a bloody shock alright."

Edwin bites on his bottom lip, resisting the urge to push his fists together.

"Would you like to talk about it?" He asks, hoping his voice conveys the appropriate mixture of care and caution.

Charles shrugs, sniffing and rubbing his face against one of his forearms. Edwin bites his lip a little harder, and cautiously raises his right hand to place it on Charles' back. He feels and sees the muscles tense, Charles arching his back like an angry cat for the half second it takes Edwin to take his hand back.

"I apologize," he says, hand hovering uselessly above Charles' shoulder blades, "I wanted—"

"Neck's fine," Charles mumbles, low enough that Edwin almost misses it.

He swallows thickly, pausing when the upstairs neighbors walk by with puzzled faces. Edwin doesn't quite glare at them but it's a near thing, and he turns back to Charles the second they're out of view.

"Alright," he says. "Neck, then."

He only touches two fingers to the nape of Charles' neck at first, trying to keep it light, but that makes Charles tense again so he changes to a more present grip, palm flat and only just brushing with the edge of Charles' hair. Charles doesn't move into it this time, but he doesn't flinch away either. Edwin feels Charles take a deep, soundless breath, like a swimmer before a dive, and braces.

"I. She asked how I was," he exhales at last, and the wind rushes out of Edwin's lungs with a punched out sound. "I haven't seen her in over seven years and she—"

Charles takes a shuddering breath, sharp and painful sounding, and his voice sounds utterly broken when he says:

"He used to beat me up, you know."

Edwin, who hadn't known but kept the possibility in his mind like a bad thorn, bites down on a sympathetic hiss and leans a little harder against Charles instead, stretching so he can lean his forehead against the back of Charles' skull.

"Charles, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, free hand grasping around until it can find the jut of Charles' left knee, and wrap his fingers around it, squeezing with as much reassurance as he can muster.

He wishes, abruptly, that he'd thought to take Charles inside before he started this talk. They both deserve better than the front step of Edwin's building, where another pair of neighbors gawks at them as they walk past. Yet, now that they're here, Edwin wouldn't cut Charles off for all the gold in the world. He fears with an intensity he didn't know he was capable of, that interrupting Charles now would send him back into his usual reserve, and Edwin knows with absolute certainty that he will go to great lengths to prevent that from happening.

"She never—every time he did it," Charles says, almost choking on the words, "she'd just stand—she didn't do anything! And now—now she—"

A long fit of coughing cuts Charles off, wracking his body and shaking Edwin's head even as he tightens his hold on Charles, as if he could make up for his childhood with how much he loves him.

"I'm so sorry," he tells Charles. "You deserved so much better."

Charles' cough subsides, melting into shuddering, soundless sobs that Edwin wants to take into his ribs and hide from the rest of the world. He straightens up and, as gently as he can, guides Charles to lean against him harder until his frame his half cradled in Edwin's arms.

"It's not bloody fair," Charles manages between sobs, gulping air like he's drowning, shaking against Edwin.

Edwin breathes in, tears crowding at the corner of his eyes, and holds Charles closer. He wishes, so desperately, that he could love him enough to erase the past and make all the pain go away.

"I love you," he says instead, recklessly, pressing a kiss into the side of Charles' hair. "I know it doesn't make anything better, but I love you."

They sit like this for a long time, Charles crying and Edwin rocking him lightly like a child, until things finally calm down enough that Charles is ready to go upstairs for tea. They drink it out of the blue mugs Monty bought when he and Edwin moved in, quietly sitting on the couch in one of those strange bubbles of relieved fragility that comes after a crisis. For a long while, they sit in silence on Edwin's couch.

Then Charles sighs, long and tired, and leans sideways until he can rest his head on Edwin's shoulder, one arm looping around his waist.

"I love you too, mate," he sighs, making Edwin freeze. "And it does make things better that you love me."

Edwin, his heart singing from Charles' declaration and bleeding from the way he meant it, nods, and drinks his tea.

#Painland Week #dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #dbda fanfic #matt writes #s: I'm down on my knees #20n #30n #40n #50n #60n #70n #80n #90n #100n

111 notes · View notes