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rynwritesstuff · 11 months ago

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Billy The Kid x Reader

Warnings: Feisty!Reader, General outlaw stuff (guns, cursing, threats), Mentions of sex work/brothels, Smut (PIV sex, unprotected sex, rough sex), Hint of fluff, Imprisonment, Jailbreak

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: After discovering Billy Antrim one night, you persuade him to travel with you. A wild and interesting adventure ensues.

Author's Note: I've spent the past several weeks reading the most incredible Billy x Reader fics, and I wanted to try my hand at writing for him. I wanted to tag a few of my favorite Billy writers, because they have inspired me to give this a try. (Thank you @billysgun @atrwriting and @goosita you guys are incredible, I admire you so much, keep doing what you're doing <3)

“It ain’t the being alone. It ain’t the empty home, baby, you know I’m good on my own. You know, it’s more the being unknown. So much of the living, love, is the being unknown.” - Unknown / Nth, Hozier

When he hears it – the footsteps – Billy’s head snaps to the side. A million thoughts run through his head. Robbers, outlaws, all-around no good men . . . They could be anywhere. They could be everywhere. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for the gun at his hip. He barely has time to touch it before the sound of a gun cocking comes from behind him. He pauses.

“Don’t. Move,” comes your voice. Billy swallows harshly as he freezes. It’s dark aside from the campfire in front of him and the moon and stars sparkling in the sky. Billy keeps his breathing even and steady as footsteps come closer.

“I need money,” you say.

“You’ve got the wrong man, miss,” Billy says, unmoving. “I’ve got nothin’.”

“Food, then. Got any food?”

Billy nods towards the small pot beside the fire.

“There’s a bit left over there.”

You circle him, and when you do, he catches a glimpse of your face, slightly shielded by an old hat. Your hair is pulled back and you wear men’s clothing. Your too-big boots thud against the grass. Even like this, Billy can tell that you're beautiful, the kind of beautiful that would bring a God-fearing man to his knees.

You keep your gun pointed at him as you look down into the pot and then back up at BIlly.

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s what I’ve got.”

“You’re lying,” you say easily. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way you came this far with so little food. You think I’m an idiot, boy?”

“No,” Billy shakes his head. “I mean it. That’s the last of my food.”

You chuckle dryly, then approach Billy.

“Keep your hands up,” you warn. You tug his gun from his holster, then step back towards the fire. Billy is now completely unarmed. He couldn’t shoot you even if he wanted to. You crouch down beside the pot. It’ll have to do, you decide, and reach in with your bare hand to scoop up the beans and bring them to your mouth. You sigh. They’re salty and warm and earthy, and they soothe the ache in your stomach.

Billy moves slightly, you see him out of the corner of your eye, and you bring your gun up again. He freezes.

“I was just shiftin’,” he tells you. Wordlessly, you look back down at the pot and continue to eat. Billy watches you curiously. Where are you coming from? Where are you going? And, perhaps most importantly, who are you on the run from?

“Billy the Kid,” you say finally, wiping your hand on the grass as you get to your feet. “Hm. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Do I know you?” Billy asks.

“No. But damn near everyone in the West knows you. Ya shouldn’t be surprised.” You slowly make your way over to his horse. You open his saddle bag as Billy turns to watch you. You pull out his shotgun, humming to yourself. You set it aside, and Billy’s heart begins to race.

“The ring,” he says quickly, making you pause, “please don’t take it. It was my ma’s.”

You halt. How strange it is, to hear William Antrim speak so desperately. You stare at him as you pull the small gold band from his bag. You hold it in your palm, and Billy watches you with a pained expression.

“Please. She’s gone, she’s dead. It’s all I got left of ‘er.”

You shake your head.

“I’m not heartless, Billy,” you say, and Billy nearly laughs. No, woman holding me at gunpoint, he thinks. Of course you’re not.

“I’ve lost people, too,” you tell him. You toss the ring to him, and he catches it, clutching it tightly. “I’ll advise you to keep it closer to you, though. People like me aren’t always so understanding.”

You go back to digging through his bag but don't find much; an apple, a pocket watch, a few shirts and a pair of pants. You huff, keeping only the apple, and shove everything back into the saddle bag, including the shotgun.

“You’re shit out of luck, Billy,” you say, stepping towards him as you bite into the apple. You wipe a bit of juice from the corner of your mouth. “No food, no water–”

“I have water.”

“Oh, well excuse me, then. I apologize,” you say sarcastically. Billy clenches his jaw. You sit down a good five feet away from Billy, gun still in-hand as you eat the apple.

“God, fuck,” you breathe. Billy glances at you. “Haven’t had fruit in a month.”

“Neither have I,” Billy says flatly.

“Mm. As I was sayin’ . . . You’re kinda fucked right now. Where’re you headed?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Liar,” you say. You’re confident while you have the gun in your hand, and although you know that Billy could scramble for his shotgun, you also know that you could blow his head off before he got there. If he tries something, anything, he’s a dead man. He must know it, too.

“The next town over,” Billy says finally. “I need somewhere to stay for a while.”

“It’s about fifteen miles East,” you say. You bite into the apple again. “You know where you’re going? How to get there?”

“I prefer to travel alone,” Billy says as he watches you. For a moment, a small, brief, fleeting moment, he wonders what you look like beneath the tattered button-up shirt. He’s only slept with a handful of women, and it’s been a long while since he’s touched himself, much less had someone else touch him. He swallows harshly.

You lap your tongue over the dripping apple to gather the juice, then speak.

“Right. Well, I need a man to come with me East. Nobody takes women seriously in that town, I was there a while back.”

“Surely you don’t want to risk being recognized, then,” Billy says. You chuckle.

“Unlike you, Antrim, I’m moving from town to town by choice. I've got nothing to hide.”

Well. That seems to answer Billy’s questions. He sighs, then looks away. Perhaps this is a good thing. Maybe a woman is what he needs. A fiery, feisty woman who will try to keep him in-line.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Money, probably. Food. A roof over your head.”

“Until I get caught.”

“I’ll try to keep you out of trouble if you promise to try, too.”

Billy looks over at you.

“I don’t even know your name.”

You smile softly, looking at him kindly for the first time all evening. You tell him your name, and when you do, he tests how it feels to say it. You nod.

“Right,” you say. “Ya got it.”

Billy hums.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he says.

“No,” you say, tossing him back his gun. “I’d hope not. You wouldn’t be a very good outlaw if you trusted someone that easily.”

Billy slips his gun back into his holster, feeling better now that he has his firearm again. You take another bite of the apple.

“Let’s leave at dawn,” you tell him. Billy still isn’t completely convinced that this is a good idea, but he doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to upset you or set you off.

“Fine,” he says. You nudge him.

“Where are those manners you had a bit ago?” you tease, tossing the apple core aside. “‘Miss’ and ‘ma’am’. Your mama raised you right.”

“Yes, ma’am, she did,” Billy says, offering you a small, teasing smile.

***

Dawn comes, as it always does. You wake before Billy, and take it upon yourself to tidy up his things from the night before. The pot is washed and the fire is out when Billy’s eyes open, and he glances around for a moment. He sees you, and you offer him a nod.

“Get up,” you tell him as you guide his horse over. “I’d like to get there as soon as possible.”

Billy groans softly as he sits up on the blanket that separates him from the grass.

“You don’t have a horse? You came all this way on foot?”

You sigh, leaning against Billy’s horse.

“She got stolen a few miles back,” you say. “I was surprised they didn’t get yours, too.”

“Mm. Sorry to hear that,” he says as he folds up the blanket and attaches it to his saddle bag. You shake your head.

“Not much that can be done about it now. Ya ready to go, Billy?”

He nods as he puts on his hat and approaches his horse. He holds his hand out to you and helps you up onto the saddle. He knows that you can get up yourself, but you shouldn’t have to do such a thing. Not when there’s a man around to help you.

Knowing that you won’t both fit on the saddle, Billy decides to walk. You watch him as he guides his horse. The muscles in his strong arms flex as he goes, and you find yourself staring at him more than the scenery around you. You know what this likely means, of course, but you don’t want to think about it.

You don’t want to complicate things.

Hours pass. The pair of you reach a town. Dust is kicked up as Billy’s horse trots through, and people bustle busily. You glance around. People stare at the two of you, and you wonder if it’s because they recognize Billy, or perhaps you from when you were here previously. You wipe sweat from your brow.

“There’s a brothel that way,” you say, pointing to the right. “Rooms are cheap there.”

“I thought you didn’t have much money,” Billy says, guiding his horse in the direction you pointed in.

“I don’t,” you say. “But I have enough for us to stay somewhere for a week or so.”

You hear Billy sigh, and you clench your jaw.

“You got a better idea?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it,” you say. Men are so finicky, you think. You arrive at the brothel just after noon, and you get off the horse. Billy goes to follow you, and you hold your hand up.

“Don’t. You’ll get swarmed by whores. Just stay here, let me do the talking.”

Billy’s brow furrows slightly.

“What if there’s trouble?” he asks. You tap the gun holstered at your hip.

“I can handle myself.”

Without another word, you head into the brothel. You locate the owner and speak to her about a room for you and your friend. Just as you remembered, the rooms are cheap, cheap enough for you to rent a room for longer than you thought you’d be able to. You pay the owner, then step back outside.

“Get our stuff,” you tell Billy. “I’ll take your horse to the stable.”

Wordlessly, Billy obeys, gathering the bags before you lead his horse around the building. He steps inside. Just as you predicted, a few whores approach him.

They gush at him, telling him how incredibly handsome he is, and how he must be tired, and how he looks like he needs a good blowjob. He politely turns them down, his cheeks warming slightly. One of the whores, a blonde woman, runs her hand over his chest. He tries not to stare at her bare breasts.

“You stayin’ awhile?” she asks. Billy nods. She hums. “Come n’ see me sometime, won’t ya?”

Billy offers her a kind smile.

“I’m a busy man, I’m afraid. Don’t have time for that.”

He hears footsteps behind him, and moments later, he’s being tugged towards the stairs of the brothel.

“Told ya they’d flock to you,” you say as you and Billy go up to the room. You unlock the door.

“They’re just doing their job,” he says as he steps into the room and sets the bags down. You sigh as you re-lock the door. You put your hands on your hips as you walk around the room, inspecting it. It’s not nice by any means, but it’s a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in, and that’s enough for now.

“I’ll take the floor,” he offers. You glance at him. “Y’know. When we sleep.”

You shake your head with a sigh as you take off your hat.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I don’t particularly care if we share a bed,” you say. Billy doesn’t say anything. You glance at him. He’s staring at you. “What?”

Just as he had noticed last night, you’re beautiful. And if you look this nice like this, he can only imagine what you’d look like all dolled up, or even just freshly bathed. He wonders what it would be like to touch you, to feel you beneath him, to have your body canting up towards his.

He shakes his head slightly.

“Nothing. Just . . . Nothing.”

“If you want the floor, you can have it–”

“No, no, I don’t mind either,” he says. You sit down at the edge of the bed, then lie back on it with a drawn-out sigh.

“I’m gonna sleep good tonight,” you chuckle. Billy finds himself smiling softly.

“Is it comfortable?” he asks. You laugh again.

“Not at all, but it’s better than the ground.”

Billy approaches the bed and sits down beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies. He bounces a bit, and the bed frame squeaks. He hums as he stops.

“Well?” you ask, looking up at him.

“You’re right, it’s awful.”

You hum, rubbing your eyes.

“I know.” You sigh. “Why don’t you go downstairs and eat?”

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks.

“Take a bath,” you say. Billy nods. He knows he should bathe too, especially if he’s going to be sleeping beside you, but he’s so, so hungry . . .

“I’ll go after you, then,” he says, getting to his feet. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Hang on.”

Billy pauses, glancing back at you as you sit up. You gesture for him to come back towards the bed. He obliges. There is a foot or so of space between your bodies, and you look up at him with a twinkle in your eye. You know what you want to tell him, but you don’t know how to say it. You know what you want to do, but you don’t know how to get there.

“You’re the most handsome outlaw I’ve dealt with, y’know,” you say finally, voice soft. Billy is surprised but most certainly not disappointed. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“How many outlaws have you dealt with?” Billy asks.

“Quite a few.”

He hums.

“I suppose that means I should be thanking you, then," he says. You reach out and tug on his belt loops, pulling him closer. You put your hands on his hips and look up at him.

“Yes. You should.”

Billy leans down a bit.

“Thank you, then, miss,” he says quietly. You feel his breath against you, and you let out a soft sigh as heat blooms between your thighs. Hesitantly, you bring your hand up to touch his cheek. You feel the stubble near his chin and jaw as you look into his eyes.

“Can I–?”

“You don’t even havta ask,” Billy tells you softly. He leans forward and presses his lips against yours. You inhale sharply as you pull him closer. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, like a man dying. You touch him wherever you can: His cheeks, his jaw, the sides of his throat, his shoulders. He gets on top of you as you scoot back on the bed. You keep one of your hands on the back of his head, which ensures that his lips stay pressed against yours while the two of you move and adjust.

Billy tosses his hat to the side, and once he’s done that, you tug at his suspenders. You push them off of his shoulders, and you spread your legs a bit more to make room for him to comfortably fit between them. He kisses you again, hot and heavy, and you moan against his lips.

“Please,” you sigh. He nods as he unbuttons your shirt.

“I’ve got ya,” Billy reassures you. You kiss him as a sense of safety and security washes over you. He’s got you. He’s got you. You let him unbutton your shirt, and when your breasts are revealed, he leans down to kiss at them. You sigh at the feeling of his chapped lips on your smooth skin. You shrug the shirt all the way off so that your torso is bare, then run your fingers through his dark curls.

“Billy,” you sigh, eyes fluttering. He hums. You want to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. You grab his collar and pull him back up so you can kiss him. You fumble with his buttons, and when you get his shirt off, you yank off his undershirt, too. You grip his bare shoulders, your hands running down to his biceps.

“Fuck,” you breathe. He smiles softly.

“Like what ya see?” he asks. You nod.

“Sure do,” you tell him. When he stands back to undo his trousers, you quickly kick off your boots and stand up to push down your pants to leave you nude. You get on the bed once you’re naked, and when Billy looks back up at you, cock in-hand, he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, a sound of pleasure. You smile as you spread your legs, feeling a bit bashful but excited nonetheless.

Billy says your name, then. It’s a whisper, a sigh, a prayer. He gets back on top of you, and his dripping cock presses against you as he leans down to kiss you. You groan.

“I want you inside me,” you tell him, giving his hair a gentle tug. He nods, pressing his tip against your entrance. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission, and you smile softly.

“Billy, I love that you’re bein’ a gentleman, but I really need you to ruin me right now. We can be polite to each other later, okay?” you tell him. This makes him chuckle, a quiet, hearty sound, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says, pushing his tip in. “Understood.”

You hum, hands moving down to his biceps. You grip him tightly as he pushes in further.

“Oh, fuck, Billy . . .”

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head.

“No, no, just go slow at first. Ease it in, y’know?”

Billy nods.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes teasingly, pushing in further. Your wetness coats his cock easily, and he groans at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him. “Jesus ffffuckin’ . . .”

Your grip on him tightens as he pushes his cock all the way inside of you. You moan softly as his tip presses against the sweet spot inside of you.

“Oh, god,” you hum. “Mm, Billy . . . Move . . .”

His hand fits into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he holds you there as he begins to roll his hips. He is slow at first, gentle, but his pace quickly picks up. The bed frame creaks and groans, and you moan loudly.

“How is it?" he asks breathily, wanting to hear your praise.

“F-Feels good,” you groan as he hits that sweet spot. Your legs and thighs tremble. Your breasts bounce. Your heart races. Billy’s body is firm and strong above you, and his hold on you tightens. You lean up to kiss him, moaning against his lips.

“So needy,” Billy says against your mouth. You moan. “Mm. S-So wet for me . . . Needed this bad, didn’t ya?”

You nod, clinging to him as if you’re the only thing keeping him here, as if he could disappear at any moment and leave you aching for more.

“Ohmygod, Billy . . . F-Faster, I need it faster . . .”

“Mm . . . Ask nicely . . .”

His words go straight to your core, and you clench around him just to hear him grunt. You reach up to tug at his hair, and he turns his head to suck at your jaw. You let him.

“Please,” you sigh. “P-Please, Billy . . . Make me f-feel good . . . Fuck me f-faster . . .”

Billy hums as he pulls away from your jaw.

“Atta girl,” he breathes. He’s pounding you, now, fucking you so hard that you begin to worry that the damn bed with break. People can probably hear you, but it’s a fucking brothel, you remind yourself, and you cry out loudly. Your face is hot as Billy’s hips slam against yours. He’s grunting and groaning, and his brows are furrowed in pleasure, and you’re positive that it’s the most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, fffffuck. Billy, B-Billy, Billy . . .”

“Mm, that’s it,” he groans lowly. “Let everyone know who it is that’s makin’ you feel good.”

Your grip on his hair tightens, and he bites and sucks at your throat as he chases his orgasm quickly. Clumsily and shakily, you reach down between your bodies to rub your clit. Your hips jerk and tears of pleasure fill your eyes as you begin to rub yourself hurriedly. You know Billy is close – his thrusts are getting sloppy – and you want to cum, too.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Billy admits. He reaches for your hand that isn’t on your clit, which surprises you. His fingers intertwine with yours, and he pins you down. He’s holding my hand. He’s about to cum, and he’s holding my hand, you think. Somehow, this small act feels more intimate than anything else the two of you have done in the past several minutes.

“Billy . . . ‘M gonna cum,” you breathe. He nods against you.

“Do it,” he says, encouraging you. “Please. Wanna feel it.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back. Billy kisses and nibbles at your throat again, his thrusts get harder and faster, and you apply a bit more pressure to the circles you’re rubbing on your clit–

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out loudly. Your body tenses for a moment before you relax against the mattress, pleasure coursing through you. Heat moves over you like a blanket, warming you from head to toe. You’re shaking, trembling as Billy takes you through it.

Before you know it, he’s moaning in your ear and pulling his cock from your pussy. He jerks himself off for one second, two, three, and then he’s cumming on your stomach with a cry of your name. You watch him fall apart above you, and you never were a religious person, but this? This sight is enough to bring you to your knees. You’d worship him if it were an option. That glow, that body, that smile . . . It makes you want to weep.

Billy grunts, stroking himself until his orgasm is over, and he shakily lies down beside you with a huff. You stare up at the ceiling, still catching your breath as his arm touches yours. The reality of what the two of you have just done hits you. You just fucked Billy Antrim. And you liked it.

You look over at him. He’s already staring. You smile.

“Good?” he asks. You nod.

“So good.”

He hums and wipes a bit of sweat from your brow.

“I didn’t think a woman like you would wanna be taken like that,” he says gently. You have to give it to him, he really is a gentleman. Even after you held him at gunpoint, and told him to escort you here, and bossed him around, he's still treating you kindly. He’s still here, he isn’t getting up to leave. In fact, he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out his handkerchief. He hands it over to you, then gestures to your cum-covered stomach. You smile softly, wipe it up, then set the handkerchief aside.

“I’ll wash this,” you tell him. He nods, humming. His cheeks are red. You like seeing him like this, all flustered and tired.

He sits up slowly, and you watch the muscles in his back ripple as he does. He stands up and tucks his cock back into his trousers before reaching for his undershirt. Your smile fades, and he notices.

“I’m just hungry,” he says. “You want somethin’ from downstairs?”

You lean up on your elbows.

“Something to drink, maybe,” you say. You smile. “And whatever food you can find. I’m in no position to be picky.”

He nods as he puts on his button-up and begins to do it up.

“I’ll do my best,” he says. Once he’s redressed, Billy glances back at you. “You gonna be okay?”

You nod, reaching for your shirt and draping it over your naked body as you lie back against the pillows.

“Mhm. You know I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to.”

You smile widely. Such a charmer.

“Go, before I undress you again,” you tell him again. He chuckles.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, getting comfortable as Billy leaves. You hear the door open and close, and you sigh. Your eyes are heavy, and the mattress feels so soft and comforting compared to what you’ve been having, and it’s so quiet . . .

***

It’s dark when you wake. You stir, put off by the blackness. You’re still naked, and when you realize this, you haphazardly pull your button-up back on. You do it up as you move over, feeling the other side of the bed.

“Billy,” you say into the dark. There is no response. You roll your eyes. That damn bastard. You thought he was different. You thought he was a good man, a kind man. If he wanted more sex, he could have just woken you up, but no, he left you up here in the pitch black. He’s probably downstairs, drinking wine and fucking whores.

You clench your jaw as you fumble around. You start up the lamp on the bedside table, and grab your pants off the floor. You yank them on, along with your boots, then glance around.

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter. “Couldn’t even bring me water.”

You grab the room key and your gun holster off of the bedside table, then yank open the door and start downstairs. The brothel is bustling now that it’s dark outside. Men and naked women are everywhere. You pull a lady aside as you buckle your holster around your hips.

“The guy I was with,” you say to her, “where’s he at?”

She shrugs, then pulls away. Anger boils inside of you. You push your way through and get to the bar. The woman behind it seems to recognize you.

“You got water?” you ask, frustrated by the entire situation. The woman nods, then silently pours you a glass. She hands it over. You down half of it, then set the glass on the bar and wipe your mouth.

“You’re the lady who came here with Billy Antrim,” she says finally. You look up. You’re positive that Billy wouldn’t give out his name, let alone his full name, in a place like this. You remain neutral and calm.

“Who?”

“The man,” the lady behind the bar says. “The one who went upstairs with you, that was Billy Antrim.”

You cock your head.

“What’re you getting at?”

She blinks at you.

“Don’t you know?” she asks.

Your brows furrow.

“Did something happen?”

She nearly laughs.

“Where have you been? Asleep?”

“Where is he?” you ask sharply. Your heart is beginning to race. You have a pit in your stomach. Deep down, you know something bad has happened. The woman watches you carefully.

“You care about him. It’s dangerous to care about people like that–”

“Tell me where the fuck he is!” you snap, right hand reaching down to rest at your holstered gun. The woman behind the bar clenches her jaw.

“Someone turned him in,” she says flatly. “He was taken away a few hours ago.”

Fuck. You should have been awake, you should have been with him. You could have vouched for him, told them that they had the wrong guy. You told him you’d keep him out of trouble, and now . . .

You storm away from the bar, hurrying upstairs to get yours’ and Billy’s things. You leave in a tizzy, adrenaline pumping through you as you fetch Billy’s horse from the stable. You secure everything to the saddle, pull yourself on, and take off towards the jail.

You tie Billy’s horse outside, then step inside. You glance around for a moment, and the jailkeep looks at you, seemingly irritated by your presence. You offer him a charming smile.

“Sir,” you say, nodding politely as he looks you up and down. “I–”

“Visiting hours are over,” he says flatly. You hum, glancing around. You spot Billy, and your eyes linger on him for a moment. He grips the bars of the cell, watching you intently. You’ve got a look in your eyes, he realizes. He hopes you aren’t going to do what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t think he’s worth the trouble.

You look at the jailkeep again. You’re silent for a moment, and before he can tell you to get out, you’re reaching for your gun. You pull it on him and cock it. He stiffens.

“Unlock his cell,” you say firmly. The man doesn’t move, too surprised. “Now!”

Billy watches you with wide eyes. The jailkeep rises to his feet slowly, and you keep the cocked gun pointed at him as he steps over to Billy’s cell.

“Unlock it,” you tell him again. “Hurry up.”

His hands tremble as he finds the right key and unlocks Billy’s cell. Billy steps out quickly, then grabs the keys from the man and shoves him into the cell. He locks him in, and you take a small step back.

“Don’t yell,” you warn the jailkeep. “I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll do it.”

While you threaten the man, Billy hurries over to the desk to find his gun. He grabs the jailkeep’s holster off the desk, too, while he’s at it.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, woman,” the man says. You hum.

“Damn right I am.” You glance at Billy. “Let’s go.”

Billy takes the keys with him, and the two of you leave the jail quickly.

“There’s another horse over there,” you tell Billy as he runs towards his horse. He nods.

“Go, I’ll keep watch,” he says. You fetch the horse, which you have to guess belonged to the jailkeep, and you hoist yourself up. You ride up beside Billy.

“C’mon, haul ass,” you say, riding past him. His horse gallops after yours, and the two of you ride into the darkness.

The severity of the situation is not lost on Billy. You’re in trouble, now. You broke the law to help him, to get him out, and you did it without hesitation. He would’ve been dead by morning if you hadn’t come to get him, and now you’re an outlaw, too. Guilt claws at him as the two of you leave town.

“You didn’t havta do that,” he says over the sound of hooves hitting the ground.

“I couldn’t leave you.”

Billy shakes his head. He doesn’t understand.

“You don’t even know me,” he says, almost frustrated. What a stupid thing you just did. What a thoughtless, dangerous act.

“I know you’re a good man,” you tell him. “And I know you don’t deserve to hang.”

Billy glances at you, his body bouncing as his horse runs up beside yours. Your eyes meet for just a moment before you look forward again.

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of ditching me, Antrim,” you say. He can’t help but smile softly. He wouldn’t even dream of doing such a thing. He owes you his life.

“‘Course not,” he says. You hum.

“Then stop lookin’ at me like that and let’s focus on getting the fuck outta here.”

God, where have you been all his life? You’re everything he’s ever needed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

#rynwritesstuff #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #tom blyth fanfiction #william bonney #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #billy the kid smut #billy the kid mgm #billy the kid x you #william bonney x reader #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid fic #billy the kid fluff #william bonney x you #william h bonney x you #william bonney smut

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ceruleanchillin · 10 months ago

Text

141 x Reader: Biker!AU

Note(s) -

1.) Nobody asked for this, but here I am combining two obsessions. Congrats, you’re a biker’s old lady now 🎉.

Any media with hot guys in a group should have outlaw MC AUs

2.) I love roughneck Simon. Please give me more of him. I wanna talk about the guys in this AU so badly, don’t (DO) feed my inbox. BlueCollar!Simon, Mafia!Simon, Mechanic!Simon, Idc I love it all.

3.) If you saw this before, no you didn’t (plus I added more to it). I decided to keep them all together, and it’ll just be long as hell. A long fic stored under a cut never hurt nobody.🤷🏾‍♀️

Simon

Nobody can get him as soft as you. There’s a 3-ringed barrier around his heart. Outsiders < The Club < You.

He loves doing mundane things with you, the kind of things he never saw for himself when he swore to stay single in this life. Like, after a good run fattens his wallet, letting you run wild in the shops.

“C’mon on then lovie, give us a spin.”

You squealed, spinning so the soft fabric fanned around your upper thighs. “I love it! But Si, it’s too much.”

“You let me worry about that sweetheart. Just let me see how it looks comin’ offa ya.” He gripped the very thighs you teased him with, eager for his favorite part besides your smile.

He’d pick up as many extra runs as it took to keep you in small luxuries, as long as he was the one that got to keep that look on your face.

They all have tattoos, but Simon is the king. His body art is top notch, because he’s very discerning with his artists. He’s had the best from Europe to the States. Now, he only trusts Price’s old lady, Johnny, and you.

In fact, that’s how you met. You started your apprenticeship under an asshole who bailed before it was over, and took a chance on the dangerous shop everyone warned you away from. Mrs. Price was everything you were afraid of AT FIRST. You later understood it was because the shop is 141 affiliated, and she had to be harshly discerning to protect herself and her family.

Once you got over that phase, she was unendingly sweet, and dedicated to helping you hone your craft.

Simon saw you when he came to fix the sink in the shop’s little kitchen. You were the only one there, intensely focused on a practice skin arm.

You were beautiful, hair wild from you tugging at in concentration, and your tongue poking out slightly. How long had you been working here?

“I knew you needed a hand around here, but that’s a bit far isn’t it?”

You jumped, startled out of your practice, the buzz of the tattoo gun stopping. “Oh my god! I don’t know what scared me more, you, or that joke.”

The two of you kept each other company in your respective tasks, until he was done. In admitting you were aching to do a real tattoo again, he found himself volunteering on instinct.

At first you resisted, worried about the ethics in your mentor’s shop, and he came up with the genius idea of going back to your place. Smooth Simon.

By the end of the night he was sure he’d never need another artist again.

He’s often as busy as Price, sometimes more so. It takes a lot to run a charter as is, but to establish a table so far from home calls on him more than any other era in his time with the club. On top of that, he often pulls double duty, acting as an enforcer with Konig.

That’s where he really appreciates you understanding, and accepting, his lifestyle. You’ve made a home for him, and he only hopes he conveys how much he appreciates that.

—

He comes home with a headache taking up residence in every corner of his head more and more these days. It was all he could do to kick his boots off, and not collapse on the nearest thing that could hold his weight. His room felt miles away. Downside of living in the dorms.

He drug himself to the clubhouse kitchen, prepared to dig around for some painkillers, when he saw a post-it note on the island next to a napkin with two pills.

Ignore if not Si!

Dinner in the fridge + cake in the dish on the counter. Eat and get your ass in bed with me.

He chuckled, headache long forgotten when he realized you were in his bed. However, his heart and stomach wouldn’t let him ignore the home cooked meal in the fridge, and once he’d savored every bite, he was a blur on his way to his room.

You were curled up in one of his shirts, sleeping soundly on the side of the bed he favored. He stripped, leaving his clothes on the floor, only stopping to deposit his kutte on the dresser, before scooping you into his arms.

“Si..” you murmured sleepily, burying your face in his chest, seeking something to lay on after being picked up.

“‘s alright sweet pea.”

“Glad you’re home, don’t let go.” You were slightly more awake now, but not by much.

“Was never an option.” He got into bed, relaxing in the warm spot you left behind, and situated you next to him in his arms.

Assuming big spoon position, his hands roamed your form, finding momentary purchase wherever they could. He felt a little guilty for further waking you up, but it occurred to him that you must have seen the day he’d had, and had taken the time to attempt to make it a little better. You could be home in your own bed, but you chose to be there for him. He was starving for you.

His lips created the same desperate patterns across your cheek and neck that his hands created on your body. He gripped your thigh, giving the plush skin a squeeze, before hooking your leg back over his.

There was a sharp inhale of air from you, and you pushed back against him, undoubtedly feeling him firming.

He laid his other arm under your head, letting you lay your cheek against his arm as he grasped your face. He tilted it up to grant more access to your skin for his lips.

“Taking care of me pretty bird?”

“It’s what you deserve, baby.” You slurred, squirming in sensory overload at all of his attention.

“Swear m’ going flat hunting tomorrow.” His fingers skimmed over your covered heat, grinning when your lower half bucked.

“‘s what you deserve sweetheart. Somewhere to put all your nesting to good use.”

You moaned rolling your hips back into your solid wall of a man. “Don’t tease me, I can’t help it.”

“Oh, m’not teasing pretty bird, m’ appreciating.”

He’s been called on to do many dark things for the club. Price doesn’t leave room at the table for anyone not to pull their weight, and he’s even tougher on his titled men. However, the darker jobs fall on Simon more often than anyone else, because he’s thorough, and can put the deed away somewhere, somehow, every time.

When he pulls on his mask, and just surrenders to being no one but Ghost, he’s ready to work. He never cared what anyone thought about his actions, he never had to, until you.

You’d been around rough crowds in your lifetime, but Simon was a career criminal, and so was his found family. He was sure some recollection of his deeds would reach you, and that’d be your line. In fact, he was waiting on it.

He was shocked, truly floored, to find that wasn’t what triggered you. It was how you felt he was being utilized. You didn’t like, what you felt, was the unequal distribution of the extreme jobs, and you told him as much.

When he got over his shock, his reaction was fiercely defensive of the club. It was your turn for shock, but he couldn’t help it. He felt judged about the family that owned his loyalty, by the woman that owned his heart.

You were taken aback by his ferocity, but it didn’t change your view. It created a hotbed of tension that threatened what the two of you had built, until he understood why you felt so strongly. Simon was the one taken aback when he realized your intensity came from your love for him, not a judgement of the 141. He still couldn’t wrap his head around someone loving him to that degree. In his heart of hearts, he didn’t think he was worthy of that. That’s how he was supposed to, and did, love you.

He admitted as much when the tired topic reached a fever pitch.

Simon’s close cropped blonde hair was riddled with evidence he’d been running long, frustrated fingers through it. Those same fingers pulled a cigarette from his pack,, and lit it with a calmness that didn’t reflect the current mood.

“So now you tell me what I can and can’t do? That it then?”

You snapped at the accusation, breaking the promise you’d made to yourself not to raise your voice. “I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do, stop reframing what I fucking say!”

“Grow the fuck up, you’re not a bloody baby. You knew what I did when we got together. I protect the group, I’m meant to be the first line of defense. I pull my weight, my life be damned!”

Your eyes widened in shock at the underlying implication of his words. His own expression wasn’t familiar enough to you for you to place.

“The table doesn’t make me do the ugly bits, most times I volunteer.” He flicked ash onto the pavement, his finger tapping with more force than necessary. “Whether I die, or get pinched, I can be replaced. ‘s my job to stand in front of the ones that can’t.”

His chest heaved with trapped frustration, voice guttural, raw with emotion. “That’s my use.”

You couldn’t place a time where your heart had ever hurt for anyone the way it hurt for him in that moment. It was a physical pain, pin pricking across your chest in a wave, and momentarily halting your ability to speak. You loved this man, fuck the moon, he hung galaxies in your eyes, and that’s what he thought of himself?

Simon, studying your expression and not liking the shame it made him feel, turned away. He didn’t know what to do with shame, especially in front of you. He’d said too much, and his mind was racing to find a way to undo it. Stiffening at the feeling of your arms barely meeting around his large form, he fought the urge to pull away.

Your voice was shaky, laden with the tears you didn’t bother fighting the fruitless fight to stop. “I wish I could get you to understand how untrue that is. I wish I knew where to start.”

He turned back around, but refused to meet your eyes. That startled you. Simon had never been afraid to lock eyes with you. He backed down from no one.

“Wasn’t an answer you liked then lovie? Sorry to disappoint.” He said quietly, taking a last drag before he ended the cigarette under his boot, and walked off back towards the clubhouse.

Tears streamed down your face at a faster rate now, and you tried in vain to swipe them away quickly. You weren’t sure what to say. Not then, too much was in the air as it was, and things needed to cool, but this clearly wasn’t settled

You only knew what you wanted to do. Hold him. Hold him until he saw how fucked his outlook was, and how much worth he really had.

Long out of town rides to create a bubble with just you and him. No specific destination, you just ride until you can both believe you’re the only two people you know.

He throws you a surprise party when you get certified as a tattoo artist, and Mrs. Price releases you from your apprenticeship to a chair of your own.

No one can believe Ghost is throwing someone any kind of party, but they don’t dare deny him as he enlists them in different tasks. He took the whole thing very seriously, and left no room for mistakes. No one, not even Soap, was careless enough to spoil the surprise. Simon wanted perfection.

It was obvious to anyone who watched his love struck gaze follow you when you were around, but if anyone doubted it before, they didn’t now. This man loves you.

Simon sometimes comes to you with a design he’s made for his next tattoo. It’s never elaborate, and it’s usually more utilitarian than aesthetic. He trusts you to make it pretty, he knows you will. He just wants to better convey his idea, or so you think.

In reality, he just likes when you praise him, and he can be part of your passion. He’s constantly amazed by your artistry, and humbled that you let him be a part of it. Essentially, you two collaborate on his tattoos in an undeniably intimate way.

He unceremoniously comes to you with a scrap of paper, something he’s sketched over the past few days.

“Somethin’ f’ya to look over when you get the chance.” He mutters before giving you a long kiss and leaving the shop.

You study the lines, shaky but serviceable, and the design clear. Your mind immediately began to think of ways to tie it into his existing tattoo’s style and his tastes. All the while, you kicked your feet, ecstatic that once again, the most complex person you knew was trusting you with this responsibility.

Si had some serious, high quality pieces on his body, and he thought enough of your hand to add to that.

Simon is usually more affectionate when you’re alone. In public, it’s mostly gliding fingers across your back, or a quick brush of his lips across your forehead. BUT, sometimes his intrusive thoughts win, and he has to slap your ass. This can happen anywhere, anytime.

You’re bent over the tattoo chair, disinfecting and scrubbing, and you swear you hear his hand cutting through air before you feel the smack.

“Si!”

“You put it there sweetheart.”

Shooting range dates. You’ve been judged by some of your more…conventional friends, but you’re a gun girlie (which turns Simon on like nothing he’s ever experienced), and you don’t care. They tried to make you feel like he was being inconsiderate taking you there. Meanwhile, it was damn near your demand.

Simon loves having friendly competitions, random kisses, and exchanging shitty jokes. Seeing you get excited, and engaging in a little tech/spec talk about a gun you love, gets Simon bricked up in 10 seconds flat.

You truly believe he’s taken you in hidden parts of the range more than either of your beds at this point.

Makes you keep track of football season when he’s away. Almost put you in a box and mailed you far away from him when you assumed he meant American football season.

“Don’t ever hurt me like that again lovie, I won’t be held responsible.”

Punishes you with edging and cockwarming if you miss any important details. It’s especially excruciating when he’s just returned, and all you want is him to stretch you out. Simon is a mean dom, and he won’t be moved by sympathy.

“Please Si, I only missed one game.” you whined, trying to get him to come back to where he’d just spent time building you up to fall on his tongue, only to pull away at the last second.

He smirked, rising to his feet which clued you into the fact that he really wasn’t going to finish you off then. “That’s a bad girl. Have the missing orgasm to match.”

——-

Gaz:

Lives for where you live. Your little house is his home away from home. Sometimes the gang can be on business that keeps them on the road for weeks, and the last thing he wants when he comes back, is to continue to be locked in close quarters with other guys.

That’s when you know he’s skipping clubhouse life to crash with you for a while. You love it as much as him.

Scented candles and incense, sweet laundry detergent, soft materials, home cooked meals. It’s such a soft juxtaposition to his previous journey.

Your hands are all over him, soothing bruises and kissing him over in mapped out patterns only known to you.

Kyle may not know the difference between a single thing on your beauty table, or much about the things in your bathroom cabinets, but he knows he loves how it all smells/looks on you when he’s running his nose across your skin.

“Baby, I gotta get ready for work.”

Kyle hummed in acknowledgement, but kept you pinned to the overstuffed couch, kissing your thighs in his own personal ritual. The two of you had been sequestered away for two days since he’d been back, but he still couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be good for me love, I won’t make you late.”

“Liar.” You giggled when he pinched you in retaliation. “If you do what it feels like you’re about to do, I won’t make it to the shop until noon.”

“Not a liar babe, you know that better than anyone else.” He pushed your knees up until they pressed against your chest. “I promise, you’ll be the first one there. Can’t say in what state though.”

Being the club secretary, it may seem like Kyle has the plushier job at the table. Wrong. He sees as much action as the other guys, and he likes to stay in shape. That’s fine by you, because you reap the benefits when you get to watch him working out at your place.

Kyle Garrick doing burpees and up-downs in your tiny backyard, clad in nothing but gray sweat shorts, and a thin gold chain against his chest, isn’t a sight that should be free. Yet, after Kyle has finished his mission of witnessing you walk funny at least once, it’s a sight you’re treated to when he sinks back into his home routine.

You somehow think you’re safe to creep-watch from the back doorway while you enjoy your green tea, even though Kyle catches you every time. He just always knew when your eyes were on him.

Without even turning to give you a look he called your name, laughing softly. “I should start charging admission.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” You stuck your tongue out at his back, slamming the door when he revealed he somehow saw that too.

Kyle comes to the salon and hangs with you between appointments. Sometimes he watches you work, and fake flirts with customers to get you more money. He’s great for business.

“Cost a little extra, yeah? But myself, I love a bird that sweats the details.” Kyle’s brown eyes and bright smile were a lethal combination against free will, you knew this for a fact.

The soccer mom in your chair ducks her head under his attention, cheeks filling in with red, as she tells you she changed her mind about the rhinestones.

You appreciate the efforts towards fattening your wallet, but sometimes he’s so effective, you get annoyed and drag him to the break room to remind him you own him.

When you ride with him, he loves looking down and seeing the pretty designs of your nails grasping his chest. Something about the contrast of hot pink, or pearlescent purple against the black leather of his kutte does it for him.

Kyle is definitely on the calmer side most times, especially for his lifestyle, but the fastest way to break that is someone meaning you harm.

You were out at a crowded club with the 141, their ladies, and some friends of the club. It was a celebration of good finances and a successful legal dodge.

The guys clung to a dark VIP section, there for the drinks and victory lap more than the dancing. On the other hand, you and the other girls were not there to sit idle.

After a tense few months, the cause of your respective relationship ups and downs with the guys, you guys deserved to cut loose. The table agreed, with your men shouting words of encouragement and flirtatious innuendo to hype you up.

The whole bar was enthralled by you and the other girl’s dancing, singing, and general untethered energy. It was contagious. You especially, you had a few drinks in you, and all that could currently keep your attention was the music.

There was, unfortunately, one outsider who got a little too enthralled with the performance.

When you peeled away from the group, following the uptempo rhythm, he thought that was his time to make his move.

You felt him press up against you while your eyes were closed, assuming it was Kyle, you almost ground back against him. Then you smelt the liquor. Kyle liked a drink like everyone else, and you’d even seen him drunk, but this was someone who’d been at it for a while. Disgustingly sour, too close, and ultimately not your man.

You sent a sharp hit back with your elbow, turning to confirm what you knew. It wasn’t Kyle. He grunted, but pushed forward again making you hold your hand up in a warning.

“I don’t think so.” you waved him off, laughing at the prospect of entertaining him.

Angered by your laughter, he got bolder, shouting to be heard. “Well I think so, but I’m real interested in knowing why you don’t.”

“Because I said what I said, and I have a man.” You were tipsy, but there was an underlying fire to your words lending them solidity. “Fuck off!”

He bristled at another dismissal. “Bitc-“

Kyle had appeared, most likely having started making his way to you once the man got too close, and clapped him on the shoulder. His expression said that he had heard at least some of what was said.

“Hi baby!” You shouted, a little loud even for the club, but that made it endearing. “That’s my man.” You told the asshole.

“Use your ears before I send you home carrying them.” He was gripping the man’s shoulder so tightly you should see the sharp knuckle bones flexing, his rings catching the light.

The man looked at the kutte, and the expression on Kyle’s face, and the exact moment he realized the man would act on the threat literally became apparent.

If that wasn’t enough, you had the ladies at your back, and the table alert and waiting for the call. It was over for the bastard before it even started.

He raised his hands and scurried into the crowd, aiming for the door.

“I love you baby.” You crooned, throwing your arms around him and covering his face with kisses.

He laughed. “I love you too, even when I know I’m going to be holding your pretty hair back all day.”

When the gang has to have a tense table vote in a briefing, their equivalent to some other mc’s “church”, you always wait for Kyle. As secretary, it’s his job to gather information on other gangs, as well as any important changes in the area, and his council is called on first.

You’re waiting for him right after, inviting him back to your house for the night, knowing he won’t want to stay in his dorm. He won’t show it then, but he’s disappointed, and when you get him home, you let him vent to his mind’s content.

All the while, you’re drawing him a bath, doing a light skin routine on his face, greasing his scalp, and curling up on the couch with his back against your chest.

You know his brothers have his best interest at heart, and respect his role in the club, but sometimes he can get in his head about it, and that’s when you step in.

——-

Soap:

Johnny kept his lifestyle a secret from you at first. You’d only been hooking up for a couple of weeks before you both confessed to wanting more.

The crew had mocked him relentlessly about his inability to keep a relationship casual.

“Give it up mate, you ain’t even foolin’ yourself!” Gaz had clapped him on the back, laughing right in his face. “You start up with a girl right, and it’s over. You’re looking for a house by sunup.”

“Och, piss off with ya! I can keep it casual!” Indignant, and maybe a little drunk, he elbowed the man on the other side of him. “Tell em’ Ghost.”

Simon glanced at him sideways, bourbon halfway to his lips, careful it didn’t spill due to the prodding. “Johnny, some pretty bird starts chirpin’ in your ear and it’s curtains. Now fuck off.”

He couldn’t believe his friends, no — brothers, had such little faith in him.

Cut to a few days later, with him balls deep in you, confessing he wanted more.

“I’ll be good to ya bon, I swear it. I’m all for ya, just be for me?”

The only thing that lessened the embarrassment of proving his friends right, was that you seemed relieved, and admitted it was what you wanted too.

He couldn’t help it. Ever since he’d been patched in, besides the camaraderie, he was enamored with the relationship between Price and his old lady. There were plenty of solid old lady/old man pairings around him, but something about the way the club queen cared for her man, kept the other girls in order, and still maintained a life for herself was astounding to watch.

He couldn’t help chasing that in every girl he’d gotten with since he’d joined up. So many girls wanted the mystique of a sexy biker, but that’s all he was for them. Either a living dildo, or an attraction they could make their friends jealous with. Things never got very far outside of the bedroom. Except once, but that didn’t go over so well in the end.

He wanted that ride or die bond so badly, he couldn’t wait to have the perfect old lady to wife up and fill a house with brats.

With you, he prayed he was it for you, because you had quickly become it for him.

You were a good girl. Specifically, his good girl now. He felt it was highly unlikely you would go for his lifestyle, and so he kept it under wraps at first. He knew he had to tell you at some point, but he wanted to soak up as much time as he could in case you checked out.

“Nah sweetheart, it’s nah like that. We get a little rough, but mainly, we just appreciate bikes.”

“Do ya think I have what it takes to be in a criminal organization? And with ya not knowin’ no less!?”

“Let’s talk about something else bon, did ya ken your thighs look cute warming my ears?”

Guilt eating through him like acid, especially when the club picks up on the fact that he hasn’t brought you around. Anytime Soap has a girl in his bed more than once, he’s parading around the club with her in no time. They know there’s something special about you, and that baffles them even more. Soap claims it’s because you live one town over, which you do, but Gaz calls him on his shit.

He’s hyper defensive, and fights until he’s blue in the face before he admits it’s true. He’s afraid you’ll turn out like the others, or reject him all together. He’s so far gone at this point, he’d rather you use him than leave him.

Price doesn’t like it, and councils him against lying to you any further for numerous reasons. Soap promises he’ll tell you soon, but he’s trying to convince himself as well as his president.

Eventually he couldn’t hide it anymore, but it wasn’t exactly his choice when the curtain got pulled back.

The two of you had been to a late movie, Johnny finally having had time to squeeze in a date with you after a series of back-to-back runs. You’d suggested coming to him for once to take the burden off. Before he could object, you’d admitted that you were already in town, and he’d rushed to meet you.

Though he was nervous about you hearing something, or seeing someone off-color that he knew, he couldn’t deny he loved the day he spent with you.

He never needed a reason to want to kiss you, but something about your soft smile under the parking lot lights compelled him right then. Maybe because your expression said just how content you were to be with him, and he buried that in his heart.

“Wait a minute.” He stopped you, lips on yours before you could ask why.

Parking lots didn’t exactly get safer as they got darker, and emptier, but he couldn’t stop once his lips touched yours. Then you started tugging on the curly hair of his Mohawk like you did when you’d really gotten into things.

He was just about to suggest he stay over at your place, when you were interrupted by a cop. You assumed he was going to warn you about loitering and apologized, but he and Johnny knew that wasn’t what it was about. He called Johnny “Soap”, and you were confused as to how they knew each other.

“Oh, Scotboy here goes back with the law a long ways back home.” The cop tried to clap Johnny on the shoulder only for him to violently dodge it. “Easy. I’m not booking you on anything…tonight.”

You were at a loss for what the cop thought he could book Johnny on, and called it out as harassment. Johnny knew, by the sick expression on his face, that the cop was eager to spill it all once he realized how little you knew about the man you were clutching. He tried to prevent that from happening.

“Yeah well, you’re just wastin’ time then, and we have a drive.” Johnny’s arm tightened around your shoulder as he started to lead you away.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what he’s told you, but if you were my daughter I’d want you to know. That’s a dangerous man you’re on the arm of.”

“Shut up.” Johnny growled, and he knew you had to be thinking about how you’d never seen him like this, but he’d also never been this angry around you.

“Johnny…” you pushed at him to try and get him to move, but he was rooted in rage.

He knew where the cop was taking it.

“This was when you were a prospect back in England right? The number you did on the guys from that other charter…interpol still talks about it. Oh wait…they never proved it was you did they?”

Johnny thumbed his nose and sniffed, jutting out his chin in utter opposition of the man in front of him. “Nah, wasnae even in the country at the time.”

“That’s right. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve only read the reports our precinct got when you boys moved to town.” The obnoxious officer bounced his palm off his forehead in a mock gesture.

Johnny felt you squeeze his arm, grounding him for the moment, and he thought you might be saying something. His ears sounded like the Grand Rapids ran through them. A hot rage was settling into his chest, and spilling into other parts of his being.

The smug expression of the cop, one of the ones on the force who’d made things personal with the club was

“Johnny!” You shook him, finally getting through to him. “I want to leave.”

He exhaled, softening at your expression. Little tremors of adrenaline wracked through him, but he still led you towards his bike by a firm grip.

“You know, they included pictures in those files they sent over. What you did to those guys..” The cop whistled from behind you.

Johnny helped you into your helmet, watching as your eyes raced with questions, but you were so good for him. You would wait to ask him.

He brushed his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. “Ignore him bon. Whatever he says, please.”

“But, the real shame is what happened to Anna.” The cop continued.

In a straight shot, Johnny launched himself at him. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth!”

“They cut her up pretty bad. Was her nose always on the side of her-”

—

He knew it was bait, and he admitted as much later, but he’d taken the active grenade in his hand all the same. The wounds that piece of shit poked were too raw not to, on top of probably killing everything between you and him.

Everything was designed to hit a critical point in him. His past deeds, Anna, and most importantly, you.

All he could think about was if he was going to lose you after tonight, there was no way he wasn’t going to make it count all over the bastard’s face.

The local police had been looking for something, anything, to get the club on, but they’d been too careful. That’s what Price had told you on the way to the precinct. Johnny had dialed for you while the cop was getting back to his feet.

“Was any of what he said true?” You were clutching your purse the way you had since you’d gotten into the car with Price and the club’s lawyer.

“I don’t know what you mean love?” Price looked at you cooly, not giving anything away, though you were sure he knew what you meant.

“Never mind.” You shook your head. “I know it’s true. Did Johnny really hurt those guys? Who’s Anna?”

Price kept his eyes on the road, while the lawyer kept his attention on his phone. The air couldn’t have been more tense,

“You should talk to your boy sweetheart. Don’t let some future desk-riding prick make you doubt the man who’d rip out his own heart just to show you it’s yours.”

You swallowed, hard, and didn’t say anything else until you got to the station.

“Um…I think I’m just going to Uber home. Tell Johnny I’ll call him.”

Price nodded, but his look was disapproving. “‘m sorry to hear that,” he adjusted his dark beanie. “But if that’s what you think is best.”

You did not call him. Not later when you were sure he had been released, and not the next day. You wouldn’t even open the never-ending text thread between you two.

He texted you early enough to be apologetic about it, and you had to push your phone to the far side of your bed to stop yourself from responding.

You went about your daily routine, getting ready for your shift at the diner. Your one room apartment didn’t allow you the luxury of pretending your phone wasn’t blowing up with text messages, but you were too afraid you’d cave if you saw the screen while attempting to silence it.

He showed up at the diner, and you pretended to be too busy in the back until he left.

He waited outside of your place, but you wouldn’t come down, going so far as to turn off the lights when you realized he was there.

No call was answered, no text replied to.

Johnny was a wreck. So much so, that as furious as Price and Ghost had been, as much as they’d come down on him, they weren’t sure he’d even heard it. They saw his regret, he did have his brothers and their families in mind, along with the fact that he was a higher ranked member who set a piss poor example for prospects and basic members.

The fact that his stunt could’ve cost them their freedom. He saw all of that.

But he was HURTING. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It was all Johnny could do to roll out of bed and do the basics before he crawled back again.

All the club girls dropped by his dorm. Some to be flirtatious, which he lashed out at, some to show sympathy.

Mrs. Price and Ghost’s girl were especially gentle. It’s the darkest period in Johnny’s life, even when factoring in the Anna situation. It’s clear to all around him, you’re it for him. His soul is yours, and he’s dying without you.

It was Simon who came to you and changed your mind. He couldn't take seeing Johnny that way. The whole table was worried, but Johnny was a little brother to the taciturn specter. He’d only see him like this once before, and this was ten times worse.

In the early afternoon, the diner’s customers were nothing but truckers and elderly folks. So when the 6’4 blond with trunk-thick arms, and a permanent scowl walked in, there was no ignoring him. You noticed the kutte, and thought about making a break for the back, but his look said ‘try it’, and you thought better of it.

Instead, you wound up in a back booth with him, taking your 15 minute break.

“‘m not the preachin’ sort, so I’ll get on with it.” He stared right through you, lighting a cigarette. “‘s no business of mine what you and Johnny decide to do, but you need to talk to him.”

You started to tell him no smoking, but didn’t feel like exerting the effort. Let your boss deal with it if it mattered.

Your hands trembled, so you put them beneath the table in your lap. “If it’s none of your business, then why are you here?”

”Because, it’s destroying him. You’re destroying him.” He turned for a moment to exhale away from your face, and then his gaze was cutting right back to you. “Lad’s a mess and a half without you. We’ve tried to sort him out, but it’s gonna take you.”

”He lied to me!“ the exclamation left your mouth without a thought to volume control, and you pointedly ignored the stares you knew were at your back.

”You knew.” he said simply. “You may not have known the specifics, and we told him not to do it that way, but you knew.”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, trying to express the million thoughts in your head.

”You may be a town over, but our name gets around. I know you’ve heard somethin’.” He tipped the ash in the glass of water you’d gotten him. “You’re a smart bird by Johnny’s account.”

“If you told him not to lie, then why are you telling me not to be upset?”

“‘m not, ‘m tellin’ you to hear him out. Put him out of his misery, whatever you decide.”

The man left the booth, standing back to his full height and casting a shadow over the booth.

“He’s a right fuckin’ mess. Loves you more than life.”

“More than Anna?” The name that had been swirling around in your mind came out in a semi-bitter question.

There was something that could have possibly been a flinch, but you weren’t sure. It made you regret mentioning it either way.

He stubbed out the cigarette. “He’ll be round yours by the time you get off.”

He was. Looking completely unconfident and nervous about being there. His eyes were bloodshot, and his beloved mohawk showed signs of too many anxious tugs.

This wasn’t what you were used to with the confident man, and you didn’t like it. You understood, you looked the same way, but you didn’t like it.

He was apologizing constantly, between spilling streams of exposition that only served to confuse you, instead of clearing things up. You finally had to tell him it would just be easier if you could ask questions instead, and he sat back and became an open book.

It went all evening, and then well into the morning. Every question led into lengthy conversation.

—

“Who’s Anna?”

“...A good lass who didn’t deserve what she got.”

—

“So it’s definitely more than just appreciating bikes. Why?”

“They’re my family, and they’ve always had my back while lettin’ me be myself. If I have to do somethin’ a lil dodgy now and then, that’s a small price to pay.”

—

“I don’t doubt you love me Johnny, you make it impossible to, but how can I trust you after this?”

“By takin’ the chance to believe me when I say I’d rather die than go through this again. If honesty brings you back to me, I’ll never leave it out again.”

The sun is rising by the time the two of you are talked out. You make him stay, seeing that his sleep deprivation was starting to collect its due. It was you who didn’t sleep while you pet his hair from where he laid on your lap, and thought over your feelings.

He wakes when you inform him he has a phone call. He tells you to answer it, and you realize it’s a gesture towards the honest leaf turn.

He took the time to honesty dump with you, so you admit to him that while you’re still hurt, your mind's made up about taking him back.

It should have frightened you how quickly you sank back into things with Johnny, but what actually frightened you was the reason why. You realized you were just as addicted to him as he was to you. How had you lasted the past couple of weeks?

It’s a mutual obsession, only strengthened by a period of absence. Something he vowed would never happen again.

You let him give you your first tattoo, and you even let him pick the design. He couldn’t believe you trusted him with the honor, and he wound up asking if you were sure five times.

“Baby, yes!” you laughed, squeezing his cheeks as a form of cute aggression over his heart eyes.

This was such an intimate act for him, that he made sure you were completely alone in his dorm room when the day came. The room is spotless for once, sanitized to government standards. You can’t help but notice that he’s lit candles in your favorite scent, and his playlist is all soft music for once.

He spent weeks sketching the perfect concept, and even created variations for your choosing. He went through soooo many pages, unwilling to settle when it came to his girl.

In the end, it was decided, and he got to work on the inner wrist tattoo. All the while, he was checking in with you to make sure you were good.

“It’s just a small piece baby, I’m ok.” You always pressed a kiss to his nose to reassure him and get him back to work.

He looked so handsome, locked in concentration, that it almost completely distracted from the pain. You’d seen him work before, and you loved it, but this wasn’t just work right now. He was giving you something important, and you sensed that.

When he finally finished, he sheepishly, almost fearfully, asked you what you thought.

“It’s everything Johnny. When everyone asks who’s the talent behind it, I can’t wait to say he’s my man.”

Soap has no regard for anyone or any place when he wants you, which is all the time. You’re all over the clubhouse together. The couches, the hallways, the armory. Officially, clubhouse outer-walls are your spots during cookouts.

Gaz walked into the storage room, focused on finding a part for a customer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you through the empty space on a tall shelf.

“Hi, eh, Kyle!” All that was visible was your face, and he wondered for a second why you were out of breath.

“Hey (Y/N), what’re you doing back here?” He gave you a side glance and smile, his attention mainly on the organized shelves.

“I’m..” you bit your lip, unable to form another word as your eyes rolled back.

Kyle froze, realizing what was happening. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me mate?!”

“You walked in on us!” Johnny’s indignant cry came from below his line of vision.

Sooo many lunch break dates. Technically, Johnny is on shift at the garage, and should be preparing for the next day’s run, but his best girl needs him :( . You work so hard at that cafe, and they never appreciate you. Not like he does.

So when he takes the work pickup truck to get you, knowing Price has told him a million times it’s not for that, he can’t be bothered to care.

“Johnny, tell me you did not go across town to buy me this sandwich.” You already knew the answer, and you wanted to scold him for neglecting himself again. “You’re gonna be late getting back to the shop!”

“You love it though. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of ya.”

“That’s not the point, you-“

“You’re so pretty baby.”

And you melt and forget to be upset.

You can’t stay mad at Johnny with heart eyes and loving, grabby hands. Especially when those grabby hands start to get a little more focused…

What happens in the work truck, stays in the work truck. Until he gets drunk and brags at a club party….

The fun times were well and good, but Soap knew that the day would come when you got a glimpse at the uglier parts of the life. He barely got you back, and you throwing up your hands and declaring it was all too much was all he could think about.

They’d been having issues with the Shadows MC, and it was starting to boil over. They didn’t like the 141 moving in on their territory, but his table had made it clear that wasn’t up to them. This resulted in many skirmishes he could keep under wraps, but then it came to a head.

They’d hit the Shadows hard at one of their core locations, and in preparation for retaliation, Price and Ghost had called a lockdown. This meant all old ladies, kids, and friends of the club were to hunker down at the club compound until they gave the ok.

The day was here, and he’d been dreading it. He couldn’t very well leave you out there, he hadn’t exactly been subtle that you were his girl, but surely you wouldn’t go for it.

Nothing had been asked of you so far, and he was trying his best to keep from burdening you like the typical old lady. He felt you’d be less likely to leave if he kept the weightier things from you.

He must have paced up and down your street in the dark for over an hour. His phone was blowing up with demands he ‘get his ass back to the compound’ with you, ‘NOW’, but he had to do it right. It wasn’t easy to say “We mowed down some of our enemies, and destroyed their operation, and some guys could make you pay for that.”

He could lose you tonight. He could relive his past.

When he finally did get up the nerve to tell you, he was shocked at how well you took it. He knew you were scared, and you couldn’t have been too happy either, but he loved you for your strength in that moment.

All you did was quietly pack, while his mouth ran a mile-a- minute. Swinging wildly between telling jokes, assuring you you’d fit in just fine with the other old ladies, and apologizing. You kept telling him you were fine, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

It took a week to beat the Shadows back. In that time Johnny had been in and out of safe houses, with barely a spare minute to check in with you. If he was being honest, he was terrified.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that when he got back to the compound, you wouldn’t be there. You’d be long gone, and when he went to your place, the things he’d left (so sneakily) would be in a box waiting on the doorstep.

He was so sure of this, that he wanted to go by your place first, but his bone-weary brothers were barely sitting upright on their bikes. Battered and bruised to hell, he couldn’t ask them to indulge his paranoia. The table didn’t like to be too far from each other until they were fully assured they were whole back home.

He was the last to walk through the door, to the shock of his brothers, but he didn’t want to tell them he was probably about to scream his throat raw when he saw you weren’t there.

He clenched and unclenched his aching fists in anxiety. ‘Just look around the room you daft fucker!’ He mentally scolded himself.

He didn’t get a chance to. You barreled into him, arms locking around his neck. He stumbled back, weariness and shock combining to make his footing unstable, but his back hit the solid metal door behind him.

“I was so fucking worried.” You whispered into his neck, and he felt his neck dampen with what he presumed were tears.

“I was too…” he admitted, finding it in him to grip you to his person with a desperate strength.

Relief flooded his body when you started pressing kisses all over his face, and all he could do was stand there. Receiving your love.

“Oh!” You tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you. “Johnny put me down, the girls told me about how tired you guys are when something like this happens. You should be resting.”

“I’ll get to that bonnie, just keep kissing me like that.” He whispered, hands slipping into the back pocket of your jeans to keep you close.

You took over as soon as you got him back to his dorm room. You helped him undress, made sure he didn’t collapse in the shower, and even straightened his precious Mohawk while he struggled to pull on the sweats you’d grabbed him. All the while, awkward apologies from him. From you, excited recollections of all the things you’d learned from the strong women around you over the week.

Johnny supposed he had them to thank. In the back of his mind he’d been wondering what flipped the switch, and gifted him the kind of welcome home he used to envy the taken members of the club for getting. You were the best girlfriend he ever had, but an old lady was something else, yet here you were, excelling at that too.

And later, in his room after the hot shower, he collapsed face first on the bed. It took one, deep inhale of the fresh linen to know someone had done laundry. He exhaled with a hum, openly appreciating the clean scent.

“Yeah, you can thank me later.” You laughed, entering the room from his bathroom.

Johnny heard the sound of a lid pop, but was too far gone to look back and see what it was. Then you straddled his back, your soft hands kneading out a week’s worth of tension, self-inflicted and otherwise. He groaned, feeling the soothing lotion follow your hands over the peaks and valleys of his muscular frame.

“Addin’ this to my tab then?” He slurred, half in the dream realm, half with the love of his life.

“Yep, but I know you’re good for it.” You leaned down, nipping his ear, and making him mewl in frustration as he hardened against the mattress, knowing there’d be nothing he could do about it at the moment.

He used the last of what he had to flip you over, mentally cataloging the adorable squeak you let out. Cupping your cheeks, he shared a soft look with you for just a moment, before he sealed his lips over yours. All he could do was hope you could feel everything he wanted to say behind the movement of his lips.

Judging by your soft sighs, he guessed you could.

He pulled away, settling half on you, half off. “I’m settlin’ my debts soon as I’m up hen. Bet on it.”

He makes Ghost promise to take care of you if something ever happens to him.

“Johnny, shut fuck up,” Ghost glared at him, faint facial scars following his frown. “You’ll outlive us all.”

Johnny stared at him from across the meeting table, more serious than a personification of the sun had any right to be. They were the only two in the briefing room, for some reason the place felt sacred enough to Soap for such a request.

“‘m serious VP, that’s ma heart, I love her.” His accent thickened with emotion, and he sipped his bar as if to wash it back.

His fingers flexed around the sweating glass. “‘m gonna marry her.”

“Lads and I knew that the first time you talked about her.”

Soap smiled at that, but his expression quickly returned to its serious state. “Sweet girl and me have been talkin’ about kids, preferably after.”

A fond quiet bloomed between them at that admission. The two of you had told no one else, and Johnny felt guilty violating your pillow talk confessionals, but he hoped it would get Ghost to agree.

“Want that more than anythin’ VP, but I can’t pull the trigger until I know they’ll be looked after.”

“The club-“

“Not just the club!” He ran a hand through his mohawk in frustration.

Why couldn’t the stubborn fucking giant just agree?

“I know the club will look after them in general. I know I can trust our table, hope I can trust the other charters.” He sighed, refocusing. “You’re my best friend Simon. I just have to know my girl, and my bairn, would always have you at their back. If I died.”

“Wouldn’t happen. I’d lay my life down so you could make it back-“

Johnny shook his head, choosing not to repeat himself. Instead, he gave his friend a pleading look.

He could see a storm of thoughts and emotions competing for dominance in his friend’s mind. His expression didn’t change much, but it was in his eyes if you knew him.

He saw why Simon was resisting, he didn’t feel worthy of being looked to in that way.

Finally, Ghost responded after grinding his cigarette out in the dish on the table. “Promise the same f’me then. I’ve fucked her life up enough, shouldn’t still be doin’ it when I’m gone.”

“On my honor.” Soap didn’t even have to think, it was an instinct.

“Then tell your missus you’re ready. I’ll cover my end.”

———

Price:

Head honcho. Chief. The Boss. Captain of the ship. It’s all the same no matter who calls him what, President Price is in charge.

He founded the club after leaving his original due to lack of loyalty, and thoughtless endeavors. He works overtime to make sure his club doesn’t fall in the same way. His code of ethics may not make a lick of sense to anyone outside of the outlaw life, but they’ve garnered the respect and admiration of some of the toughest men around the globe.

They’d follow him through hell because they know he’d be the first one in.

When they’re on a run, selling guns or attending a meeting in neutral territory, John’s mind is all business until business is done. Then it’s all you. He loves hearing his guys talk about how they’re going to spend their new check, or swapping stories about their old ladies. Sometimes, he even joins in.

But what he really wants to do is celebrate with you. Most times you’re already up at the compound. Seeing to the legitimate businesses, taking care of the girls, helping the member’s families, etc.

He respects what you do, what you’re capable of, beyond borders. However, he can’t help but be jealous. You always come to him first, tight hug and a long soft kiss, but then you’re quickly looking over his guys. The men revel in it, almost becoming kittens under your motherly ministrations. Especially Soap and Gaz, who you’re in the same age group as, but you scold all the same.

When the last man has been sent on his way, he’s dragging you away to the little bedroom off his office. He knows you find it amusing, to see his selfishness win out over any tiredness he’s feeling.

Before the door can even close, he’s pulling you close and kissing you his favorite way. A kiss he didn’t know he was capable of until you became his wife. Anytime he was gone too long, you did something that knocked him off his feet, or your affection wasn’t directed solely at him, he kissed you that way.

He cradled your head, holding you steady when he pressed his lips to yours. He left no room for there to be room between the two of you. Rough thumbs slid under your chin, tilting your head up slightly before he slid his tongue between your lips. He knew he had to release you soon, let you remember how to breathe, but it was hard to fight the hunger.

“Nothing flatters me like my big biker husband being unable to share me for two seconds.” you teased, but your teasing came out in short puffs, as your lungs weren’t cooperating with you at the moment.

He could feel you swaying, going dizzy, and he brushed his beard over your ear to make you squirm before he said. “Jump love.”

You did, feeling his heavy hands grasp your thighs seconds later. He slid your legs over his hips, encouraging you to lock down around his waist.

“I’m just making sure you take care of what’s yours.” he thrust upward, hardness touching. “I promised it to you that first time.”

He laid you across the bed, staring down at you with a darkened smirk. “Take some responsibility for the state of your possessions.”

He’s the head of an organization that now exists in several countries. All that responsibility is tiring, even for a man so skilled at navigating it, and there’s been many a day when all he can do is lay his head down for the pain of the headaches.

You can’t count how many times you’ve come up to the club when he didn’t come home, only to find him furiously puffing a cigar and downing shots to dull the pain.

The guys had families to feed, there were good men behind bars for them that needed to be taken care of, he had tables back home that needed guidance, there were property expenses, legal retainer fees, and more. Much more.

That meant more risky non-legit work, which meant stretching the legitimate business to cover what that brought in. He had to know when it was time to expand, when it was time to halt, and when it was time to move to something else.

But he’s just a man, one man, and you’re there to remind him of that.

“John?” You had been expecting to find him in his office, but the moment you stepped into the club house, you saw him at the bar.

He wasn’t alone.

Phillip Graves, president of the Shadows MC finished off his drink and clapped John on the back.

“We’ll talk again.” He nodded his head towards you with a wink and a smile. “Ma’am.”

Your narrowed eyes followed him out of the door, remaining there until his motorcycle’s engine was a distant roar. At that point, you turned back to your husband.

He was gripping his forehead, lit cigar balanced on the heavy crystal ashtray next to him. The last remnants of whisky mingled with the melting ice in his glass, which he threw back before attempting a fake smile.

”Hello darling, you just close up shop?”

”Yeah, and I got home to find my husband wasn’t there. What the fuck John? You said you were going to work on this.”

You tossed your purse on the counter. “And Graves?! I can’t even-“

”(Y/N), don’t start.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have that in me right now.”

Sighing, you placed one hand on his back, using the other to put out his cigar. He protested with a disapproving grunt, but was too tired to do more than that. Your face softened at that realization.

He pushed back from the bar a little, allowing you to slide onto his lap, legs splitting over his thighs. “I’m just worried. You can lead a table, you can lead the whole organization, but you can’t carry the whole thing on your back.”

You cupped his head like he often did to yours, and massaged the base of his skull. His eyes slid shut, body going lax, and he practically purred.

Leaning down, you scattered gentle kisses on his face, careful to leave no spot untouched, before going in for a whiskery kiss. It was here John took over, thanking you for the attention.

“You know that it’s not you I don’t trust right?” you asked between kisses. “It’s him.”

“I know, and you know I value your judgment.” He got underneath your shirt, hands rubbing your sides slowly.

There was a moment of domestic peace and quiet. You massaging his temple, and he massaging your sides. Though you trusted the capable man going soft under your hands, you hoped he wouldn’t regret whatever Graves was bringing to your door.

John doesn’t come to your shop often, but it’s not because he doesn’t support your career. It’s because he can’t watch you work for very long without wanting you biblically on every surface.

You love his open attraction to you, so it’s not exactly the easiest thing to ignore. No matter how much you try to stay focused on the job, the man is the love of your life, and he looks handcrafted by god.

Hunched over a client’s thigh, your brows were drawn in concentration on the elaborate Victorian cameo piece.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see John lounging in the plush desk chair he’d dragged over. A good distance to respect your client, but close enough, he could keep eyes on his favorite person.

Your client was amused, laughing through a wince, she nodded in John’s direction. “You’ve got a not-so-secret admirer.”

“I’ve been caught lovely, what to do now?”

”Ignore you.” You quipped before glancing up at your client. “He’s my husband.”

”Oh,” she hummed. “That explains the heart eyes.”

At that, you did have to look up, instantly wishing you hadn’t. It was a visual trap.

John, sitting there like the king he was, manspreading with no shame. Black beanie, tight jeans, dark sweater with his royal kutte draped over the sweater, and leather boots. You told him more than once he could model, to which he feigned offense.

“Focus on your work.” John admonished, but the smirk he said it though was pure sin.

Your eyes had strayed below the belt, and John was fully aware of this. Reveling in it really.

”Don’t you have a bike to fix? A prospect to bottle feed?”

”Nope,” his arms crossed behind his head, an action you saw out of the corner of your eye. “I belong to my missus this evening.”

Your client cooed, undoubtedly enjoying the banter between you and John. You did too, too much, and his bit about belonging to you made you have to pause and readjust yourself.

”Every evening really.”

”That’s nice John.” You hissed, lifting the gun from her skin to wave him off.

Your client laughed, trying hard to hold herself steady for you.

“Don’t encourage him.” you turned yourself at an angle slightly, trying and failing to ignore him.

“Well, it’s really far more than just evenings isn’t i-“

You lifted your foot from the pedal, and placed the tattoo gun on the tray next to you.

“Kitchen, now.” You gave your client a sheepish smile. “We were due for a break anyway hun. Can I get you anything?”

She was visibly entertained by you and John, after all, the two of you had become a legendary couple in these parts for a reason.

“I’m good, take your time.”

John winked at your client, strolling behind you into the back. You waited until he was in the kitchenette before sliding the door closed.

”You’re such an ass.” But your hands were already under his sweater, running up and down his chest.

You appreciated that he took up so much space in the little room, forcing the two of you together. You could blame the room’s dimensions for being all over him, and not your unwavering attraction to the man.

“I haven’t seen you in 15 hours, yes, I counted. I’m always counting when it comes to you. You can’t ask me to behave.”

Large hands slid into your hair, fingers interlocking to cradle your head. He didn’t even have to pull you in to kiss you, and he grinned, clearly also appreciating the size of the space.

“You think she’s a big enough fan to give us thirty?”

You actually have three rings. Your engagement ring, your wedding ring, and one of John’s rings that he gave you the first night you fucked.

In the quiet of the briefing room, somewhere you were surprised to be, you sat on his lap. The two of you soaked up the afterglow, the party raging outside fading to a dull noise outside of your own world. Coming down from your high, you let out a soft noise of surprise when John gripped your hair to kiss you with one hand. The other hand grasped your own, the one that had come to rest on his chest when you’d ridden him into his throne.

He slid the silver, braided band onto your ring finger, promising. “The first to come”

He loves to get in the ring and show off for you. Sometimes, there’s a loud mouth from a visiting club, or another table visiting, and John takes them to the ring they have in the back of the club’s compound.

Usually, it’s Konig’s or Simon’s domain, but it’s not because John doesn’t love dishing it out as much as them. That becomes apparent when he delivers careful, strategically brutal, blows to his opponent. Enough to win, and then a few more to humble.

You had long ago stopped lying to yourself about how much it turned you on. So when John emerged from the ring, panting, abs catching the compound’s lights on a sheen of sweat, you always dragged him off. Under the guise of cleaning him up of course ;).

John’s breeding kink goes wild when he sees you with a baby, or any kid really. He’s been around the club life long enough to see many couples welcome kids. One of the first outings the two of you made as an official thing was to the hospital to see the birth of a member’s baby.

His old lady bonded with you, and you were quickly given child holding privileges. It came so naturally to you, and John felt what he figured the two of you would get to eventually quickly build itself a home in his chest. New Kink unlocked: breed you on any surface he could find.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, it was hypnotizing. His family around him saw it for what it was. Their president had this future scene, starring you and him, written all over him.

He thought the intensity of it was something he had to keep under wraps until he noticed you had the same feelings.

Baby showers, shopping for 141 babies, school drives and charities the club did for the local youth, seeing cute kids on social media. It didn’t matter, John caught on to the fact that you fucked him like a feral rabbit whenever you got that maternal glint in your eye. He didn’t call you on it until after you were married. The day when your shop receptionist went on maternity leave.

You’d been going on all through dinner, and then while doing the dishes, about how cute the kid would be, and you loved helping her with her nursery, and how she was already glowing. The more you ranted, the harder he got, until finally, he trapped you against the counter.

“I reckon it’d be easier to just say you want to be a mum.” he lifted one leg to his waist, and bucked against your clothed heat. “Say it.”

You stammered, eyes wide, pupils blown. “J-John..”

“Say it.” his voice somehow found a lower octave to sink to, choked with desire.

“What are you talking about?” you whined, embarrassed at being found out.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m hard as steel love, you feel that?” he grabbed your wrist, kissing the knuckles before quickly brushing them over his length.

“That’s how bad I want to make you a mum, can’t you just admit it too?”

Tilting your chin up, he placed tiny kisses under your chin, purposely dragging his beard across the soft skin after each kiss.

“C’mon then, tell your husband the truth so I can give us what we both want”

You whimpered, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. “John..”

“Go on, invite me in.” he slipped his index finger in the top of your panties just enough to play with the elastic. Stretching it until it threatened to fly back against your skin before he eased it back in place.

You moved forward in an attempt to make his finger slip lower, and he laughed darkly, holding you in place. Shaking his head, he repeated his precious statement.

“Give me a baby John.” you huffed, frustration rising until all that you could do was spill the truth.

Gasping, you felt the cold tile of the counter beneath your thighs. You tried to process how he’d gotten you up there so fast, but your mind didn’t want to focus on anything other than your husband kneeling before you with the most determined look you’d ever seen.

As he slipped your panties and pajama shorts down your legs, he whispered how it’d be best if you prepared an excuse for work while you could still think straight.

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delta-pavonis · 18 days ago

Text

Fic: Solar Futhark

Dreamling (Solarpunk Urban Fantasy AU) | Rated E | 8.2k words | complete

CW: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Solarpunk, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Drow!Dream, Druid!Dream, Half-elf!Hob, GunslingerBard!Hob, investigators, work partners, partners to lovers, banter, temporary bodyswap, being captured, held prisoner together, starvation, tied together, confessions under duress, love confessions, soulmates, mates, escape, prison break, animal transformation, possessive Dream, matriarchal drow society, subjugated male drow, male gestation, male pregnancy, mention of forced pregnancy, mention of platonic soulmates, Dream has a cock and a cunt, pussy eating champion Hob Gadling, cunnilingus, oral sex, vaginal fingering, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, vaginal sex, anal fingering, hair-pulling, rough sex, cum slut Dream, sex magic, Hob probably has a copy of the Belmont Book of Penis Spells, large cock, multiple orgasms, discussion of fisting, happy ending

(AO3 hates me right now, so I will post this there later.)

Hob cackles as he tucks the large hourglass under his arm and fucking runs.

“Oh, what the hell…” Dream drops the vase of flowers he had been planning on using as an improvised weapon and takes off after his partner. A partner who is rapidly climbing the rankings for stupidest sentient being Dream has ever known. “Gadling! What in the name of every god extant and extinct do you think you are doing?”

The half-elf startles for just a moment as Dream easily catches up to him despite his head start and the crowded market streets. “This is evidence, right?”

At this rate Dream is going to pull a muscle rolling his eyes at Hob. “We do not steal evidence! I do not have the least idea of where you learned how to be an investig–”

“Pirates!” He chirrups happily, skidding around a corner as horns start to sound the alarm throughout the resonant underground halls of the Duergar city.

The answer is so absurd that Dream is struck speechless.

Then a rumble sounds to their right and it has Dream reaching across Hob's chest to grab his gun in its shoulder holster under his duster. Luckily the gun and the hourglass are not under the same arm, because Dream is completely out of spells, both divine and arcane. He jumps ahead up the stairs and twists, taking two shots at their pursuers and grinning when he hears a shout of explicatives.

Another set of stairs, then they are scrambling up a wall, grabbing the bottom rung of a camouflaged ladder, and are back in the surface’s sewers before the next round of horns sound. Dream slides the cover over the secret entrance and breathes a sigh of relief as, with a golden shimmer, it seals itself once again.

Panting and apparently completely uncaring of the state of the water around their feet, Hob drops to his arse with a thud. Little bits of duckweed and algae slop up onto Dream’s boots.

“We should keep moving.” Dream scowls at his footwear as he also breathes in huge, heaving gulps. “We don't know the power of their artificers and–”

“Don't have ‘em,” Hob shakes his head. “It made bartering for certain items with them a total crapcircus because they didn't value the same basic material goods. Everything they do is mechanical. Non-magic. Luckily we didn't get stuck down there often.” Dream just stares at him; theoretically those are all common words, but fuck if he parses their meaning right now with the adrenaline crash just starting to take its toll. Hob smirks, lopsided and definitely not charming. Absolutely not. “Pirates, remember?”

He feels a headache coming on and so pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you actually trying to tell me that before joining the Houndsguild you were a Hawkshaw?”

“Uh… yes?” Hob blinks at him as if Dream is the one asking the dumb question. “Thirteen years. Is that so hard to believe?”

Dream just stares. If this half-elf was a Hawkshaw, one of the pirate codekeepers (the closest to lawmen such outlaws might ever get), then there is so much more here to uncover, so much more to Hob, that he isn't even sure where to start. Hob drops back down in Dream's mental rankings of stupidity. Dream breathes out and now, a little calmer, some of Hob's behaviors slot into place. The impulsivity. The recklessness. The charisma to get himself out of just about any problem caused by said impulsivity and recklessness. “No, actually, now that I think of it. It makes some sense.”

The smile that brightens Hob's face is also extremely not charming. Or cute. No. Not at all. “Help me up?” He holds out his hand and Dream automatically grips his forearm as he continues to speak, “I know we got off on the wrong foot when we first met, but I hope you are coming to realize that in this, in solving cases like these at least, I am actually competent.”

Dream grudgingly nods, but also cannot resist the opportunity for a good jibe. “It at least explains why when we first met you were balls deep in the barmaid bouncing on your lap in the middle of a crowded tavern.” He smirks back, trying to convey that he isn't really judging, just teasing. “Never met a Hawkshaw who didn't want to be the absolute center of attention.”

Hob splutters out a laugh and gets his feet under him, blushing all the while. “Hey there! It is a specific tactic! Think of it like slight-of-hand and bardic performance had a baby, but it acts on a group level. While everyone is busy watching me…”

“Your fellows are working without being noticed.” Dream shakes his head ruefully, ceding the point to Hob. “Not bad.”

“Fun, too.” Hob's grin goes lopsided again as he waggles his eyebrows and he stares at Dream for a beat longer than necessary. Dream has to resist fidgeting under that warm gaze and so distracts himself with their usual banter.

“If that is your kink, then I am sure it is fun.” Speaking of fun, watching Hob's eyes widen and his neck flush when Dream says the word ‘kink’ is extremely fun. He studies his fingernails and tries to exude nonchalance. “Exhibitionism isn't really to my taste, though. More of a leather and ropes type myself.” He hears Hob inhale sharply and smirks, still not looking up. “Did you know that if you get strips of leather soaking wet they shrink and constrict as they dry?”

Dream looks at Hob through his lashes, sees him open-mouthed and panting, eyes dilated. Delightful.

Maybe he will be able to get through this partnership with his dignity intact after all. Or, at least, Dream certainly won't be the first one to lose his composure.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

“Got you,” Hob thrills at hearing the voice he now commands come out as that rumbling purr he loves so much. “Do you yield?”

He looks down to see his own face twisted with a sneer that is familiar but he has never seen on his own features. “Absolutely not.”

It is decidedly strange to hear his own voice this way–not quite similar enough to trigger the embarrassment one feels when listening to a recording, but still disconcerting.

Then again, all of this is disconcerting and decidedly strange. He is currently inhabiting the body of his work partner, a drow who Hob had fallen ass over tea kettle for decades ago. He is using said drow’s body to pin his own to the dirt in a forest clearing outside the overgrown castle ruins they just investigated. They are now speaking again after a long stretch of silence, a silence that was only interrupted because their respective bosses told them they had to work together on this case. Which was very much not how Hob had imagined their reconnection going, but beggars can't be choosers. Or so humans say.

Hob is learning quickly that drow not only look different than other elf-kin, but that they see, hear, and smell differently, too. It makes sense, given that their senses are attuned to a vastly different environment, but as a half wood-elf he had just never thought of it before.

As Hob lowers his face, Dream's long white hair cascades over his shoulder. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

He flexes his hands around the wrists he has pinned and spreads them wider, giving him a stance with the leverage to hop up and have his feet come down between Dream-in-his-body’s calves with enough force to pry his legs apart. The elf beneath him grunts as his thighs splay and their pelvises crash together. Even through the spelled denim they wear Hob can feel how aroused his friend is, no matter how he denies or ignores it.

“I feel it is rather narcissistic of you to enjoy the possibility of a sexual encounter with your own body.” He relishes the breathlessness he can hear in his own voice, how the body beneath him trembles. Hob knows exactly what has to happen to drive his own body to that point and if he is causing that in Dream… well. He was rather hoping they could have one of their catfight fuck sessions before the curse wears off.

“Come on,” Hob says, enjoying the rough, raw sexuality he can convey with just a slight change in tone with Dream’s vocal cords. “It gives a whole new meaning to go fuck yourself.”

It is fascinating to see what is so clearly Dream's eyeroll cross his own face. Drow vision is far more sensitive to movement than his own and it allows Hob to see even the slightest twitch of brow or flutter of lashes or movement of lips. It is kind of distracting, all this detail.

But that is nothing compared to the distraction of this sense of smell. Hob is no doubt never ever going to get this chance again, so he might as well indulge a little while he can. He drops his face into his own neck and inhales deeply. “Tannatell’s tits do I always smell this good to you?” Hob repeats the act, this time dragging his nose up into chestnut hair as he breathes in. “How can you work like this? I’d be on the edge of coming all the goddamned time. No wonder progress on this case has been so slow, you’re the smart one and you only have half your blood going to your brain. Fuck, it is like I am… your...” he trails off as that thought completes itself in his head.

Oh.

Now, drow vision might have traded brightness of color for its enhanced sensitivity to motion, but there is no doubt, when Hob lifts back up and looks down, that there is a fiercely red blush on Dream's cheeks. And Dream refuses to meet his gaze.

Hob lets go of the wrists he holds and sits back on his heels so he is kneeling between Dream's thighs. He watches as the other elf brings his hands to his chest, rubbing gently at them where Hob's grip was tightest. Dream keeps his head turned to the side the whole time.

“Dream, why didn't you t-”

“Don't. Just don't.” His eyes close and his face crumples into something pained. It guts Hob to think that this is something painful for Dream. “The first time we talk about this can't be like… I do not want it to…” Hob has never heard Dream fumble for words and it is distressingly alarming. “I would prefer to be in my own body when we have this conversation, please.”

Hob can't do anything but grant that request.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

“If we get out of this the first thing I am doing is getting a three hour massage, bloody fuck these chains are tight.” Dream tries to twist his wrist to get some wiggle room and can't even manage that; all the movement does is jostle their chairs. His partner whines. “You alright there, Hob?”

They are chained to a pair of chairs, back to back, with heavy steel links. The chains aren't spelled, but they don't need to be when they are this tight: there is no way Dream will pull off even the smallest somatic component restrained like this and Hob certainly can’t play an instrument or draw a gun. Even worse, the room is unnaturally dark.

Dream hadn’t realized how used he had gotten to the sunlight and the greenery of the surfacelands until they were taken from him. For a moment he takes comfort in thoughts of twirling tree branches forming the beams of great towers, arched windows carefully grown in between, columns of elevators going so high they meet the top of the buildings in the clouds. He thinks of winding streets made of sandstone and brass and overflowing with greenery, the whirring music of solar panels as they track the sunlight along with their flower-kin.

The thought of the movement of the sun reminds Dream that time has been passing, that they have been in here long enough that he is starting to have trouble tracking time–the only clock he has to go by is his heartbeat and that is only reliable for so long. Hunger has long since passed into a dull ache, which tells him it must be more than a couple days. Both of them have vacated all the remaining volume of foodstuffs left in their digestive tracts, removing another marker of time.

They have not seen another soul since they awoke here. There is a dim illumination that comes from… somewhere, but Dream cannot pinpoint it. It is only enough to see his own knees by, make out the faintest outline of the large stone blocks of the ceiling that is a mere few feet above their heads. It is not enough for Hob to see anything, dull as his half-human senses are.

Cruelly enough, water drips from the seams in the stone structure in a few places, landing on the top of their heads, on Hob’s shoulder and chest, on Dream’s cheek. It is the bare minimum to keep them alive and Dream suspects that is very much on purpose.

Dream leans his head back with a sigh and it presses against Hob's.

“You ever wonder what would have happened if we met under different circumstances?” Hob's speech is slurred enough that it makes Dream reconsider if those arrows they got hit with were a poison targeted for those of the surface. It adds a new layer to the puzzle of who has captured them. “Like, if I wasn't working that night in the tavern, wasn't being the biggest distraction possible?” He is silent for a beat. “I would've asked to join you at your table. Started to chat you up properly. Instead of pretending we were old buddies as part of the case I was working. Because we’re not friends, are we?” His chuckle is hollow. “No, most definitely not. Perhaps I would’ve tried to woo you with song… paint you a picture with music. Gods, you were so beautiful. Are. So beautiful.”

“Hob…” He doesn't sound like himself, can't possibly be meaning to say any of this.

“Do you have any idea how badly I want you? Fuck, like all the time. From the very first moment I saw you, the swish-click of your air walker boots on the tavern floor, noticeable to a trained ear even with the din of patrons.” Dream can hear him swallow. “It never goes away, you know? This yearning for you. It lives inside me now.”

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore it. Hob cannot be meaning to say this right now and Dream certainly does not want to hear it without Hob’s consent; he is relieved when they lapse into silence once again.

But it doesn't last.

“If you get a chance to escape, you have to promise me to take it, even if you can't get me out.” Hob’s voice is a threadbare whisper.

No. They can't talk like this. He won't have it. “Hob, you’re-”

“I am not delirious and I am not talking nonsense!” He is panting now and Dream swears he can hear Hob's racing heartbeat. It is another piece of evidence that he is not himself. “Promise me, Dream. Promise me you will save yourself if you have the chance, even at my expense.”

“No.” Absolutely not. Dream's answer is immediate and brooks no argument; he won't even consider it. The idea is anathema, like teaching the Druidic language outside of a Circle or attempting to unbalance Nature itself. “I will not leave without you.”

Hob’s breath rate is increasing, pushing into hyperventilating, and his voice is unsteady as a newborn foal’s legs. He sounds almost on the verge of tears and it makes something in Dream’s heart crack. “Please, Dream! I need you to promise me.”

He grits his teeth hard enough to make them squeak. “I will make no such vow.” Dream growls. It is harsh, he knows, but he will also not lie to Hob. Not after everything they’ve been through.

They never got a chance to talk about it, what lay implied between them from their adventure with that soul-swapping curse. Not properly. Not before this case, which pretty much immediately went tits up. Fuck, they should have spoken about it.

Dream adds this to his long ledger of regrets.

When Hob speaks again the words are clearly forced through a rising tide of panic. “I need to know you’ll be safe, that y-”

“Breathe Hob. We don’t need to plan-”

“Promise me!” he sobs. “I need to know you wi-”

The crack in Dream's heart cleaves it in two.

“I will not leave without my Mate!”

For a moment the only sound in the small room is Hob’s panting, then Dream lets his head fall back; this time it lands on Hob’s shoulder with a dull whump.

“You were right. What you felt during the curse.” Dream closes his eyes. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I just… we were… we’ve been…”

Hob turns his head, twists his shoulders, as much as possible, until his nose nudges the point of Dream’s ear. “Stupid. We’ve been truly. Amazingly. Stupid.”

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

They crawl out of the cave system into a raging thunderstorm. Might as well be a hurricane for how the wind is blowing the rain and trees sideways. However, the sight of cypress trees and the salty smell of the ocean limits the possible places that they have been taken to.

“Holy shit we're in Port Essen!” Hob gasps in breathless laughter. When Dream looks at him he is smiling, almost glowing, underneath all the dirt and grime and soil and debris they are covered with, that is all rapidly turning to mud as the forceful winds and driving rain wash them clean. He looks to Dream and it is like the sun has risen, warmth diffusing through Dream's skin. “I grew up here!”

That raises a red flag in the back of Dream's mind–he doesn't believe in coincidences.

“We need to move. Get as far away as possible. Fast. Get on.” Dream doesn't say more, doesn't explain, just grabs some of the reedy dunegrass at his feet and pops it into his mouth as he makes the appropriate hand motions.

Hob lets out a yelp as Dream transforms into a dire elk, huge and black. He wouldn't be able to fly in such rain and he has no meat for a spell component, so his dragon form is out; the elk will give Hob a smoother ride over the widest variety of terrain.

Once fully shifted Dream drops onto folded legs, but that still means his back is at about the height of a horse, so he angles his head towards Hob to lend an antler for leverage.

Luckily Hob catches on quickly, hefting himself up onto Dream with a grunt. “West,” he says as he buries his hands in the ruff of thick fur around Dream's neck, “We’ll hit forest and freshwater fastest if we go west.”

Dream stands, looks back at Hob once to make sure he is settled, and then leaps into action. Hob lets out another yelp the first time Dream lands from a bound, but he sets a rhythm and the bard in Hob cues onto it almost immediately.

Then he outright laughs.

“Dream,” he whispers into his fur, must be leaning over to get so close to his ear, “you are amazing, dove.”

Dream would laugh as well, if he could.

He has never had a rider before, not in any shifted form he has taken, and that it is Hob on his back, moving fluidly with him, legs around him, clinging to him… well. Apparently one doesn’t need wings to fly.

But first they need to disappear. They need to get gone and regroup and get food and maybe bathe in a cold stream and start assembling their meager knowledge of their captors so that they can send out feelers for information and start the tedious process of revenge.

Because Dream will eat their hearts raw for making this the bower in which he told Hob the nature of their connection. He will make them watch as he sucks the marrow from their living bones for how they have treated his Mate. He cares not that he himself has been tortured; Dream has done more than enough terrible things in his life to have earned such an experience. But Hob? No. He will not let them survive this insult.

However, getting to that point, when he will be able to revel in the suffering of those who caused so much of the same, will take time. Dream is always thorough in his planning.

And while they wait, keeping to the shadows and gathering their knowledge and power, Dream will sup upon his Mate. He will devour the finest meal he will ever have. Savor the small pieces that he can pick up between his fingers and drop into his mouth and lick from under his fingernails. Drink long draughts of pleasure of Hob’s body and thereby nourish his own soul. Dream has been starving and did not know it, did not really understand what he was missing, until his body was weakened by the captivity and his mind sharpened by the pain his Mate experienced.

Dream vaults over some rocky ground, avoiding it completely, and then as they crest a hill the treeline comes into sight and he could cry for the relief of it. Within the embrace of the forest Dream will have all the tools he needs to keep them safe. And then he can look towards the future.

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The most shocking thing, honestly, is how shocked Hob isn't.

“Dream,” he sounds like he is calming a skittish horse, “I have been in love with you for literal decades. This isn't a problem for me. So we're tied together on a metaphysical level, so what?”

The druid just blinks.

Hob sighs, running a hand through his hair as he relaxes back against the trunk of the tree. It reveals the gentle point to his ears and Dream has a bolt of desire lance through him, urging him to put his mouth there. He shoves it to the side.

They are deep in the densest portions of this forest now, having ridden for hours, past the midsummer sun setting and the quarter moon rising. They slept almost immediately once they stopped running, along the banks of a creek deep enough to wade into. Once sleep was had, Dream went hunting while Hob washed their clothing, which now lies drying on some rocks and tree branches close by. They have been so exhausted that only now is Dream noticing that Hob being completely naked is rather… distracting.

The trees, strangers though they are to Dream, have generously given them ample shelter on the creek’s bank; even if someone does get close they likely won't see or hear a hint of them through the lush greenery. The maple Hob leans against has been particularly taken with the half wood elf, although Dream is unsure if Hob notices the tree doting on him, swaying its leaves to keep him shaded despite the moving morning sun.

“I’ll be the first to admit that I know close to fuck all about drow, your culture, your biology… really just what is told in popular stories, movies, whatnot, which may or may not have truth in them.” His head thumps back against the tree trunk and he has to tilt to the side to look at Dream. “But tell me what I need to learn and I’ll learn it. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it. The last thing I want is to be a burden to you, Dream.”

A burden?

Dream shakes his head, as much to clear it as to disabuse Hob of such a notion. “No, Hob, I…” He searches for the words and none come, stubborn as they often are, so he decides on action instead.

Looking Hob directly in the eyes, Dream crawls across the space between them, over the gunslinger's legs, and sits with his knees on either side of Hob's thighs. He is so warm beneath Dream that the drow shivers, but all Hob can seem to do is stare in shock at the fact that they are naked and Dream is in his lap.

By the Gods it feels good to be this close to his Mate. It will feel better to touch.

Hob gasps when Dream's hands land on his chest, slide up slowly to his shoulders, his neck. He takes time to savor every hill and valley. Mine. One hand moves higher, fingers curling around the top of an ear, petting softly and making Hob’s mouth drop open and his eyes flutter closed.

“You are not a burden, Hob Gadling,” Dream reassures. “Far from it. You have heard that traditional drow society is matriarchal, yes?” Hob nods but doesn’t open his eyes, instead leans into Dream’s hand on the side of his head. “Add soulmates to that and who do you think gets to end up with the Mate they truly want?”

Hob looks at him at that. “Are soulmates not perfectly matched? Made for each other? Fated?”

“Mmm, a topic of much debate.” Dream cards through Hob's hair with his fingers as he talks. “At its core ‘soulmate’ for drow seems only to mean you are tied to each other deeply. For better… or ill. And it is certainly true that you can fall in love with someone who is not your Mate. There have even been drow who found themselves unattracted to their soulmate, at least sexually.”

Hob’s hands alight oh so carefully on Dream's thighs, a touch radically different than during the adrenaline-fueled ‘work partners plus sex' arrangement they have had for the past few months. And the touch is light years different than their first time together, when an actual duel to the death had turned into a battle of a totally different kind. To be clear, they were no less feral in their fucking when they were high on the rush of escaping imminent danger than when their lust had ignited due to mutual hatred.

Right now, though? Dream lifts up onto his knees, his ass leaving the comfort of Hob's strong thighs, as he leans in to nuzzle into Hob's temple.

“But attraction isn't in question here.” Hob isn't asking; they can both see their mostly erect cocks laying ignored between them.

“No,” Dream chuckles, “It certainly is not.” He drags his nose down so he can bring their lips close, not quite a kiss. “Rare is it allowed for drow males to be able to truly choose their Mate. So many are deemed unfit, taken to serve only as brooders for the Great Mother’s many children. And so it is not something I dared dream possible for myself. Before now.” He speaks against the corner of Hob's mouth. “I want you to fuck me, Hob. I want to know what it is to feel you spend inside me.”

With a wanton cry Hob is kissing Dream, crushing them together, and all the skin contact is glorious, as are the needy noises coming from his Mate’s throat. But Hob doesn't even know… he doesn't know.

“Hob!” Dream gasps, pulling away. “You don't understand.” They are both panting softly and Dream almost gets distracted by another kiss. “I said brooders. Female drow provide only eggs. Male drow gestate and birth our children.” That seems to get Hob's attention and he blinks his eyes until his gaze is sharp once again. Only then does Dream continue. “My cunt, Hob.” The wood elf inhales sharply. “I want you to fuck my cunt.”

Dream is barely finished with the sentence when Hob surges up and wrestles the druid to the mossy ground. Laughing, Dream pushes and scoots away, smirking up at Hob, parting his long slate-colored legs and reaching down to stroke his cock, tugging it up to reveal the wet folds hidden further down. Hob moans, eyes fixed to where Dream is showing himself off. Their fucking has always been frantic, hurried, and with Dream doing the penetrating, so Hob hasn't ever been given the chance to explore what lies deeper between Dream's legs. He looks ravenous for it.

And Dream is ready for such an exploration, except Hob doesn't even stop to touch: he grabs Dream's thighs, slings one onto each shoulder, and pulls Dream's hips to his mouth. “Hob!” Dream barks. Hob is ravenous, quite literally, licking and obscenely slurping up fluids, and Dream can do nothing but scream his pleasure.

Hob laves up and around until he can suck on the side of Dream's cock before purring, “Knew I smelled something more when you’d fuck into my throat, could swear I heard something more wet than just your spit-slick skin slapping my face.” He takes Dream's prick all the way into his mouth, sucks until the drow cries out, then backs off to allow filth to keep spilling from his lips. “Fuck, when we were under that curse I chalked up any feeling that what was between my legs felt different to the fact that drow senses are so different. I never thought…” He licks back down, exploring the wet folds with his tongue and lips. When he next needs air, Hob speaks with his damp cheek against Dream's thigh.

“I can't fill you with children, but I am gonna come in you so many times it is going to damn well feel like I did.” Each word is a puff of steam-hot air on where Dream is most sensitive, making him writhe. “Until there is enough spend in you that I can press on your belly and make it flood out. Cover these pretty thighs in my cum. Once it drips down to your ankles I will lick you clean so we can start all over.”

“Fuck, Hob.” The bard has always been good with his words in bed, but it hits differently here, with Dream revealed to him completely. Further, he’s hit upon a specific kink that Dream has the tools to actually indulge in and not just spin pretty stories about. “There’s a spell. Originally it was to increase chances of conceiving, but more often nowadays it is used in modified form by those of us with a cum kink.”

Hob's groan is muffled when he leans forward into Dream's genitals. “Those of us….modified…”

Dream laughs, fingers finding Hob’s hair. “I’ll take you to Elegy one night. There are many of us, if you know the right clubs.” Hob lets out a needy whine at that. “I’ll need some cum–preferably yours–as a spell component. Then I cast on your bollocks so that the next time you come you produce, ah, lots more.”

His eyes appear above the rise of Dream’s hip. “How much more are we talking about here?”

He smirks. “Let's just say that the modification I was talking about involved merging the fertility spell with a spell that summons water in a person's lungs in enough volume to drown th-ahAH!” Dream is cut off as Hob dips back down and his tongue snakes inside Dream's body, his moan vibrating through Dream's pelvis.

Oh, it is so good to be touched there, for Hob to know all of him, to be laid bare before him, his Mate.

Then Dream feels Hob shifting, moving away so Dream's knees are on his shoulders and he’s sliding a hand around from where it was holding up Dream's hip so that rough fingers can–“Oh yes!”

Hob pushes one finger inside and Dream’s entire body arches. “Let’s see, does your anatomy track with…” he mutters as he changes his angle over the course of a few thrusts and then it is like his finger strokes Dream’s cock from the inside and Dream screeches in surprised pleasure. “Yeah it does.” Hob sounds smug, which is so godsdamned sexy it only pushes Dream closer to tears. He slides a second finger in and Dream can’t stop himself from rocking into it. “Okay gorgeous, I’m gonna loosen you up with a couple orgasms and then you can have me.”

“Noooo,” Dream whines, plaintive, “Want to come with you in me!”

“Oh, you’ll do that, too.” And fuck him, he can hear Hob's grin. “Gonna make you come so many times you start babbling in Druidic. Break down every sense of propriety you have.”

Dream laughs through a moan, making it tumble and bounce. “An ingenious plan to learn the secret tongues.” He uses the word deliberately, playful and so fucking happy.

“Learn the-” Hob clicks his tongue against his teeth, chiding. “Are you saying that you are not satisfied with what my tongue currently knows?” Of course, he lays the flat of said appendage along the underside of the head of Dream's cock, rubs it back and forth as he looks up for an answer.

Seeing his Mate look at him like that, his cock aimed into his open mouth and his fingers buried inside him and his amber eyes burning so bright they are almost gold–fuck, it is so much. And the little movements just under the head of his prick plus the repeated deep massage of whatever that place inside him is, and Dream’s eyes widen as pleasure rushes in.

He barely gets out a surprised, “Hob I’m-” before something inside him feels kind of like it pops and suddenly there is liquid pouring out of him along with his orgasm. It is as if his climax spreads out from a single point within his pelvis, pushing out sweat and screams and cum and tears and whatever else it can squeeze out as it hits the edges of his body.

Dream watches, awed, as his cock shoots white onto Hob's tongue, Hob's eyes closing as he groans, collecting all of it before he swallows. But also fluid gushes down, over his folds and along the seam of his ass; when Dream moves a hand he feels it dripping all the way to the small of his back. The liquid is almost as thin as water. It is most certainly not cum, nor is it the same as the lubrication his cunt produces.

It takes another moment for it to click. “Holy fucking… did you just make me squirt?”

Dream looks up to find Hob licking glistening fingers that are no longer in his cunt. Which might be the most erotic, obscene thing he has ever seen and he feels like his brain short circuits a bit. Hob blinks at Dream twice before his own realization dawns. “Have you never done that before?”

“No!” Dream can't help but giggle. “I didn’t know that I could!”

Hob watches, eyes rapt, as Dream takes his own fingers, the ones that have a bit of the fluid on them, and sticks them in his mouth. Slightly bitter, not as alkaline as cum, not as earthy as his cunt.

His Mate watches his every move and looks like he might spontaneously combust. Dream can't resist teasing. “Like something you see?”

Hob actually growls as he lowers Dream's hips to his lap. His fingers, calloused from the instruments he plays and the grips of pistols, slip under Dream, to the top of his ass. Then Hob pulls his hand slowly forward, scraping, over one entrance, then then next, all the way to the base of the dark cock, collecting Dream's fluids in his hand as he goes.

Dream sees only a momentary glint of sunlight off the small pool of liquid cupped in Hob's fingers before they are heading for his mouth. Oh fuck. He opens his mouth, thinking to accept Hob’s offering as it is poured, but then Hob is smearing it, from one cheek, across his open mouth, to the other cheek. Hob tries to pull his hand away but Dream grabs his wrist, licks a long stripe up the inside of his fingers. When he releases his Mate’s wrist he purrs, “Again. More.” And that hits a goddamned button, because Hob repeats the collecting motion quickly, gathering as much as he can, and then turning his hand over as soon as he gets to Dream’s mouth, dribbling the liquid in. He uses Dream's bottom lip to wipe the last dregs off of his skin and then Hob is grabbing Dream by the neck and kissing him something fierce.

His tongue is a lick of fire and it catches on the kindling of Dream's body, creating a blaze that tears through the drow. Lust. It gnashes, claws, in its effort to get out through Dream's skin and if he doesn't get proper fucked right now–

He rips his mouth away from Hob's with a wail. “Fuck your plans. If you don't get your godsbedamned prick into me right the fuck now I am taking the control of this operation away from you, so help mYES!”

Hob drives into him to the hilt and Dream howls like he is worshipping the moon. “Bratty thing, aren't you?” He grabs a fistful of Dream's long white hair and yanks his head back with enough force to make his whole dark torso bend back into a U-shape. It pulls electric pleasure up Dream's spine as Hob sits back on his heels. “Seems you were never broken to saddle. Is that it? Do you need me to train you to be ridden? To be a good mount?”

Oh hell yes.

Two can play that game.

Dream gets a foot up onto Hob's chest and shoves him away hard, forcing him not only out of Dream's body, but also to sprawl backwards and drop his grip on Dream’s hair in shock. At the same time Dream twists, shifting from being on his back to up on all fours and then lowering his chest and face to the ground. It angles his ass up into the air and towards his Mate, and then he lets his knees slide apart. Presenting himself.

“My God…” he hears Hob gasp.

“You think I need training?” he purrs, all seduction as he looks back over his shoulder. “But you haven't even mounted me properly yet.” He hears Hob panting even from a distance. “Come on, lover, ride me hard.”

He can't help but chuckle as Hob scrabbles to comply, crawling up behind him and pressing their thighs together but holding their hips apart. Hob palms both sides of his ass, meager flesh there is, and parts them with groan on his breath. “How hard, dove?”

Dream sways back into his grasp, forcing himself open wider. The stretch feels good, like anticipation. “Pretend you’re hammering nails with your cock.”

Hob’s muttered curses accompany feeling the head of his prick lining up. They are perfectly ready and yet then Hob stops just so that he can gather all of Dream's hair carefully into one rope to loop around his fist. Dream whines and buries his face in his arms. He just… he just needs. Please. Please.

“Alright, baby, alright. I got you.” Hob soothes, free hand petting down Dream's thigh.

Hob fucking into him again is a homecoming; this, this is where he is supposed to be.

The first withdrawal and thrust back in slaps their skin together so hard it sounds like a whip crack. “YES!” Dream gets up on his elbows and digs his fingers into the soil. He feels his magic root him to the ground. “More!”

Hob tugs on Dream's hair hard enough to make him yelp. “You’re here to get fucked, so take what I give you. Brat.”

And doesn't that make lust curl hot in his belly. He whines and lets his head drop limply between his shoulders, as far as the grip on his hair will allow, hunches to rest his forehead on the ground. “Please Hob. I need… please.” Hob complies swiftly this time, fucking into Dream with these slow rhythmic thrusts that hit like a battering ram. He feels each one shake his very foundations. “So good,” Dream cries, “Yes! So good!”

It is the beat of a drum and Dream falls under its sway. He is hypnotized by it, losing his higher faculties and left only to scream his pleasure as he tries desperately to get fucked faster. But Hob continues the basic rhythm for what might as well be forever, until Dream is sobbing into the ground and smearing mud on his cheek as he hiccups out soft pleas.

Finally, he falls silent, nothing left in him but the ache of his need. And that's when he hears Hob's quiet chanting.

Pace like a drum.

Chanting.

It is a spell.

Hob is casting a spell using Dream's body as an instrument and the rush of arousal at the thought nearly makes him pass out.

“Was wondering when you’d figure it out,” the bard laughs, hands sliding down Dream's thighs and back up. “If your body is meant to birth children, then this spell is for you.” Hob sings one last phrase in a language Dream can't parse right now and then the magic snaps into place.

It takes a moment, but as Hob fucks back in Dream realizes what is happening: his cock is getting larger. It is incremental, but that stretch definitely wasn't there a minute ago, that insistent press against the insides of Dream.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” he moans, helpless to the rising tide. “So full. Oh gods.”

The bastard above him chuckles. “Not even halfway done, pet. This spell is calibrated exactly to the receiving party’s limits. Gonna find out exactly how much your pretty body can take, then fuck you loose on that. So next time you can take just a little bit more. And then a little more. And a little more. Until you can take my fist.” Dream wails at that. “Until you can take my fist wrapped around my cock.” The thought makes his entire body shake. “You like that idea? Want me to jack myself off buried inside your cute cunt? Move my fist faster and faster, use a finger to curl up into your G-spot, make you squirt around me…”

He keeps talking, but Dream can't make out the words anymore over the whistling of blood rushing in his ears, over the throbbing, thrilling fullness thrumming deep in his body. It is so fucking good.

But then on the next measured thrust Hob drives in deeper as well as wider and Dream loses the last thread of sanity he ever had.

Digging his fingers into the ground like claws, the druid snarls and uses a surge of strength to pull himself off of Hob and then quickly fuck himself back, feeling how Hob's cock gets a little bigger with the in and out motion. This spell was meant to be taken slowly, but Dream needs more and he needs it now.

Dream rolls his body again, making Hob groan and his hands tighten to bruising around Dream’s hips. “I told you to ride me,” he growls, “So fuck me like you damned well mean it. Fuck me like yoAAAAHHHH!!”

He screeches as Hob pulls him off the ground by only his hair, arms dangling and fingers brushing the ground, until he can get his hand around Dream's mouth. Dream lets his weight sag into Hob's grip and the gunslinger has no problem holding him up. “Fine, you want me to use this spell to ruin you?!” Hob bucks twice in rapid succession, the spell working each time and Dream splays his legs wider, as if that will relieve the building pressure.

It doesn't.

Dream mewls into Hob's hand. “Do you want that?!?” Hob roars.

He nods vigorously, as much as he can with Hob's large palm across his face, and presses backwards as much as possible.

“So be it!” Hob releases Dream's face, letting him flail to catch himself before he falls into the dirt. Then Dream hears the sound of Hob spitting and before he knows it a wet finger is sliding down the cleft of his ass. “If you want to be filled so badly, then I will make sure to fill you completely.”

On the next delicious thrust of Hob’s cock deep into his cunt a finger drives into Dream's ass and the noise he makes is nothing short of a squeal. “YES!”

It is so much. Fullness and pressure and stretching and it doesn't hurt in the least, more like it feels as if his body was made for this, to take and take and take. And on each pounding thrust in Hob gets bigger and bigger, and just when Dream thinks he can take no more, the stretch deepens and his body accepts another finger or another millimeter.

“Fuck, look at you,” Hob's hoarse whisper is tinged in awe. “Never seen the spell last like this. Never seen a body so greedily take more and more and more. So fucking perfect. And all mine. Mine.”

“Yes! Yours!” Dream wriggles, letting his shoulder and face take his weight as he reaches back and grabs behind his knees, pulls his legs further apart. “Please, Hob, wanna come like this. Please touch me, lover. Mate.”

Hob groans and the hand that is not buried in Dream’s ass finds its way to his cock. It barely takes two strokes before Dream is coming, shaking and screaming and oh fuck if Hob just keeps going…

“Don't stop,” he pants, Hob still driving into him, wider each time, making his body sing, “Oh fuck don't stop gonna gonna gonna—HOB!”

Dream howls as he comes again, writhing as Hob keeps thrusting, faster and harder, his fist still tight and pumping Dream's cock, and then Hob’s fist gets tighter and twists. It is too much so much too much, but then Hob fucks into him harder and his vice-tight hand starts twisting on every upstroke and he can't possibly not no oh gods oh gods!

He cries through his third orgasm in as many minutes, overwhelmed and overstimulated and Hob keeps fucking him, even as Dream’s entire body goes liquid and he slumps onto the mossy ground. Hob’s fingers leave his ass with a slick squelching noise and then his Mate’s whole body is pressing Dream down flat, legs splayed, his hips still pistoning his spelled cock in and out of Dream's cunt. “That's it baby, I finally hit your edge. Not gonna get any bigger than this today. You good to let me keep going? Want me to come in this pretty pussy of yours?”

“Yes, please, yes.” Dream rasps, throat raw from his screaming.

Hob presses his chest down onto Dream's back until not even a molecule of air is between them, his breathing heavy behind Dream's pointed ear. “Want you to do this to me, too, darling. Cast the spell and fuck me until I am gaping and exhausted.” He fucks fast and stays deep, never pulling out very far, and Dream doesn't know what is better, the images Hob paints with his words or how easily Hob‘s now-huge cock rams into his cervix on every thrust. “So good around me. You can already take so much… can't wait to see how far I can stretch you. Can't wait to try that spell of yours, fucking drown you in my cum, so stark against your gorgeous skin. Probably not healthy to cast it more than once in a day, but I’m nothing if not reckless. Wanna flood your cunt, your ass, and your stomach.” Dream moans, shivering and helpless beneath him. “Make you lick up whatever spills out of your holes. Swallow it down. Make sure you take all of it. Then plug your holes, gag your mouth, keep it all inside.”

It is like Hob had seen the beginnings of Dream's most depraved fantasies and he can't help but continue them. “That's… I want that so badly. And more, Hob. I want more. After all that I want you to tie me up, wrists to ankles behind me,” Hob makes a noise like a sob and buries his face into Dream's neck, rhythm stuttering, “And then I want you to spend all over my cock. Because I haven't come yet, you haven't let me.” That pulls a whine from Hob. “And after all that there will be paltry cum left in you, but that's all I get. That's all I get to use to rut against the hard floor. Smacking my hips down onto the wet tiles, but at that point any contact would feel like heaven. Would come so hard, for you, my love.”

A hitch in Hob's breath and he starts slowly pulling out as he climaxes, drawing it out using Dream's body just like he has used Dream's hand in the past, cock twitching wildly. He lengthens the pleasure enough that he gets to push back into Dream at the very end of his orgasm, gets to bury himself to the hilt as his last little jolt of overstimulation.

Panting, prick softening within Dream, Hob lets all of his weight collapse onto his lover. “Fuck, you’re amazing. I can't believe I get to have you.” He nuzzles into Dream's hair. “My beautiful Dream.”

“My Hob,” he sighs, “my Mate.”

#Dreamling #Urban Fantasy AU #Solarpunk AU #drow druid Dream #gunslinger bard half-elf Hob #both are investigators #partners to lovers #Pavonis writes

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nilolemillion · 28 days ago

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Okay, so here’s this Batfamily headcanon I’ve been thinking about.

Jason Todd takes Fridays as his ‘day off’ to ‘rest,’ (because of course, none of the Batfamily actually rests). Tim Drake, on the other hand, claims Wednesdays as his day off, mainly to balance out his detective work with tactical planning. But here’s the twist: no matter what their schedule looks like, every Thursday, without fail, they all come together for brunch.

And when I say brunch, I don’t mean a peaceful, chill, serene break. No, it’s basically their weekly therapy session, except it’s filled with prime shit-talking. They spend the time roasting each other, complaining about Bruce, dragging the villain of the week, or venting about how their respective teams are ‘a bunch of dumbasses’ (even though they’d probably die for them).

Now picture this:

Bruce needs Tim to sign some important Wayne Enterprises paperwork- Tim’s the one leading the project. So Bruce heads over to his office, expecting to just drop the papers off and get it done. But when he arrives, Tim’s secretary politely informs him, “It’s Thursday, sir.” And Bruce just has to smile, play it cool, and respond with, “Oh, right! Silly me. Almost forgot. Thanks, Margaret!” as he walks away.

But inside? Bruce is dying. The best detective in the world, and he has no idea what ‘It’s Thursday’ even means?! He’s fucking pissed. How did he miss something so obvious? But of course, he doesn’t ask- he would rather dive off a rooftop than admit he doesn’t know something. Obviously.

Meanwhile, over in Roy Harper’s world, Roy is losing his mind trying to find Jason. He’s checked everywhere. Everywhere. He knows Jason can be sneaky when he wants to be, but this is different. Usually, Jason’s more chill when it comes to Roy. At some point, Roy’s genuinely wondering if Jason’s turned this into a really unannounced, fucking terrible game of hide-and-seek.

How on earth do you lose a guy who’s 6’0”, loaded with guns, and wearing that ridiculously bold red helmet? Seriously, how?! Roy eventually gives up and leaves a voicemail: “Okay man, I’m out. I’m done playing, I’m not giving you the victory tho.”

And yet, right at that very moment, there’s Jason. Sitting across from Tim in a small coffee shop in New York. They’re completely at ease, sipping espresso and eating waffles, chocolate cupcakes, and all the sweet stuff Jason can barely handle because he’s clogged up from all the sugar.

Jason, mid-rant, says, “I swear to God, Dickhead needs to learn how to set some boundaries. The way he lets everyone be so co-dependent on him is both impressive and pathetic.”

Without missing a beat, Tim, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just call Dick a dozen times three days ago because he’d had six espressos and was spiraling from anxiety, responds with the most sarcastic tone: “Tell me about it. I was thinking of giving him a ‘How to Set Limits’ book for his birthday.”

And don’t even start with “ugh that so not canon” stfu bitch. Here you go. The comic is Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011), which is probably in my top ten from all time, even tho I love the 2016 one. This is the issue #8, 10/10 totally recommended.

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stsg420 · 5 months ago

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stsg420’s fanfic recs!!! (on-going)

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SMUTTY CONTENT WILL LOOK LIKE THIS

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STSG

Knife-Edged Butterfly -> I rated this: 20/10

• suguru is a sexy girl-dad stripper. satoru is a “retired” assassin/special agent who loves chicken wings & annoying nanami (crazy!!!!) mahito is a deranged bitch trying to kill everyone. but holy fucking shit???? this was so amazing and the fluff was probably the most well-written and comforting fluff I've ever encountered on the internet. I can’t even explain how articulate and amazing the writing and characterizations in this fic are. This is my #1.

Coanda Effect -> I rated this: 11/10

• formula one au. I’m sure y’all have seen it everywhere. there’s a reason for that. this fic right here has the potential to be my favorite stsg fic EVER written. the writing. the depth. the character progression. the intertwining plots. the relationships. the drama. oh my fucking god. I could go onnnnn and onnnn. there’s not too much smut but it’s perfect. absolutely perfect. go binge read RIGHT NOW ITS ALMOST FINISHED!!!!

There you are -> I rated this: 9.9/10

• set during the 10 years after geto defects. they meet up, because of course they do. they fuck each other and love each other and leave each other like always. it’s sad and hot and angry and bitter and so so so canon. the diction and writing style perfectly encapsulates their relationship. nurse!geto makes an appearance :)))))) do not read if you’re having a particularly sad stsg night (speaking from experience)

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GETO

Washing hair and the quiet acceptance of being loved -> I rated this: 10/10

• this fic right here. the ultimate comfort geto fic (until mine is released🫡). I’m telling you this makes everything feel better. just 1k+ words of the fmc taking care of geto. because he is a princess and the loml and deserves nothing but the best care and treatment.

Ausländer -> I rated this: 9.9/10

• outlaw!geto, officer!gojo, and a badass fmc. she literally builds/runs her own town. this is a geto/fmc fic but there is unresolved tension with stsg. let me tell you, this is a work of ART. a MASTERPIECE. I wish I could get this tattooed on my brain. the fmc is soooo well written and has amazing depth. this is some delicious wild wild west type shit. lots of guns and saloons and chases on horses!!!! fucking incredible. I strongly urge you to read this.

Spin the Bottle -> I rated this: 9.8/10

• y’all already know. college au where suguru is your best friend, has the fattest crush on you & needs just a litttttlee bit of liquid courage to cross the line. it’s fantastic. it’s scrumptious. it’s indulging. it’s cover girl. I reread this twice a month. not joking. this is college suguru to his core and you can’t change my mind.

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thinkingofausername · 2 months ago

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Micah Bell headcanons:

He's only ever seen sleeping after he's gotten drunk so I imagine he has nightmares (aside from the fact he has extreme trust issues and can't let his guard down enough to sleep)

He didn't have a relationship with his mother or she died when he was little or she was abused by her husband. He never mentions her, we don't know anything about her. We know what his view on women is like. I imagine he got it from his father. He definitely wasn't born out of love

He took the majority of his father's wrath. We know firstborn Bells are traditionally named the same, so I believe there was a lot of pressure there

He's actually not all that cynical. He wants to be. All that talk of "nothing matters" is him trying to convince himself

He secretly wants companionship. It's been confirmed that he wanted Dutch to be a part of some sort of family of his. I don't think he's as much of a lone wolf as he wishes he was

He has abandonement issues. His brother left him and made another family and it affected Micah. It's seen in the fact he wrote to Amos as well as his behavior after his brother's answer. After Amos cuts ties with him for good he says "I want tomorrow to mean more than today. I want this whole damn shitshow to have some kinda meanin I haven't understood". He secretly resented his brother for doing what he never could - make a connection. He can only talk to people if he's riling them up

His father definitely forced him to perform his first kill. Probably when he was very young, so he would "toughen up"

In theory, I can see him having a somewhat good relationship. If his partner was tough they would have his respect. Trust would definitely take a while, vulnerability even more so, but I think he would show care in his own way - being posessive and protective, letting them handle his guns and horse (peak trust). We know how much he cares for his belongings. There would probably be passionate, adrenaline-filled sex after action, patching up wounds, cleaning guns together. A "partners in crime" sort of thing

He'd probably like bites and scratches during sex. Marking up his partner as well

He gave into the "hardened outlaw" life because he believes those are the cards he was dealt and the only ones he would ever have. He probably never thought he had a chance to be anything else

He definitely has a phobia of dogs or something similar. He very avidly reacted to Cain every time he got close, he even flinched one time

He genuinely laughed with Javier when they were drunk. He even said "I love you fellas". There was definitely a humane side of him, very deep down

His father never held any pride for him, god forbid praise. He craves hostility because it's the only thing he knows. He purposefully riles people up and laughs off every insult he receives

He obviously held genuine respect and admiration for Dutch. He wasn't just using him or manipulating him or buttering him up for betrayal. I genuinely believe he was looking for a place of his own. He never really showed an authoritative side or desire to lead. He said it himself that he's a survivor. It wasn't ambition, it was just searching for shelter and stability. That's why he ratted - the stability was gone

He died miserable. I could go on and on about his death but the main points are - he calmly accepted getting shot, he shrugged and silently fell to his death. That was not a man who saw a future for himself

I left the most biased headcanon for the end. Not to be the "I can fix him" girl but I genuinely believe a softer side of him could've been drawn out. I believe he could've had a "ride or die" person of his own. Two survivors, watching each other's back, suspicious of others but not each other, enjoying the uncertainty and freedom of life, two loose ends but tied together

#micah bell #micah bell x reader #soft micah bell #headcanon #rdr2 #dutch van der linde #amos bell #writing #angst #psychology

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 month ago

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HIT ‘EM UP! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it?

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: SMUT BELOW. GO TOUCH GRASS AFTER YOU READ THIS. LOVE UUUU!! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

youtube

EIGHTEEN: POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME PT. 2.

When you leave Gojo and Geto stunned in your wake as you leave the pool table, you start to rethink your decisions and “big talk”.

Gone is the bubbly, bold feeling you felt that the whiskey and tequila helped you reach. You felt like you could fly with the liquor in you. But now in replacement of that false confidence is a feeling close to dread and anxiety that sobers you immediately. The throng of sweaty bodies and boots you try to walk between makes it even worse.

There are too many people. Too much noise. You’re becoming overstimulated. But…you look back at the place you left Geto and Gojo standing by the pool table, but a person on the dance floor is standing in your line of view. However, you know that they are there, watching. Waiting for you to act on your big talk.

So you turn around and look for the first hot guy you see. You find him standing with his boys by the stage, laughing into his beer. He is big and husky with a thick beard, tattoos, and pretty eyes. Handsome enough. You stand a foot away from him, mustering up the courage to catch his attention.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft and wobbly. Your voice is carried away by the upbeat guitars playing.

You say it again, louder: “Hey!” He finally turns to look at you and his eyes do a one scan over your body. Lust and interest immediately appears within them. You aren’t sure if you like or dislike it.

“Wanna dance?” You ask, still riding on some of the liquid confidence. Wordlessly, the man nods and offers one hand while holding his beer in the other.

You take it and drag him away from his friends who watch on in shock and envy. You find a place in the middle of floor surrounded by other people twirling, moving, and stomping their boots. Not even thinking about it, you place your hands on the man’s shoulders and begin to move to the beat, barely moving your hips but just swaying. You can’t bring yourself to do much else. But your dance partner seems to enjoy it either way.

A big, happy grin stretches across his face as one hand finds your waist. “God, you are fine,” he laughs. “Where the fuck you come from, honey? Heaven?”

You can smell the beer on his breath and instantly recoil. Suddenly, you don’t want to dance with him anymore. His big, beefy arm snakes around your waist and holds you close to him, pulling you flush against his body. “Whoa,” you say, your pulse picking up as your fight or flight kicks in. “What are you—“

“You here with somebody?” he whispers. “What are you doin’ after this tonight?” His hand travels down to your ass, squeezing it in your jeans. You think of a way to tell him to fuck off without causing a scene, but the sight of familiar blue eyes behind some shades and silvery white hair under a cowboy hat behind him stop you short.

The man senses someone standing behind him and turns, finding Gojo there with a smile on his face. “Not goin’ home with you,” he answers for you. “Sorry, pal, but she’s with me.”

You feel another warm presence behind you and turn to face the big chest of Geto Suguru. His brown eyes stare unwaveringly into the ones of the man with his hand still gripping your butt. “Us, actually,” he adds and he doesn’t sound like he wants that statement to be challenged.

But the man doesn’t read the room, probably too drunk to do so or realize who the fuck he’s messing with. “Yeah, whatever,” he scoffs and grips you to him, a sloppy smirk on his face. “Anyways–”

Gojo is suddenly beside Geto and forcefully turns the man around by his shoulder. “Didn’t you hear us?” he says, his smile not so nice anymore. It is sharp and tense, daring his opponent to make a move. “We said she’s with us. Now, I suggest you take this loss like a man instead of reachin’ for that piece in your pocket.”

Your eyes flick down to the man’s hand, finding the one that was on your behind now at his holster. Gojo peers at the man over his shades. “Trust me: you don’t want this smoke. Not with us.” He takes off his hat as does Geto, giving the man a view of their recognizable faces.

The man’s angered expression fades, replaced with astonishment and fear. “Shit,” he exhales. “Y-You’re…you’re G–”

“Geto & Gojo, the Gunslingers, in the flesh,” Gojo interrupts, his grin only widening. “I told you: you don’t want this. Just put that tail between your legs and leave so we won’t have no problems.” The man looks like he wants to protest or start shooting, but you can see the way he’s shivering. “Leave,” Geto demands, his voice deep and harsh. “Now.”

Quickly, the man scrambles off and disappears in the crowd. You almost feel bad for him, but he shouldn’t have gotten handsy. “Thanks,” you weakly say, barely looking at the duo. Ghetto shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “Don’t mention it. Looked like you could’ve used some help with him…not that you couldn’t handle him yourself.”

“Yeah,” you dumbly reply, suddenly wanting to lay down. “U-Um…thanks again.” You begin to walk off on wobbly knees, not sure where you’re going in a sea of dancing people, but Gojo’s hand on your wrist stops you. “Where you goin’?” he asks, looking confused. “I thought we had a dance.”

You blink at him, puzzled. “What?” you ask. “B-But I thought you two didn’t—“

“That was before we realized how horny these guys are in here,” Gojo chuckles. “Can’t let you get scooped up by another horn dog, especially before you get your reward.”

He circles around your back while you face Geto and his goddamn, big ass chest that you can see yourself biting, licking, and snuggling against late at night. Maybe you are drunk. “He's right. You won fair and square, so how can we deny you your prize?” A smirk plays on his lips as he puffs on a new cigarette, the smoke curling out of his nostrils.

Suddenly, you can’t think straight. Your head feels fuzzy and heavy, especially when Gojo leans in towards your ear. You feel yourself sweat with him so close to you. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere till we get that dance, darlin’,” he whispers. And it sounds like a promise. He then leans away and smiles, kind and playful. “C’mon,” he coos, reaching his hand out for you.

The band’s music is lively still, a guitar’s strings mingling with an upbeat piano and fiddle. Without thinking, you take Gojo’s hand and he turns you to face him. “There we go!” he laughs. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He begins to move his feet to the music, albeit a little messily because of the booze. You giggle, following his movements while Geto stands behind you. He isn’t close enough to box you between him and Gojo, but you can still feel the heat radiating off of his body. “Try not to trip, Satoru,” he teases. “You know you’ve got two left feet.”

Gojo scowls at his partner as he turns you around to face the front where the stage is. “Says you, bitch!” he retorts and does his best to follow the moves of the dance floor that has now turned into a line dance section.

You turn to Geto on your left and watch him follow the movements, hands clapping and body moving in time with everyone else. “I didn’t know you could dance, Suguru!” you giggle among the music.

His eyes, gleaming with mirth, stare into yours under his hat. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, little lady,” he replies, his voice finding your ears. The petname strokes something inside of you that you can’t identify or understand right now. But you’re having too much fun to care.

When Geto takes your hand and pulls you to him like the dance calls for, the fun only increases. He twirls and spins you to and fro, making you laugh harder than you ever have before. You feel dizzy and giddy, your face clammy with sweat and drunk off of your enjoyment.

Suddenly, Gojo pops up on your left and pouts at Geto. “Hey, stop stealin’ her away,” he complains. “I wanna dance with her too!” He is suddenly standing behind you, his hands in both of yours. Your tongue feels too heavy to protest. Plus…you like it. Geto rolls his eyes as he puffs on his cigarette. “You big baby. Good thing the song is slowin’ down.”

And it is. The upbeat tempo has taken more of a softer tone as the guitar strums along to a man singing above his woman wearing some nice Levi jeans. The woman stands beside him, crooning into the mic with him. You begin to unconsciously sway to the beat, feeling relaxed. Geto smiles at you. “I take it you like this song?” he asks, humor in his eyes.

You nod though you don’t know it. He takes a step forward while Geto stays posted behind you. While both are at a respectful distance, you still feel boxed in between them like they are two sexy cells walls and you’re a prisoner. “Wait, wait,” you protest though they haven’t done much of anything yet. “I-I don’t know how to…slow dance.”

The laughs that leave their lips are soft and sexy, making heat pool in your stomach. “That ain’t no problem,” Gojo says. “Just sway with us.” He gently places his hands on your hips and moves you side to side. Geto does the same, swaying, and you do your best to follow him and Gojo. You slowly shuffle your feet, matching their tempo. Soon, you’re all like matching ships swaying side to side on the ocean.

“Juuust like that, little miss,” Gojo coaxes. “See? You’re a natural!” You inwardly smile at the praise and encouragement despite how stiff you feel. You can feel Gojo’s chest against the back of your head with how tall he is. Geto ain’t that much better. You have to crane your neck to look up at him as his big hands encircle your waist.

He presses closer to you, engulfing you in his scent. “Are my hands okay here?” he softly asks, his voice in your ear. You jerkingly nod, your body suddenly not able to function properly. You want to put your hands on him or Gojo, but your arms feel like noodles.

You don’t look up at Geto, too afraid that if you do, you’ll melt, spontaneously combust, or turn to stone. “Y’know, that was some trick ya did earlier with my cigarette,” he whispers. “You ever shotgun before?”

You feel yourself shudder at the gruffness in his tone. “No,” you reply, your voice small and soft. Gojo leans in close, having listened to the whole conversation. “Want him to show you?” he whispers, his voice like silk against your ear. “You just part those lips and he’ll blow smoke in. We do it all the time.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol or the intoxicating heat you feel between you, but you agree and nod your head. Geto wastes no time hollowing his cheeks to inhale the smoke before leaning in towards your mouth. He only leaves a few inches of space between your lips as he blows a steady stream into your mouth.

Your eyes instinctively close as the smoke stings them while your lips form a small O. A small hum leaves your lips as the smoke invades your senses. “Nice, right?” Gojo chuckles, his hands still on your hips. “I’m feelin’ kinda jealous though.” Geto passes the cig to him and you turn your head to face him now. “You want another one?” he purrs. “Ask nicely.”

You know you’re walking through some forbidden territory here. You know that you’re teetering on a tightrope. But the forbidden fruit has been bitten and you can’t deny how good it tastes. “P-Please,” you weakly say.

Gojo’s smile fades as he inhales the smoke and bends his knees slightly to meet you. He leans in and blows the smoke into your waiting mouth, his pink lips just inches from yours. From behind you, Geto stands so rigidly behind you that you almost think he’s frozen, but his hand on your forearms steady you as you stare up into Gojo’s handsome face. You want to see his eyes.

Unthinkingly, you slowly slide his sunglasses off of his face, revealing his ocean-blue eyes to you. “Y/N,” he exhales, his name sounding so forbidden coming from his lips. Those sapphire eyes flicker down to your mouth, causing his Adam’s Apple to bob. You don’t know who leaned in first, but suddenly, you’re kissing.

This kiss is passionate and soft like your first one in the hot springs, but also eager and yearning. His lips move against yours like a dance, pushing and pulling, letting you lead and then taking the lead for himself. He softly moans against your mouth, his hands sliding over your hips but never going any further than that. You almost wish he would.

When you pull away, Gojo stares at you as if you’re from another planet, his cheeks flushed and lips slightly plump from the stimulation. His eyes flick upward somewhat to Geto and it’s enough to make you realize that he’s still there. You turn and lock your arm back around his head, pulling him between the nook of your neck and shoulder. “You too,” you whisper and press your lips to his.

Geto doesn’t stop you or push you away. In fact, he welcomes the kiss, his lips moving just as easily against yours like water. You can taste the ashy nicotine and whiskey on his tongue. You never knew both could be aphrodisiacs to you, but they are now. You can’t get enough of his taste, your tongue sliding against his. His hands roam your stomach while Gojo’s lips caress your neck, soft sighs and moans traveling between you. It is magic. This is magic.

Suddenly, Geto abruptly pulls away, panting heavily. He shares another look with Gojo before his jaw tightens and he stubs his cigarette out between his fingers. “C’mon,” he says and takes your hand. He begins to lead you away from the dance floor with Gojo following close behind, his hand protectively on your back.

Your feet move on their own, the world slightly off kilter from the kiss. “Where are we goin’?” you ask above the music. Geto barely turns to you. “Somewhere that’s not here,” he replies, his voice sounding gruff and thick, like it’s taking everything in him to not jump you right here.

You flush, realizing that you all just made out on the dance floor in front of everyone…and you liked it. What the hell is going to happen once they get you alone? You can only find out what.

So you let the duo lead you out of the back exit of the barn into the backwoods where the drinkers drink, the smokers smoke, and the couples dry hump and make love in the woods. “Not here,” Gojo says. “Down the road. Let’s keep goin’.”

Geto guides you down the dirt road away from the barn. You follow him, barely noticing when the sounds of the party fade away and all that fills the air are the sound of crickets and a lone hooting owl. You suddenly find yourself at a lake, the body of water still and dark.

You come to a lake house down the road that Geto easily kicks open. The door’s hinges loosen and he opens it to reveal a relatively clean, wooden living room with a sofa, an old table, and farming tools stern about the floor. You have no idea whose lake house this is, but you find that you don’t care.

“Inside,” Gojo whispers, gripping your hand as he guides you into the dark lake house. The room smells dainty of lake water and dust. The only light is of the moon cutting into two small windows overlooking the lake. The silvery light illuminates the men before you, highlighting the lust in their eyes. Despite that, neither one of them make a move.

“You okay?” Geto asks, concern evident in his silky voice.

Despite the twirl of anxiety in your stomach, you nod. They stand at arm’s length, giving you the space to leave if you want. But you don’t.

“Tell us you want this,” Gojo whispers, his voice hoarse and wanton. Your body yearns to be touched and grabbed. You want to be held in their arms. So you give in to temptation and alcohol. “Yes,” you softly reply. “I want this.”

Immediately, the two close in on you in the darkness and give you exactly what you want. Gojo stands in front of you and cups your face in his hands to kiss you while Geto stands behind you, his fingers and lips all over your skin.

Your kiss with Gojo is hungry and eager, both of you pulling off each other’s hats to tangle your fingers in each other’s hair. He pulls away, softly laughing at you. “You’re so respondent, darlin’,” he chuckles. “Mmm, you really must want this.”

He ain’t fronting though. He wants this just as much as you do. You can tell from the way his fingers glide down your ass and his lips move back to connect with yours in a hasty, panty kiss.

“Stop hoggin’ her, Satoru,” Geto impatiently growls from behind you. “You need to be nice and share.” Gojo smirks at his partner. “But she seems like she enjoys my fingers,” he replies. “And my mouth.”

His tongue glides against your suddenly, making you taste the whiskey off of his tastebuds. He presses his big body into yours, your thighs clamping around one of his legs wedged between them. There, you feel his bulge pressing into your pelvis. You gasp at the feeling, especially when it’s multiplied by two. You feel Geto’s hard-on press into your backside as his big hands glide up to grope your tits.

Gojo pulls away to watch his partner’s sneaky fingers play with the buttons on your flannel. “You mind if we share, baby?” he whispers. “Geto is a tit man too, if you remember.” You do. You remember that starry night when you were bitten, feeling Geto’s big, calloused hands and tongue caressing your hard nipples.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to feel it again from both of them. “Go ahead,” you whisper. “Taste me.” You push your chest into Geto’s hands, shivering at the soft groan that escapes him. Slowly, as if to give you time to stop him, he buttons your top until your balconette bra is revealed to them.

You take it upon yourself to reach behind you to unhook it, fumbling somewhat because of the alcohol fog. Geto helps you, freeing your breasts from the cups. The men stare at your tits for a moment, hypnotized by the brown areolas and how heavy your hanging fruit seems. Wordlessly, Gojo takes your hand and leads you to the ratty couch, your bra ending up somewhere on the floor.

Geto joins him on the couch and the two sit together while you stand before them, your breasts in their faces. Together, they reach for you and latch their mouths around each of your brown mountain peaks of arousal while their hands explore your body. You tilt your head back, melting from their hot breath and wet tongues caressing your nipples.

“Fuck, they’re beautiful,” Geto murmurs. “You’re absolutely perfect, Y/N, shit.” He sounds as if he can hardly believe it.

It doesn’t take long for your arousal to reach its peak. You feel hot and tingly all over. Your heart races. Your mind is fogged. And mostly noticeably and annoyingly, your pussy is clenching and soaking your panties. The soft moans and lewd tongue flicks filling the air just about finish you off. You want more of them.

Gently, you pull yourself away from the Gunslingers and smile at their bewildered expressions. You kneel down before them, relishing the way they follow your every move until you’re on your knees for them. A slow smirk slithers across Gojo’s face. “Ya want somethin’ else, darlin’?” he asks in the darkness. “Give me your words.”

Your greedy eyes tick down to their hardened dicks beneath their slacks, pushing against the fabric. “I want you both in my mouth,” you boldly answer. The duo is silent for a moment, shook by your response.

“Both?” they ask, shocked by your request. Gojo shrugs, looking down for it. “Well, if it’s what you want…” He unbuckles his pants first and then Geto follows suit, both of them loosening their belts and unbuttoning their flies.

You bite your lip in anticipation for what’s to come. When their cocks finally spring from their underwear, you gape at them. They’re both big, thick, and throbbing for you. While Gojo is a bit thicker and his pubics are shaven like his toned stomach, Geto has a happy trail and his cock is longe with a hook that makes it lean toward his tummy.

You haven’t seen a cock in so long…let alone two! “So pretty,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself. The duo softly chuckle. “Why, thank you,” Gojo chuckles. “That’s the first I’ve heard. Damn, you really must be drunk.”

Ignoring him, you immediately reach for them and wrap your hand around each. Both cocks throb in response to your hands making contact with them. “Jesus, Y/N,” Geto hisses, swallowing harshly. “Give a guy time to prepare, huh?”

“I’m sorry…did I hurt you?” You go to take your hand away, but he stops you, his tone growing softer. “No, no, darlin’, you misunderstood me. Your hand just felt too fuckin’ good and I’m…sensitive.” You can feel him tense in your hold, his thighs clenched. Are you really making him feel that good?

Gojo cackles beside him, his sunglasses sliding down his nose and revealing his sapphire blue eyes. “You can’t handle it,” he sing-songs. “Go ahead, baby, and give him more of that soft, pretty hand. You can handle two, can’tcha?” Oh, yes…yes, you can. You show them just how by spitting copious amounts of spit on each cock and stroking their shafts up and down, getting used to the feel of them.

You watch the men from beneath your lashes, relishing the way they moan, sigh, and hum from your ministrations. It feels so intoxicating. You feel so powerful making such intimidating men melt under your little hands. You decide to take things further and lick up Gojo’s cock, sucking lightly on the bulbous, pink head.

“Fuck,” he moans to the ceiling, the sound going straight to your pussy. Geto chuckles beside him, albeit breathless from your stroking. “Now who can’t handle it?”

Gojo ignores him, his full attention on you. “Shit, baby,” he sighs. “Y’know, your hand is good an’ all, but I need to feel that pretty mouth too.” He bites his perfect, pink bottom lip, putty in your hands. “Please,” he begs, the moonlight highlighting the yearning in his eyes. “Can you put me in your mouth, doll?”

You’ve never seen the gunslinger look so desperate. So pathetic. It’s so sexy. “Since you asked so nicely…” You wrap your lips around him once more, but you go deeper, bobbing your head up and down his cock. He feels so warm in your mouth and his pre-cum coats your tongue.

“God!” he groans, his hand tangling in your hair. “That’s so fuckin’ good.”

Geto hums in agreement as he watches you work your mouth up and down his partner's dick. “It certainly is,” he agrees. “I’m almost inclined to steal her from you.” You suddenly pop off of Geto’s cock and place your mouth around Geto this time. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, titling his thick neck back. His coal eyes roll back in pleasure, making pleasure and power surge through you.

You switch between the two for a while, giving them each equal amounts of attention. When you suck one, you stroke the other, moving in tandem with your own speed and tempo. “Such a good girl takin’ two dicks at the same time,” Gojo coos. “You like all this attention, don’t you?”

You’re shocked that you even respond, your mouth wrapped around Gojo’s thick cock. “Mmm-ph!” you mumble. You’re even more shocked at how much you love giving them head. Such different sizes. Such different shapes. Such different flavors. Both of them big and hard. All for you.

Gojo wraps your hair around his fist, giving you a tug that makes your pussy throb. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, darlin’. Just keep suckin’.” You do just that, taking him deeper down your throat. His moans are damn near slutty and desperate as you give him throat, your saliva slipping down his balls. “Yes, like that, good girl!”

You do the same thing to Geto too, stroking his cock with your throat. He doesn’t even move as you do it though you can tell he is desperate from the way his thighs clench under your hands. “Goddamn, this mouth,” he groans, shuddering under your touch. You up your speed, bobbing faster and deeper, taking him down your throat despite the sting of your eyes and the ache in your jaw.

When Geto’s moans grow loud, you know that he’s close. “Fuck, baby, stop,” he pants. “I’m about to cum!” He grabs you, forcing you to lift your head. Gojo leans over and wipes the spit from your mouth. “Mmm, me too,” he sighs, fisting his cock in replacement of yours. “You need a break, little lady. I bet those knees are achin’.”

They are, but you barely paid attention. You were too busy enjoying sucking the Gunslingers’ dicks to notice. Gojo suddenly scoots over and crooks his finger at you in a ‘come hither’ motion. “Just come over here,” he coaxes you. Geto helps you off of the floor on your wobbly legs and brings you closer to the couch. Despite the darkness, you see the lust sparkling in them. “Bend over,” he demands and you do so like a puppet on some strings.

Once you’re on all fours between the duo, Geto slides your shorts down without even unzipping them, revealing your ass to them. “God, look at this ass,” he growls, taking a palmful of one of your cheeks. “I’ve been starin’ at it all night.” His fingers feel good massaging the flesh, making you moan.

Gojo ogles at your behind too, still stroking himself. “Luckily, we get it all to ourselves now.” Suddenly, he tilts your head up to meet his eyes. They twinkle and gleam at you. “Do me a favor, baby: suck my cock while Sugu eats you out, okay? Make me feel good while he makes you feel good.”

It may be the alcohol or the arousal, but that idea sounds perfect to you. You lay your head in Gojo’s lap where he feeds you his cock while Geto slides your panties to the side. “Fuck,” he sighs at the sight of your swollen, wet pussy. His tongue suddenly slides against your folds, making you moan around Gojo’s cock. “That’s a good girl,” he moans, his hand in your hair. “How’s she taste, Sugu?”

If the sloppy sounds of Geto’s tongue exploring your pussy isn’t an answer, his delighted moans are. Each moan sends vibrations throughout your cunt, making you shudder and quake against his mouth. You can’t help but whine around Gojo’s cock at the magical feelings the long-haired outlaw gives you. Even his fingers feel good. He uses two of them to rub your clit while his tongue gently probes your hole, exploring the ins and outs of you.

A symphony of moans and lewd, wet sounds drift through the dank, damp air of the lakehouse. The distant sounds of crickets and the rustling of trees make this feel almost romantic. There is no one but you and them, and that feels damn good.

You can feel that knot in your core tightening, threatening to snap the more Geto eats you out. You pop off of Gojo’s cock, panting heavily. “Sugu,” you whine. “I’m gonna cum soon!”

You’re so drunk off of this feeling that you barely realize that you used Geto’s petname. He groans into your pussy and pulls away, your juices shining off of his lips. “Not yet,” he growls. “I want you to cum with me.”

Suddenly, you feel his long cock settling between your asscheeks. You gasp as he begins to rut against your ass, his cock sliding up and down between the soft cheeks that he massages and grabs to his liking.

“Me too,” Gojo moans. “Tell us where you want our loads, baby. On that face? Or those tits? Maybe that ass? Either way, they’re bothin’ on this body of yours.”

That idea also sounds perfect. Everything with them is. “Anywhere,” you desperately whine. “Just not inside.”

Gojo chortles, happy with your compliance. “Anythin’ you want,” Geto answers, tapping his dick against your asscheeks. “Now be a good girl and keep suckin’ on that dick.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You keep throating Gojo’s cock like it’s your profession, leading him to fuck your mouth in time with Geto’s thrusts. You feel like you’re being fucked from both ends, used for their pleasure…and you love it. The sounds of sex increase as you all get closer to your ends, the two men speeding up their thrusts to chase their highs. Geto rubs your clit while Gojo tugs on your nipples, stimulating you from both ends.

You finally can’t take it anymore. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your mouth opens on a series of moans. “I’m gonna cum!” you warn them, your voice high-pitched and desperate. Gojo silences you with his cock and forces you to look up at him. “Look at me,” he demands. “Don’t you dare look away from me. Look at what you fuckin’ do to me.”

You do as he says even as Geto moans and ruts your ass like an animal behind you, getting closer and closer and closer…. Finally, with two matching moans of release, the duo finally release onto your body. Gojo’s perfect muscles clench as he fists his cock, shooting cum into your mouth while Geto explodes on your ass. You feel warmth splatter across your cheeks, back, and throat, coating you in them.

When you finally cum, you feel like you’re soaring above the clouds with them in tow, coating Geto’s fingers in your juices. It is a wonderful, amazing, intoxicating feeling that makes your toes curl and your head spin….but when you finally come down from the high of your orgasm, you come down hard.

You don’t hear the duo’s pillow talk or talks of being “cummed out” despite them being right there. They feel far away from you suddenly and you’re all alone. Now, reality hits and so does the regret.

‘What the fuck have I done?’ you think. Noticing your sudden change in demeanor, Geto gently touches your back and strokes it. “Y/N?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

You quickly jump and turn around to look at him, your eyes blurred with tears. “I…I…” You can’t speak, your shame and guilt too overwhelming.

Geto’s coal eyes grown concerned. “Y/N?” he questions, worry laced in his tone. “Honey, talk to us.” He reaches out to touch you, but you flinch away from his touch, jumping off of the couch. The duo stare up at you in confusion, wondering what the hell has gotten into you. “I-I have to go,” you stammer. “I need to…need to get out of here!”

You are suddenly gasping as the tears threaten to push past your eyes, you throat tight like you just dry swallowed a pill. The walls are closing in. Quickly, you reach for your clothes, searching throughout the dark room for your bra.

“Wait, hang on a second,” Gojo protests. “Where are you goin’?”

You don’t answer. You don’t even get dressed before charging for the door, yanking it open, and racing out of the lakehouse. “Wait, wait!” Geto calls. “Y/N, hang on! Don’t leave!”

You don’t turn around to hear him out, instead getting dressed as you stumble down the road. You smell of the two men, the taste of cock on your tongue and the feeling of Geto’s cum dripping off your ass. You don’t feel sexy like you did before. You feel dirty.

That feeling only grows along with your regret the further you get away from the lakehouse. You don’t stop despite your aching legs, blurred vision, and churning stomach. When you finally make it back to the party, it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. You can’t stop your dinner or the alcohol from coming out and splattering all over the ground. You bend down in your shorts and wretch, coughing uncontrollably.

“Y/N!” Nanami calls in the distance. When you pick your head up, he and Haibara are racing toward you. “Oh, no, sweetie,” Haibara coos, kneeling beside you. “Here, drink some water.” He hands you his cup of water that you greedily drink, sloshing the rancid taste of vomit out of your mouth.

Nanami’s eyes are serious as they gaze into yours, his hand on your back. “What happened?” he demands. You find that you can’t speak. Your tongue is too heavy and your mouth is full of cotton.

“Y/N!” Geto’s deep voice echoes from down the trail. You startle, looking in the direction of the familiar voice. Nanami notices and his entire demeanor darkens. “Stay here,” he demands, standing up, and before you know it, he’s pulling a pistol from his holster.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls. “I should’ve known you two were trouble. I knew it as soon as you came here.” “Kento, wait,” he says, but that’s all he gets to say when Nanami suddenly points the gun at the duo. They stop dead in their tracks, Geto instinctively putting himself in front of Gojo slightly.

“What did you do to her?” the doctor growls, an undercurrent of rage in his tone. Geto raises his hands as if calming a snarling animal. “We didn’t do anything,” he firmly says. “We’re just checkin’ on her to make sure she’s alright.”

Haibara quickly comes up behind Nanami and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, let’s all just—“

Nanami shuts him up by cocking his gun at the Gunslingers. “You don’t get to come any closer until you tell me what you did to her. Either that or you two need to leave.” Gojo raises an eyebrow over his shades and shoves Geto aside. “Says who?” he scoffs, hands on his hips. “You? You think your wittle gun is the first one we’ve had in our faces, doc?”

Nanami tightens his jaw so much that you’re afraid he’ll crack his teeth. Gojo keeps going, poking the bear even harder than before. “You couldn’t wait to do this, could you?” he teases. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, like you wanna give her more than just some medicine.”

His smile grows sharp and cruel, mocking the doctor. “But she’ll never see you that way and you know it.” He cocks his head to the side, tutting. As smart as you are, you’re too dumb to see that, Nanami?”

“Stop,” you plea from your spot on the ground. Nanami shockingly slips his gun back into his holster. He then unbuckles his belt and tosses it to the side. You sigh, relieved. “I actually give a damn about her well-being,” he growls. “Unlike you two. You both are incapable of thinkin’ about anyone but yourselves. You don’t need to be anywhere around her.”

Gojo slides his glasses off of eyes, revealing nothing but coolness. “She would beg the differ,” he hisses and that’s the last straw for Nanami. Suddenly, his balled-up fist is connecting with Gojo’s face, knocking his sunglasses off. You screech in horror, covering your mouth. The outlaw stumbles, but barely falters despite the blow. Instead, he tosses his own punch at Nanami, nailing him in the nose. Blood gushes from Nanami’s nostril, but it’s not enough to stop him from throwing another hit at Gojo.

Gojo dodges it and charges at Nanami, ducking low to wrap his arms around his midsection. The two go flying back into the dirt and wrestle one another, each trying to get on top of the other. Geto steps in and tosses Nanami off of him before turning to help Gojo up. This would prove to be a bad idea because Nanami sneak punches him in the back of the head, sending Geto onto his knees from the blow.

Nanami goes to kick him with his boot, but Gojo rises to his feet and clocks him in the jaw. Geto gets up too and soon, it’s two against one. Hats come off, blood gushes out, bruises bloom on their skin where their fists connect. “Stop!” you scream from the sidelines. “Please, please stop!”

Haibara tries to stop them, tugging on Nanami’s arm to get him away, but he nearly gets clocked in the nose and has to jump away from the scene. You feel absolutely hopeless…until you see Nanami’s belt. Immediately, you lunge for it and fish his pistol out before pointing it at the staryr sky.

BANG! BANG!

The four men immediately flinch and look your way, wide-eyed and shaken up. You glare at them, smoke billowing from Nanami’s gun. “I said stop!” you shout, your voice nearly raw from the shouting. They continue to stare at you like you just killed somebody until you hear footsteps behind you.

You turn, finding your parents and partygoers who have come to the door to investigate. The music plays on inside. Eren steps forward, looking like a very angry Western dad in his hat and boots. “What in the hell is goin’ on out here?” he demands, his voice booming. “What, have you all gone insane?”

Yuri quickly moves to your side, taking the gun from your shaky hand. “Y/N,” she gasps. “Flower, what happened?” You don’t answer. You suddenly can’t speak.

Nanami, Geto, and Gojo look battered and bruised, their clothes dirty and boots scuffed from their fight. Eren steps to them, as angry as a bull seeing red.

“I don’t know why you three are fightin’ or what this is about, but I will not tolerate that mess here. There are children here!” He glares at each of them. “You’re lucky the sheriff went home or else, you’d all be locked up right now and I would figure some of you would want to steer clear of jail time.”

Nanami looks away, ashamed, while Gojo is busy nursing his bruised cheek. “We’re sorry, sir,” Geto pants, bowing respectfully. “We meant no disrespect to you, your family, or your town.”

That doesn’t sweeten the pot for Eren. “You are men,” he snaps. “Act like it. My daughter don’t need no little boys on her arm.”

Oh, God. Not him too. “Papa, please!” you shout, frustrated tears streaming down your cheeks. “Not now! I don’t wanna hear that!” Exhaustion and shame overtakes you, making you slump forward. “Just take me home. I just wanna go home,” you sob.

Yuri rubs your back, shiftling into mama mode. “Okay, why don’t we all just settle down and call it a night?” she softly yet firmly suggests. There is no room for discussion. She swoops you away to get cleaned up and fetch you some water before she walks you to Eren’s truck. Nanami and Haibara are already there, helping pack Yuri’s vendor into the trunk.

Geto and Gojo are nowhere to be found. You left them out back without a single word. You feel a pang of guilt for that.

Nanami, sporting two balls of tissue in his nose and dirt stains on his clothes, stares down at you guilty. “I apologize for how I reacted tonight,” he sighs. “I hope you can forgive me and that your parents are too upset.”

You shake your head, laying a hand on his arm. “Nanami, you saved my life. I don’t think they can be too upset. Thank you both for the help.” Nanami cracks a smile despite his bloody nose.

“It’s no problem,” Haibara says with a smile, patting you on the back. “You’ll be alright, right?” You nod, giving him your own reassuring smile. You don’ feel like you’ll be alright though. Yuri then returns with a basket of leftover goodies and wraps a protective arm around you. “Thank you, boys,” she says. “We’ll take her from here.”

When Eren drives off with you in the backseat minutes later, Nanami and Haibara watch you go. You don’t turn around to see if Geto and Gojo are watching. You end up falling asleep on the bumpy roads, the alcohol making you feel heavy and tired. As soon as you get home, you drag your tired, drunk self upstairs and to your bedroom where you immediately dive onto your soft, loving bed.

It doesn’t take long for your mind to stop spinning and finally settle. As sleep begins to set in and blurs the lines between reality and dreamland, you believe you hear the sound of the door creaking open and footsteps thudding across the floor. You’re too tired to lift your head to see if it’s real.

You then feel two pairs of soft lips on your forehead and smell cigarette smoke on them. You think it’s just a hallucination, but then you feel it again: lips on your skin as soft as butterfly wings.

“Close the door slowly,” Geto whispers, his voice unmistakeable to your ear. But before you can make any sense of why he’s in your room, the bedroom door creaks shut and you’re left alone to sleep off tonight.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #my fic shit #black writers #jjk smut #poly smut #cowboy!gojo #cowboy!geto #cowboy!au #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn romance #suguru x black reader #poly geto x gojo #satoru gojo x black!reader #satosugu #Youtube

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eliashirsch · 6 months ago

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God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions. A Masterlist. (4/3)

More Top Gun fic recs:)) Different pairings ahead.

Winner Categories:

1. Best of the Best Authors (1/3)

2. Best of the Best Series (2/3)

3. Best of the Best Fics (3/3)

4. Honorary Mentions (4/3)

REMINDER! READ THE AUTHORS' TAGS AND WARNINGS!!!

Honorary Mentions

gold rush by gamerring @asimmutableasgravity

All his life, Jake Seresin has wanted to live his life as loud as possible. So that when he dies, people can place flowers on his casket. When the light hits him, sunbaked and smiling and grinning. He's whole and happy and everything he could ever want. He bites down on his teeth. Later, he hunches over the porcelain, petals falling out of his mouth, and is already one step in his grave. - Flowers, fighter pilots and the true fatality of your feelings spilling out.

Jake angst:)) And here’s another one from gamerring:

it's nice to have a friend by gamerring

"Will you marry me?" Ice is on his knees. His posture screams military, but his face is genuine. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry and a hesitant smile plays at his lips. The ring sits in a green velvet box. The band is gold and shiny, with a diamond inlaid in the middle. The rock seems to glow under the sunset, and Maverick's heart starts beating against his chest. This- it's spectacular. It's breathtaking. It's not for him. He bites his cheek for a microsecond, and then forces a smile."That's great. She can't say no to that." And a traitorous part of his soul hopes she does. - Three times Maverick should have said something, and the one time he did.

Just read the summary:) (This is canon.)

Lessons in pushing boundaries by will_thewisp

Maverick never needed lessons in pushing boundaries. Not if those boundaries are about going faster, further or screwing up on an ever increasing scale, because he'd run off the edge of the world before he'd let a thought that scared him shitless take root in his mind. It was enough that it was already in his heart. Or Maverick crashes the Darkstar and needs a very long time to learn that there's things that can and should be fixed. And that he's always had the tools to do it.

Don’t forget a tissue when reading this!

Amen by demiclar @demiclar

"What do you want done with your body when you die?" Pete Mitchell grieves his best friend.

Can you tell I love Mav angst?:)

Vanilla Milk by Specter_Ross

After the mission, Rooster is struggling to sleep so Maverick pulls some old methods out from when Bradley was a kid, in hopes of helping him.

I never get tired of reading MavDad and Bradley:)

A Perch Built for Two by chase_acow @cowsalot

Rooster is well known for keeping his own company, but between Maverick's reemergence and the suicide mission, Hangman manages to weasel his way into Bradley's attention. He's never let an alpha so close to him before, but Hangman might be the best choice - experienced and unlikely to ask for more than Bradley was willing to give. Unfortunately for him, it's Bradley who wants more, and he has no idea how to ask for it.

Another win for Hangster!

A Little Unconventional by McDanno50

Maverick didn’t know how he ended up here a month after the mission – on his back with his legs spread for not one, but two, hungry alphas. These alphas wanted Maverick so much that they no longer fought but worked together all in the name of mutual pleasure. It felt too good to be true, like a fevered dream conjured up by a broken mind. But even if he couldn’t believe his eyes, he had four other senses to rely on. A self-indulgent fic in which Omega!Maverick gets fucked by Alpha!Bradley and Alpha!Jake. That's literally it.

Mav/Bradley/Jake:)))))

Not Clamorous For Pardon by Arsenic @arsenicjade33

Okay, but what if the Navy didn't outlaw flogging as a punishment in 1896? Asking for a friend.

Another one of my favorite tropes: Mav being bullied by the Navy:(

still dangerous by cygnettine

Where was he? Jake was to his right, Bradley in front of him, the girls between their dads. Someone was missing. He was missing. Why was he missing? He was supposed to be there; that was a family dinner and he was family, he was his whole soul, why wasn’t he there? *** Maverick loses himself and wanders helplessly in his own mind until someone finally comes to his rescue.

Mav has Alzheimer's Disease:(

take a chance on the edge of life by Lacerta

It was a suicide mission. Of course they didn't succeed on their first try. - When Maverick dies, he loops back to the morning before.

An Edge of Tomorrow AU. Love this one.

you've got the win in your bag by discosleaze @paulmezcal

“I’m going to go in and get something pierced, and if you’re a good boy, it’ll be my nipple. If you’re not, it’ll be my tongue.” Speaking of tongues, Bradley just about swallows his. “Why would that be a bad thing?” he croaks out, not enjoying how amused Jake is, mocking, even. “Well, Bradshaw, because I wouldn’t be able to blow you for weeks afterwards.” Jake contemplates a second piercing, Bradley contemplates nothing.

asdfghfghjkjhgfdsadfg. This one’s too hot for me.

How Big? by thenofutureshoe

"Most people would have had to give themselves a pep-talk, most people would have been nervous or unsure of the whole thing, Maverick Mitchell was not most people. He was a fucking power bottom and proud of it. This was not his first rodeo, pun intended. And he always got his man." Once Maverick hears the story behind Slider's callsign, it sounds more like a challenge than anything else.

This one… I never thought their difference in size could be this hot…

a dream of crashing by thefireplanet

Maverick buys a plane. Somehow, this becomes Iceman’s problem.

THIS ONE’S NOT COMPLETED! But it’s still so fun to read and the characterization is spot on!

and the bunny goes 𝒽𝑜𝓅, 𝒽𝑜𝓅, 𝒽𝑜𝓅 by Meadow_Wanderer

Contrary to expectation, he rarely measures time by the number of years he's lived without his father. Instead, he appraises in happenings. Every birthday, school graduation, and precious firsts; every milestone passing as the memory of his father becomes fainter and fainter until finally he reaches the last occasion where the end and the beginning meet, the son and the sire a breath's width apart, like reaching to touch one's reflection in the mirror. The very same one he'll face in just shy of a few hours.

Weird and fun!

you are not alone (i watch over you) by redwithlove

“Bradley, do you remember the time when you were eight and you wouldn't let me near your Pops for two days?” “What, really? Why?” “Yeah, for two whole days, can you believe it? And it all started over a can of Pringles.” Or—Bradley with Ice and Maverick over the years.

Mav and Ice and Bradley being family:) My favorite genre of topgun fics:))

PHEW! That's all the fics I've got! Thanks for reading until the end! Don't forget to leave a comment on these fics if you enjoyed them!

Here's my google doc for all four categories! >> God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions: A Masterlist

#as always if you know these authors' tumblrs feel free to tag them!#and tell me if i tagged the wrong person or put the wrong link:')#this was a fun journey and i was reminded of how much fun i had reading all of these!#i hope y'all enjoyed my yapping:)#icemav #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #iceman x maverick #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick #top gun #hangster #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #fanfic rec #top gun fic recs #fanfiction recommendation

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yourfatherlucifer · 1 year ago

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Shoot Out (Hongjoong)

Outlaw!Hongjoong x afab!reader

Summary: On the roof of Hongjoong’s hideout, you decided to give him the best blowjob ever and he decides to return the favor.

Warnings: NSFW MDNI, blowjob, backshots, gun, pure smut, cursing

Genre: Smut/Drabble

AU: Outlaw/Dystopian

WC: 619

Banner: @bxd-decisions

nets: @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet @kflixnet @k-labels

just a short little drabble @pyeonghongrie-main @jay-scenarios @nebulousbrainsoup

"Baby, we've been sitting here for hours staking out," you whined to your outlaw of a lover, "I'm hungry, Joong."

Your boyfriend chuckled before putting his sniper rifle down, "Y/N, I know, I'm sorry, but did you not bring any snacks? I told you to." Hongjoong stared at you, pulling down his bandana.

As you watched you boyfriend turn his attention back to where his target was gonna be, you had whined again, wanting his attention back on you.

He never paid attention for long, always to worried about his work, taking down the government or anyone who got in his way, and no time for you. So maybe you should get his attention yourself.

"Joong."

"Hm?"

"Turn to me."

Hongjoong sighed and set his gun down once more, "What now?"

He watched as you crawled over to him all seductive like, "Eyes on me, baby." His eyes became filled with lust, just as yours had.

You tugged on his bottoms, prompting him to raise his hips up to help you pull them down below his waist.

"You gonna give me a little present?" Hongjoong flashed his signature devilish smirk.

You quickly glared at him to shut him up, not wanting to deal with his smart mouth. After pulling down his boxers, you gripped the base of his cock, pumping it a few times, kissing the tip every few seconds. Hongjoong's light grunts began to fill your ears, he was trying so hard not to touch you, knowing you liked to be in control when giving him head.

His knuckles turned white as he was trying to grip the rooftop below him. "Y/N, please, faster."

Rolling your eyes, you fastened your pace with your hand, finally bringing his cock to your mouth.

"FUCK!" He quickly brought his palm to his mouth, he didn't want any drones interrupting your guys playtime.

You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, eliciting moans from him that he was trying so hard not to release. But before he could send his release to you, he quickly pulled you off.

"Want to cum inside you."

Hongjoong pushed you in front of him, "Get my rifle and aim where I was, keep an eye out for him."

Hongjoong yanked down your bottoms with your underwear, running his fingers along your wet slit, his grin spreading over his face. "So wet for me already."

He rubbed his hand along your ass curve before finally slipping his fingers inside your wet cunt, pumping and curling his fingers deep inside.

You were already struggling to keep aim and focused on the scope.

"Joong, please more~" You moaned.

He took his other hand and slapped your ass, "Patience."

You whined at his behavior, wanting his cock inside of you already. Which he was taking his sweet time to do.

He pulled your hips flush to him as he continued to pump his fingers inside, "Don't worry, you'll get what you want soon, my love."

After Hongjoong finally removed his fingers, he rubbed the tip of his cock along the slit of your folds, pushing his cock inside, "Oh fuck, you feel so good, Y/N." He moaned out.

Before you could respond, he slammed his hips against yours, not giving you time to adjust, he just wanted to cum in you already.

"Hongjoong, oh my god, I can't," you already lost focus on your task and lost yourself in pleasure,

"No, you can take it, Y/N, come on, lets cum together."

Hongjoong fastened his pace but his thrusts got sloppier.

His grip on your hips became tighter as he finally released inside of you, "Ahhh, yes." He collapsed on your back.

"joong..?"

"Yes?"

"I think we missed your target-"

#klabels #kflixnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong smut #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader smut #hj #hongjoong hard hours #hongjoong hard thought #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours

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retrospacejelly · 4 months ago

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A Western Love

Pairing: Ex-outlaw!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: Talking to Miguel about her failed marriage brought up feelings that she swore to herself she’d never show. Luckily, Miguel is by her side in an instant, and everything seems right….right?

Warnings: Angst, Guns, Mentions of the devil’s tango, typical cowboy things, language

!This chapter is a little steamy!

Part: 3/?

Part: 1, 2, 2 1/2, 3

Not proofread

A/N: I had this idea brewing for a while, and character AI helped push the plot! (Thank you Monstera for letting me expand on the plot!).

Reach out if you want to be on my taglist!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where you goin’ darlin’? Weren’t you sayin’ you were aimin’ to get some sleep?”

She lets out a huff. “Yea, in my room.” Her door slams shut.

____________________

Well, that certainly wasn’t the reaction he wanted to get. And far from the night, he thought he would have.

Miguel stares at his mother’s rosary, running his hand over the string of pearls. He’s so deep in thought, that he almost misses the muffled sobs coming from Y/N’s room.

He quickly stands, fearing the worst. Has she hurt herself? Has someone broken in? His heart drops at the thought, and he quickly picks up his gun, practically running to her room.

He doesn’t think as he slams open her door, looking around for any sign of danger.

“Where is he?! Y/N!” he trips over himself as he makes his way to her bed, dropping his gun on the linen next to her, holding her shoulders.

Silence surrounds the two as they stare at each other.

“What…?” she asks, her sobs now soft hiccups. Miguel’s face is painted with panic and another emotion she can’t quite pin down. He’s panting, his grip on her not tight, but protective?

“Miguel? Who are you talkin’ ‘bout? Hey, Miguel…!” she says, placing her hands on his warm cheeks, rubbing under his eye.

He snaps out of his panicked state, shaking his head. He stands at his full height, rubbing his forehead.

“ ‘M sorry, Princessa…I heard you crying and I….I thought you were in trouble.” he finally responds, not wanting to look at her.

Y/N slowly nods, trying to meet his eyes. His actions weren’t those of a concerned friend, but something deeper. But now was not the time to ask any questions.

“I just,” he starts “I only just met ya, but I care for you, and I, I would die if I let anything happen to ya.” he confesses, coughing softly.

“I, I beg your pardon…?”.

He quickly backtracks, finally looking at her. “Forget what I said. Are ya, okay?”

Y/N looks down and wipes her face.

“If I’m bein’ completely honest with ya, no I’m not. I haven’t told no one about my um, failed marriage besides my parents. I thought I was over it. Oh, but I a fool!” she exclaims, slamming her fists into the linens.

She tears up, “I’m a fool for wanton’ to feel a man’s arms ‘round me! I hate…I hate that I wasn’t good ‘nough for him.”

He scowls, wishing her ex-husband a long and painful death. Placing his gun on her nightstand, he sits next to Y/N. He gently caresses her face.

“Don’t ya dare think for even a minute, not one god damned minute, that you ain’t good ‘nough, Sugar. Don’t let what that coward did to ya, ever make you feel like you ain’t worthy of a husband. He’s the fool, Darlin’. Not you.” he whispers, wiping her tears.

She can’t help but frown even more, glaring at him. “Then why hasn’t a man showed up yet?”. She takes hold of his wrist, leaning into his touch.

He can’t help the small chuckle that leaves his mouth, shaking his head.

“I don’t know many fools, Honey, but any man who wouldn’t marry you sure is one.” he replies, smiling softly.

Y/N blushes at the statement, drawing patterns in the skirt of her night dress. “You’re jus’ sayin’ that. Tryna butter me up…”

His smile widens. “There’s my girl.” he says, bumping his forehead against hers. “But no, I ain’t tryna butter you up. I mean it. I don’t know how a lady like you doesn’ have a line of bachelors lined up at your door.”

She looks into his eyes, before glancing down at his lips, and quickly looking up again.

Miguel’s other hand slowly smooths over her leg, leaning in.

Everything around them disappears when their lips finally meet. Fireworks go off in Y/N’s head, as she slowly wraps her arms around his neck.

He’s the first to pull away for air, staring lovingly at her. “Well, that sure was…somethin’. And it was a good somethin’.” he says, kissing her cheek. “I really care for ya, Y/N. I wouldn’t hurt you like that no good ex o’ yours did.”

Y/N wells up, practically tackling Miguel onto her bed in a hug. He hugs back, running his hand up and down her back.

She raises herself up, caging him between her arms. They meet for another passionate kiss, the action soon heating up.

The night ended in a way neither had expected.

____________________

After hours of their steamy rendezvous, Miguel and Y/N lay cuddled under the blanket, sleeping in each other’s warm embrace.

The sun started to rise, the brightness waking Y/N up. She nuzzles into Miguel’s chest, enjoying his body heat. Not long after, he begins to stir, tightening his arms around her waist.

After a wave of peaceful silence, Y/N speaks.

“I’ll fix ya up some breakfast in the mornin’. Then you can get on with your trip.”

She says, already regretting last night’s activities. She knew he would be leaving in the morning, and yet she still got attached. Damn feelings.

“Kickin’ me out already? I haven’t even fixed up your fence yet.” He tries to joke but soon frowns, turning his head to gaze down at her.

Before he can say anything else, she climbs out of her bed, slipping on her discarded night dress.

“You don’t got to worry ‘bout that fence. I can handle it. You only wanted to stay one night anyway, right? Wouldn’ want ya to stay later than ya have to.”

Y/N doesn’t look at him and instead slips on a cardigan. He slides off the bed, finding his own clothes.

“Yea, yea...um, I guess you’re right. S’pose I should get my stuff then…” he walks past her, making his way to the guest room.

Y/N tries to hide her disappointment, wrapping her arms around herself. She walks into the kitchen and brews some coffee. She hears Miguel’s footsteps behind her and finally turns around.

“Ya know…I can stick ‘roun longer…if ya want me to…”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, you don’t have to. You’re a busy man. Don’t feel like you're indebted to me or somethin’ I ain’t that important.” she jokes, smiling sadly.

He grumbles. “You don’t needa worry ‘bout my business. And I don’t feel like I owe ya. I…I…”

I want to be with you. I want to marry you!

Suddenly, his mother’s ring felt like it was burning through his breast pocket.

Y/N shakes her head, setting her mug down. “See? There’s nothin’ for ya here. Not even me.”

No! That’s not true! He wants to shout.

“Maybe not..but I…I can’t help that…”. Why was it so hard to tell her? I love you! Bam, done. But it really isn’t that easy.

“Can’t help what Miguel?”

He says nothing, his voice now non-existent. Y/N holds his shoulder.

“ ‘S okay, Miguel. I’ll be okay.”

He shakes his head. “Will you, Darlin?” he asks.

She knows she won’t be. But he can’t live his life without boring her.

“ ‘S not nothing I’m used to, Miggy. Go find a gal that’s meant for ya.” she says.

You’re the gal that’s meant for me!

“If you say so, Darlin.”

She nods. “Sure ya don’t want a bite to eat?”

Miguel shakes his head. “I’ll manage.”

Y/N nods again, looking down. “Have a safe trip. Take care o’ yourself.”

He tips his hat, “I will, Darlin’.”

With that, Miguel walks towards the front door and clicks it shut, not looking back at her house.

An eerie silence hung in the air, Y/N’s coffee now cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I’m sorry for the late chapter, I’ve been a bit busy.

Reach out if you want to be on my taglist!!

@codenameredkrystalmatrix @slushycoookie @slut4oscarissac23@actuallyscarlett

#for you #atsv miguel #miguel 2099 #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #across the spiderverse #western #cowboy #miguel x y/n

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omgahgase · 2 months ago

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charthur oneshot

so it happened. again. a pathetic wet kitten of a man with his pretty eyes and gorgeous smile captivated my heart and the result is a semi-coherent fic speed written in the wee hours of the morning. this is for all you charthur enjoyers out there, and for @tortureddpoett for always listening to me ramble in the dms. thanks for withstanding my lengthy headcanons <3

Arthur hears it, but he absolutely refuses to acknowledge it, let alone accept it.

“I can’t kill all of them silently, so…when they chase me, you go the other way.”

It’s a simple enough plan, one that’s ten times better than Micah’s bright idea of “Shoot the motherfuckers and book it.” Hell, even Dutch agrees to it, and that’s saying a lot because he’s normally the one cooking up a way to escape a potential shoot out. Or, in this case, a quick way to the Devil downstairs. When Dutch agrees with someone, it can only mean one of two things:

It’s in his favor.

He doesn’t have anything better.

And, considering how there’s four heavily armed Pinkerton’s and only four of their men are in fighting shape—Hosea and Lenny are practically bleeding to death on Bill and Javier, Arthur’s surprised those dirty pigs haven’t picked up on the obvious trail of blood leading to their pile of crates—this is the best they got.

So, when Arthur thinks about it afterwards, maybe that’s why Dutch had to lock an arm around his middle to he wouldn’t fling himself in Charles’ face and explain why this plan is fucking stupid. He fights, dear God, he fights against him. Javier tells Arthur to shut up lest he gives them away, but fuck that because Arthur would rather get arrested with him than let Charles be hunted so they can bag. Dutch tightens his arm around Arthur’s chest, tries to cover his mouth so he doesn’t scream why sacrificing yourself is, again, fucking stupid, but what barrels up his throat and trips out of his mouth like a sputtering gun spitting out a rusty bullet is a choked plea.

“You can’t—please—”

But Charles—smart, kind, stupidly brave Charles who wouldn’t put himself at risk for anything other than what he believes in, and goddamnit if Arthur doesn’t love him a little more now than ever—is as sturdy as a bison when he cuts Arthur off.

“It’s your best bet to escape, don’t fight me on this.”

Arthur almost hoped Charles would tack his name onto the end of that demand, give him some idea that he’s saying it more to him than their band of outlaws who wouldn’t be as destroyed as Arthur would be if Charles gets hurt in this dumb fuck plan. He’s lost almost everyone he’s ever cared for, he’s not about to add his best friend to that growing list.

(He’s also not about to pay any mind to how his chest constricts at the mere thought of lobbying Charles in anything less than the person who holds his heart, but his brain is too busy flagging down the ice-cold dread spider-crawling across his skin and tampering his adrenaline to something worse than fear.)

The arm around Arthur loosens, if just for a moment, maybe because Dutch can feel how badly Arthur’s shaking, or maybe his age is finally catching up to him and he can’t hold back a grown man dead set on not carving out another gravestone for his beloved. It’s enough to break out of Dutch’s hold, nearly sending him flying into a loaded crate with how hard Arthur pushes him back, and in two quick strides, he’s face to face with Charles. Passionate, gentle, beautiful Charles who looks even prettier in the moonlight and with a splatter of blood across his cheek than Arthur’s ever seen. It’s not his blood, thank God, and that’s all Arthur can focus on before that rat bastard Micah is putting in his two cents.

“I say let the man go. He’d be doing us a noble cause, letting us go.”

Arthur growls, and even Charles is a little taken aback. “No one fucking asked you, Bell.”

“Well, Morgan, you got any other ideas? It’s not like we got the law on our dicks and our friends bleedin’ out, but, sure. Hold up the line. That bullet in the boy’s guts ain’t going anywhere until we do.” Micah chuckles a dry, humorless laugh that, normally, would’ve had him getting real intimate with the end of Arthur’s pistol. Only now, it’s making the shake in Arthur’s hands turn into a full tremble.

He chances a glance at Lenny, takes in his blood soaked front and the way he’s almost deadweight, slung haphazardly across Javier’s shoulders. His breathing is getting shallow, his eyes barely open. Hosea isn’t doing much better but at least the shot went through clean, he only has to worry about a few stitches. Lenny, on the other hand…

Charles plants a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and the world stops on its axis, if just for a moment. The gang falls away, the Pinkerton’s disappear, every thought that’s ever occupied Arthur’s mind up until the moment Charles touches him, his thumb a soothing little thing on the gooseflesh of Arthur’s neck, melts into a puddle and drips into the waves lapping at the dock’s edge.

“I’ll be fine.” Charles says it with such assurance that Arthur is damn near convinced right there. But still, he’s gotta voice the words hammering behind his teeth.

“It’s a fuckin’ stupid plan.”

Charles grins, a soft, barely there upturn of his mouth that could be mistaken as just a twitch of his lips if Arthur didn’t know him any better. But he does. He knows how Charles wakes up in the morning, eyes groggy and with just enough energy to piss before grabbing his first cup of coffee. Arthur knows how Charles’ hands feel in his, rough and calloused from the reins of his horse, the ax back at camp, how such big and strong hands can craft the most delicate of arrows, string the tiniest bead into his hair. And Arthur knows that once Charles makes up his mind, there’s no going back. There’s no use fighting him on it, no matter how badly he wants to fight. It’s what Arthur’s good at, arguing, butting heads, but Charles, with all the ways he so easily lassoed Arthur’s heart and hitched it to his person, his stubbornness towards never backing down was the first spark against Arthur’s flint as to why he loves this unyielding, honorable, stupid man.

One of the Pinkerton’s tilts his head in their direction, squints real tight to see beyond the glow of the shack’s light. “Y’all see something over there?”

No one answers, but the guy is still staring in their direction, and Dutch is getting real uneasy by just standing around with two guys knocking on death’s door and bags filled to the top with cash. He tells Charles to get on with it or else they’re sitting ducks, and Arthur has half a mind to say fuck it and throw Dutch to the hounds instead, but Charles is grabbing Arthur by the handkerchief around his neck and Arthur kinda of forgets everything else besides the way Charles’ chocolate brown eyes dance in the flicker of the overhead lamps. How the scar on his cheek and the plump of his lips has Arthur wanting to pitch forward and know if Charles’ mouth is as soft as it looks.

‘Not the time to get rejected, cowboy.’ Arthur swallows. He allows himself a few seconds to get his fill before Charles runs off because he’s a selfish prick when it comes to him, wants Charles all to himself if he could have him, but instead, Charles is gearing up to host the worst game of tag Arthur’s ever played. He huffs. ‘This is a stupid fucking plan.’

“I know it’s a stupid fucking plan,” Charles agrees, because who else would he be if he also wasn’t smart like that. Maybe that’s another reason why Arthur’s in love with him.

And because it’s a stupid plan, maybe that’s why Charles kisses him too.

It’s the shortest, roughest kiss Arthur’s ever had. It’s all force and no finesse, no time to get a good enough feel for each other, and their teeth clicked on first impact, but by God is he gonna think about it for the rest of his life. He doesn’t care that the guys are watching and that Bill is flinging all kinds of insults because he’s a bitch who can’t let Arthur live. Hell, the Pinkerton’s could open fire on them now and Arthur wouldn’t bat an eye. As long as his last conscious thought is Charles’ lips on his and Charles’ hand moving to cradle his jaw and Charles Charles Charles. Arthur doesn’t give a flying fuck.

It’s over before it could get started, and Arthur is left a little lightheaded from the shock of it all. He’s not shaking anymore, the hand twisted in Charles’ dress shirt isn’t trembling, only pulling him closer because Arthur is selfish and he wants the full line of Charles’ everything pressed against him, but Charles pushes him away, breaks their kiss with a breathless gasp.

“I’ll find you after,” he promises, eyes doing that thing to Arthur’s insides he’s only recently come to realize is just the overall effect Charles has on him. “I swear.”

He’s off after that, and Arthur is left standing there, a little off his center of gravity and more than peeved that their first kiss wasn’t under the stars near a glowing campfire like how he’d envisioned it.

He walks in front of them, then breaks out into a run. The Pinkerton’s immediately chase after him, and in the midst of Arthur watching the whole thing go down like a prisoner in chains, Dutch turns to him, expression unreadable.

“That is one of the most beautiful acts I’ve ever saw.” He checks for the clear then motions for them to follow. “Come on.”

They make it a total of five steps forward before Arthur swivels towards the lot of them, gun cocked and voice steely when he says, “Not a fuckin’ word.”

Javier snorts, hefts Lenny a little higher on his person. “How about five, compadre? Karen owes me twenty bucks.”

Arthur growls, arms his pistol at Micah and Bill. “I don’t wanna hear anythin’ from either of you, if you say some vile shit about me and Charles—”

“Don’t get your granny panties in a twist, Morgan,” Bill heaves, moving Hosea so he’s not being completely dragged. “We have more pressing matters to deal with than who you swap spit with.”

“I’ll bitch about it later,” Micah says, which tears a ‘fuck you’ out of Arthur’s throat, “as for now, that boat’s calling my name and those lawmen,” he points over his shoulder to the flashlights coming dangerously closer, “are on our dicks! Let’s fucking go!”

No matter how much he wants to shoot both of them because they’re not going to let this little moment go and they will be total assholes when they get back to camp, Arthur can’t argue because the flashlights are closing in and Dutch is nearly out of his sight.

They make it to the boat and sneak below deck to an empty medbay. Dutch goes to find the captain with a little gold in hand, ‘financial persuasion,’ he called it, while Arthur and Javier get to work on Lenny and Hosea. It’s a grueling task, digging out the broken fragments of a bullet from Lenny’s insides, but they manage it without making him take more damage, and Bill only had to knock him out twice to keep the screaming down. By the time the two of them are all patched up and sleeping in the bunks, Micah found some booze and passed out on the floor. Javier wasn’t too far behind him, followed by Bill, and then it was only Arthur.

With nothing better to do, Arthur goes to the open window facing the retreating glowing lights of Saint Denis. They departed somewhere around the first time Lenny woke up screaming, and now the city is just a line on the horizon. Arthur’s mind drifts to the camp, wondering if the Pinkerton’s are on their trail now too. He thinks about John and Abigail, worried if either of them are alive, scared that Arthur may return to camp to find Jack without his parents.

And like how he’s been doing for the past half year, he thinks about Charles. Something in him tells him Charles gave those bastards the slip and he’s safe somewhere, probably lost in the bustle of gossiping men and women demanding to know who could’ve robbed the Lemoyne National Bank and got away with it.

It sinks in, then, like a bolt from the blue. The robbery, the chase. The bags of gold stashed under the floorboards. They pulled their last heist. The money's theirs.

Arthur lets out a disbelieving laugh that soon into a full, belly clutching bellow of sheer joy. No more scams and schemes, no more running. He can get some land, settle down, be it in Tahiti or otherwise, Arthur doesn’t know, nor does he care.

What he does know, however, is that when he returns, he’ll find Charles and they can have a proper first kiss, one without blood and guns and life or death situations. He’ll probably ask Charles to go hunting with him, spend the day shooting game and exchanging tender looks that can last longer than the few seconds Arthur always gave himself. They’ll pitch a tent somewhere in the wild, their bed rolls a little closer than before, sharing a meal with a bottle passed between them.

Then, as Charles describes the different constellations and explains what the stars and the gods mean to his people, bellies and hearts full, hands touching, thumbs caressing over scarred knuckles, Arthur’ll stop him mid sentence because he’s selfish and he can’t stop himself now he’s gotten a taste. He’ll kiss Charles like he means it, words never said but always felt, exchanging between their lips. Hands and kisses softer than what Arthur could ever deserve because he’s only lived the life of an outlaw, only ever knew how to shoot and survive.

But now, with cash in his pockets and a new dream in mind, one where he’s not just a gunslinger, but maybe a farmer, or a horse rancher—a husband. Yeah. That sounds nice.

Arthur thinks he can be a little selfish, if just this once.

#charthur #arthur morgan #charles smith #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan x charles smith #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 charles #rdr2 fanfic #omgahgasewrites

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literatecowboy · 2 months ago

Text

The Rattlesnake County War

Following a botched cattle rustling job, a lone surviving outlaw finds herself thrust into a conflict between ranchers bigger than any she'd been embroiled in before. A Sheriff!Price x Outlaw!Reader fic; MDNI please; reader is AFAB and she/her pronouns are used but should otherwise be ambiguous (if I can be more inclusive/there is somewhere where I can improve on making her more "friendly" to readers let me know pls!) Warnings: hanging, angst, death, stabbings, references to guns and shootings, execution, etc. Smut. I intend to write 2 versions of this fic - more information can be found in the masterlist.

5. Twenty-Five

The only noise on the ride back to town was the baying and stomping of steers.

Price fumed at the head of the pack and the others gave him a wide berth as they herded the cattle back to Mr. Marshall’s ranch. Once the gate was closed and all of the livestock were accounted for, Price waved off his companions and clomped up to the porch to join Mr. Marshall. He was greeted not by the rancher, but by the man in pastor’s vestments that he had seen before.

“Hello, Sheriff,” the preacher said, nodding stiffly and offering a smile. “Mr. Marshall has retired for the night, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you, sir. I suppose I’ll have to return in the morning,” Sheriff Price said. His anger had waned and he was exhausted, the weariness evident in his voice.

“Might I trouble you for a talk?” the preacher asked.

“Of course, sir. What troubles you?” Price asked. The preacher smiled wanly.

“I am more interested in what ails you, Sheriff. I cannot help but notice that your pretty companion was not with your men when you arrived,” he said. Price stiffened.

“We have parted ways. Her services are no longer needed,” he said. The priest tutted.

“A good choice, sheriff. Some sinners are…beyond saving. Undeserving of god’s love,” he echoed. Price’s head snapped up.

“Surely a man of God would not say such things?” he asked. The pastor’s smile vanished.

“It does not take a man of god to know the true nature of the human race. The true question is this: why would the lord send such a sinner to you? Why would he embroil you in such troubles? A man as knowledgeable and honorable as you surely has no love for a god that allows his children to suffer without intervention?” the preacher asked. Price rose.

“I am wary of what you speak. My faith in God is unshaken. Goodnight, sir.”

The preacher watched him go until he disappeared into the distance. A rattlesnake slithered out of the bush he stood before and coiled around his boot before slithering up his side and curling around his torso.

“In due time,” said the preacher.

—

Price was surprised to find Simon, Johnny, and Kyle waiting for him when he got back to the office. Before he even made it through the door, Kyle had risen and strode toward him.

“Joanna is devastated. Had to break the news to her, so thanks for that,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“That was a bad move, mate,” Johnny piped up, slinging back the last of his whiskey before pouring himself another. Price scowled and yanked the bottle away from him, plopping down in a chair before drinking directly from it.

“She’s too dangerous. Almost got herself killed. It’s just better if…if…” he trailed off with a sigh, taking another swig of the whiskey. It was quiet for a moment.

“You’re a fool,” Simon said from the corner of the room. “Saved your life twice, and you push her away because you’re scared she’ll get hurt. She’s out there right now, chasing down Gimley on her own. Still chasing danger, still might get hurt. And you’re on your ass here.”

“Fuck,” Price choked, tossing the whiskey bottle away. He looked out the window at the moon, mulling it over.

“Go get your girl, John.”

—

You hadn’t bothered to make camp that night.

Following Gimley was easy enough. He hadn’t gotten that much of a head start and you were hot on his heels. At some point he’d passed through a town and you were fortunate enough to find he was wanted there with a bounty worth $25. You snagged the poster, intending to turn his body in for a tidy profit once you put him down.

It was noon when you found his camp. You rode up on him without caring for stealth, so he watched as you approached.

“You’re worth twenty-five, Gimley. Dead or alive. Normally, I offer bounties a chance to choose, but on account of the fact that you shot me, well…” you trailed off as you dismounted, hitching Whiskey before approaching Gimley slowly. He rose as you came near and you circled each other warily, hands over your holsters.

“Don’t have to be this way, miss. You could come work for me. Could work for those who could pay you a lot more than twenty-five per man,” he said, his duster fluttering in the wind. In a heartbeat you drew and put two bullets into his chest. He staggered backwards, gurgling, before falling to the ground, dead.

“They couldn’t afford me,” you scoffed.

—

After dumping Gimley’s body in the Sheriff’s office back in town, you collected your pay and stepped onto the plank walkway to drink your sorrows away. You scarcely believed it was possible, but this place was even seedier than Rattlesnake Point. It was so seedy, in fact, that you were startled to see a man in a pastor’s vestments coming toward you down the plank walkway.

“What was the price of that man’s life?” he called. You lit up a cigarette.

“Twenty-five. But I don’t have a habit of wasting money tithing to churches,” you said, taking a drag and turning to walk away.

“And what is the price of your life?” he asked. You paused.

“I’m a pardoned woman, if that’s what you’re asking. You won’t get a dime from hauling me in,” you said with a chuckle.

“In the eyes of god, there are no pardons. Your soul is worth its weight in gold to Hell,” the pastor said, a thin smile crossing his lips.

“Don’t really know about all that, mister,” you said, the disinterest evident in your voice.

“God punishes sinners. He will punish you. Do you believe that to be fair, Wildcat? Why should such a god be worshiped as he is? Should people not turn their backs to such a god?” the preacher asked.

“Leave me be, you old coot,” you said, waving him off as you mounted Whiskey and took off, deciding not to drink after all. This place gave you the creeps.

—

Price followed your tracks for as long as he could, but lost the trail when he entered the town. It didn’t take long for him to learn of the death of Gimley, and he learned from the sheriff the direction that you had gone following your collection of the reward.

Once outside of the town again, he was able to pick up on hoofprints once more. Hoping they were Whiskey’s, he followed them down the Colorado for a time before ending up in a lightly wooded canyon carved out by the river. A fire flickered across the canyon walls, smoke drifting up to the stars. He dismounted, not wanting to startle the camper if it wasn’t you, and called out.

“Wildcat, is that you?” he asked. You were startled from where you were dozing by the fire and sat up, reaching for your gun.

“It’s John,” he called. Your body relaxed but your chest tightened at the thought of him being around you once more.

“What are you doing here?” you called, standing slowly and padding to the edge of your camp. John approached from the darkness, having hitched his horse beside Whiskey.

“I couldn’t leave you, not after those things I said. I was wrong, Wildcat. I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Come, sit down. It’s late,” you said with a sigh. John joined you beside the fire and you sat in silence for a minute. He reached up and gently caressed the wound on your cheek.

“You took a bullet for me,” he murmured. You laughed.

“Not really. It’s just a graze,” you said.

“You saved me life. You’ve killed for me. You’ve been nothing but loyal and helpful. I’m sorry, I really am,” he said, leaning forward.

“John,” you breathed. “Shut up.”

You closed the distance, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. He seemed surprised at first but kissed back, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap. You shifted to straddle him, deepening the kiss, and could feel the hard bulge in his pants pressing up against your clothed entrance. As you started to grind down against him, John pulled away and took your hands, leaning back to look at you.

“Do you want this?” he breathed, squeezing your hands as he gazed into your eyes.

“More than anything. Ever since we sat in the shade in the barn together,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again. He kissed you back and stood up with you in his arms, making you gasp and giggle as he carried you back to the tent.

He laid you down on your bedroll and you tugged off your shirt, grateful that you were already undressed for bed, and tossed it to the side. John did the same before crawling on top of you and kissing you, slotting his hips in between your legs and grinding down against your core. You wrapped your legs around his hips and he growled into the kiss.

His fingers fumbled at the hooks of your bra before undoing it and pulling it away, your nipples hardening as they met the cool, desert night air. John leaned down and pressed a kiss to one before wrapping his lips around the other, making your head fall back as you gasped from the stimulation.

You fumbled at John’s waist, managing to pull his belt off and unbutton his pants. You whined, unable to get the zipper down and he took the hint, yanking his pants and boots off before tossing them to the side.

You kicked off your pants and wiggled out of your panties, laying before him. He looked up at you, his eyes hazy as they searched over your body and took you in.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, sucking in a deep breath as you playfully parted your legs.

“Come here and do more than just look at me, John,” you said with a smile, heat rising to your face. He was on you in an instant, kissing you almost ferociously on the lips before trailing kisses down your body.

He wrapped his powerful arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to him and spreading your legs as he kissed down to your core, leaving one lass gentle kiss on your clit before licking a long stripe up your entrance, savoring your wetness.

You moaned, your head falling back as he lapped up your wetness, circling your clit with his tongue before gently sucking on it. His eyes were closed and his blush reached from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, making you smile as you ran your fingers through his hair.

He was distracted, though. One of his arms had left your leg. You bit your lip, heat rushing through you as you realized he was palming himself through his underwear.

You pulled away from him and as he looked up in surprise you took the opportunity to push him down and pin him on his back, kissing his cheek gently.

“Poor thing, you must be so hard. Let me help,” you purred. You threw one of your legs over him and wiggled back until you were comfortable, slowly lowering yourself onto his face. To your surprise he grabbed you by the waist and yanked you down, pushing his tongue into you and making you moan.

You reached forward, rolling down his underwear slowly until his cock sprang free. You licked your palm and took hold of it. It throbbed in your hand, thick and heavy and you pumped it gently, making John moan, which sent vibrations through your lower body.

You leaned forward and took the head into your mouth, moaning around John’s cock as he pulled his tongue from your pussy and lapped at your clit.

“You taste so good,” John grunted, giving your hips a squeeze before slipping a finger into your entrance. You groaned, pausing from bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

“Give me more!” you gasped. John bit your thigh with a growl and hefted you off of him, tossing you back into the bedroll and climbing on top of you. You parted your legs eagerly for him, wrapping them around his waist.

“Impatient little thing,” he murmured huskily, sliding his hands up and down your body, squeezing your curves and teasing your clit.

“Brat,” you whispered, capturing his lips in another kiss. He notched the head of his cock at your entrance and pushed in slowly. You dug your nails into his back, groaning into the kiss. The stretch of him was delicious, and you bucked your hips up to meet his.

“Give it to me or I’ll take it,” you growled into his ear, biting at his neck. John growled, burying his face in your neck as he set a slow, deep pace. You raked your nails down his back, hissing in pleasure as he reached down to rub your clit in time with his deep thrusts.

“Insatiable, impatient… you’re feral,” he murmured, his hips snapping forward, each punctuated with breathy grunts and moans. “Feel so fuckin’ perfect, love.”

Blinded by pleasure, you were unable to respond. John kissed your open mouth, swallowing your moans of pleasure and savoring each one. He kept rubbing your clit as your pleasure built until you were sent over the edge of orgasm, twitching and writhing beneath John. He slowed his thrusts after you came, gently petting your hair and kissing your sweaty forehead.

“Okay, love?” he asked, peppering kisses to the side of your neck.

“Perfect,” you breathed. “Don’t stop on my account.”

John picked up the pace once again, but you were still unsatisfied. You pushed him up and off of you and climbed on top of him, straddling him and shoving his cock back inside of you. Steadying yourself with your hands on his chest, you rode him at a fast pace, using gravity to achieve deliciously deep thrusts that made you moan with each buck of your hips.

“Wildcat,” John hissed, thrusting up to meet you halfway. “I’m close.” You didn’t slow your pace, panting and moaning as your second orgasm built. You and John came at the same time, hips stuttering and bodies seizing.

You collapsed onto his chest as you came down from your high, feeling warm spend drip from between your legs as he gently pulled out of you. You laid together on the bedroll, catching your breath as John held you close to him. You were almost asleep when he spoke.

“I hope that - I hope I mean something to you, Wildcat. You mean a hell of a lot to me,” John said, stroking your hair tenderly as he pulled the thin blanket over you both.

“Most meaningful man in my life. Don’t plan on being chased off ever again,” you murmured, tracing the scars on his chest.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you slowly fell asleep.

---

#call of duty #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #john price x reader #female reader #reader insert #fem reader #cod

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