#some of the things in lenny's room!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

Text

I know what they call you.

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao.

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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phfenomena · 1 year ago

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❝watching the world from the sidelines.❞ || tom blyth x actress!reader

| request - what about sidelines by phoebe bridgers with tom? i feel like that could be really cute. thank you!

| A/N - i love phoebe so much i can't believe i didn't think of this.

| WARNINGS - eating, heat, tom being a cutie patootie, a m*n serenading you, cringey fluff and an overuse of lyrics,

i'm not afraid of anything at all. not dying in a fire, not being broke again.

your head was lying comfortably on the pillow that you call your boyfriend. he was currently reading 'call me by your name' to you and you hung up to every syllable that slipped past his lips. his eyes transfixed on the page while yours were wandering across his face, memorizing every feature you loved so dearly.

"why are you looking at me like that?" his voice didn't even register as his until you saw him look down at you. "like what?" you retort back to him, playing the innocent role. "like you're obsessed with me or something." he teasingly says as he smiles at you. you turn your head away from his and towards the trees and people walking in the park. "i can't even look at you right now, i'm ignoring you." you reply holding your hand up in the air blocking his view of you.

he chuckles and pushes your hand down. "you're so dramatic" he whispers while passing his hand over your hair, smoothing it out. you smile softly and soak in the moment.

had nothing to prove til' you came into my life. gave me something to lose.

"can you believe rachel chose us to dogsit lenny? i feel so honored." tom says as the dog tugs on the leash, clearly giving tom some trouble. you stifle your laugh at the dog pulling him across the sidewalk.

your sat on your sofa with lenny tucked gently in your arms as you both watch the movie you put on. well you're watching the movie, he's staring at tom on the other side of the sofa typing emails. you look from the dog to tom, and then back to lenny. "i'm getting the vibe that he isn't your biggest fan, tom. he's literally looking at you like you killed his family." you manage to squeeze out in between laughs.

i'm not afraid of getting older. used to fetishize myself now i'm talking to my house plants.

the watering can felt heavy in your hand as you watered the collection of flowers and herbs you grew indoors. “you’re looking so pretty these days.” you whispered to your basil plant. “you’re gonna make my tomato soup so good.” the praises to your plants kept pouring out as you watered them. tom leaned the kitchen doorway and watched you talk to your plants. these small moments remind him in all the way he loves you, and you just make him laugh.

not of being alone in a room full of people, watching the world from the sidelines.

you loved watching tom being in his element, and this was it. a movie premiere where he’s being bombarded with questions and interviews. you’ll stand off to the side and watch him answer the same question for the hundredth time, and it’ll never get old. on the rare occasion someone would ask you something, you’d just look to tom in hopes he’d answer for you. he’s telling the interviewer his favorite snack to have on set, but you’re looking at him as if he’s explaining the secrets of the universe.

your hand is wrapped around his bicep as you walk together and he’s telling you the easter eggs hidden in the movie. you nod and smile but haven’t heard a single thing he’s said, he’s just so adorable talking about his work. you haven’t had a lonely moment since the day you met tom, and you wouldn’t change a single thing.

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #billy the kid x reader #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #tom blyth fluff #coriolanus x you #tom blyth x you

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omgwhatchloe · 8 months ago

Text

modern au: every gang party is pure anarchy, but the aftermath is so much worse.

-javiers asleep…in the bathtub…with water in it…completely clothed.

-someone played sia and now karens in the hospital with two broken legs and a fractured arm because she wanted to “swing from the chandelieeeeer”. had it not been for charles, she wouldve been left there.

-johns all over tiktok and instagram reels for his…”pole dancing”. he made bank though.

-micah chugged a redbull monster protein powder mix and is already out of the house.

-jack is asleep under bills coat on a sofa somewhere.

-bill is surrounded by beer cans in a corner. hes just exhausted from the effort of throwing mr pearson out of the window.

-lenny is wrapped up in an irish flag in the garden, covered in vomit, bloodshot eyes and snoring like hell. the phrase “no balls” has earned him several cuts and bruises, 9 million likes on tiktok, and a deep sense of shame and embarrassment waiting to attack him as soon as hes sober.

-tilly made it back to bed, thanks to mary-beth.

-abigail and molly are both knocked out in dutch’s bed after jumping susan then hiding there.

-reverend brought the real fun (iykyk)

-strauss hjacked the dj booth and played some bangers. it didnt matter the lyrics were in german, everyone still went crazy.

-uncle slept through the entire thing.

-sean is on the floor of mary-beth’s room violently breathing through his mouth as he sleeps because his nose is so stuffed. why? he snorted ‘something’ and then snorted davey’s ashes (lennys fault). he also fell down the stairs, mixed an insane amount of alcohols together, started to flirt with inanimate objects after loosing track of lenny, vomited on everyone and everything, graffitied up the ra on the walls and on trelawny. awful idea considering trelawny owns the hideout.

-dutch and hosea? currently on their way back to their state after arthur got himself arrested 16 hours away.(how arthur. how.)

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 24 days ago

Note

Okay so it's Christmas and 80s!Jason and fem!reader are roommates and both of them are too broke to go back home for the holidays so they just spend them together and the Christmas spirit brings them closer (fluff,smut)

❤️💚❤️💚❤️

Warnings: smut, fingering (f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

He looks so cute in this picture I can’t 🥹

You’d been working overtime to save up to go home to your parents for Christmas but it wasn’t enough and you were stuck at home in your stupid apartment for Christmas.

You were exhausted after another long day, shoulders slumping and barely able to keep your eyes open as you fumbled with the key in the lock.

You opened the door to find your roommate, Jason, using the couch as a stepping stool to hang lights from the ceiling. He moved it across the room to do so and stumbled when he heard the door open so you got to watch him flail about trying to regain his balance on the once plush cushions.

You walked in and dropped your bag, looking around curiously at all his work. Boxes covered the floor, old beaten up boxes carrying decorations that had seen better days. In the corner was a scrawny little tree, it was full but it was literally half your size.

“What..?” You didn’t even need to finish your sentence. Jason came down from the couch and walked over to you.

“I know you were trying to get home to your family this Christmas and you couldn’t, right?” You nodded at his recap, still looking over his work. “Well, I couldn’t make it either, so I brought Christmas to you!” He said happily, smiling brightly.

You nodded in understanding, picked up your bag, and brought it with you to your room. Jason watched you go, smile fading. He couldn’t blame you for still being upset, this wasn’t exactly Christmas with your family, he got the cheapest tree he could find and stole decorations from storage in the basement, ones he figured no one would care if they suddenly went missing.

Jason went and finished up hanging lights around the ceiling and went to get you to decorate the tree. He knocked on your door before pushing it open and peeking in.

You were sitting on your bed, looking through some old pictures of you with your family, but you looked up when Jason came in.

“You wanna decorate the tree?” He asked hesitantly, turning and stretching his neck to try and get a look at your pictures.

“You got ornaments?” You asked, raising a brow.

“Kind of, guy down the hall was throwing out some broken ones.”

“So, you got us lights don’t light up and ornaments that could cut us.”

Jason chewed his cheek. He went to sit on the edge of your bed next to you, leaning on his arm behind you. He looked over your shoulder at the pictures of your family in your hands.

“We could put those on the tree.” He suggested, taking one from you. A picture of you with your mom and the dog you got for your fourth Christmas.

You thought about the idea before sending him to get his own family photos.

The apartment was warm, the lights that worked sparkled about the room, the ornaments glinted on the tree, framing your carefully placed pictures on the branches.

Jason came to sit beside you from the kitchen, two cups of hot chocolate in his hands. He set them down on the beat up coffee table you found in an alley a few weeks ago. “Feeling the Christmas spirit?”

You stared at the mugs for a moment before shaking your head. “No, I want to be with my family.”

Jason’s eyes flicked between you and the mugs. “I can be your family.” He offered, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you to his side. You rolled your eyes at him. “I’m serious, I’m warm and cuddly, I cook for you, once the band thing works out I’ll be just raking it in.” That got a chuckle out of you.

“Once it works out.” You repeated, looking to the tree in the corner. Close to the top were two pictures, one of you with your family the other of Jason when he was younger, wide smile on his face while he held up a bass, behind him was a Lenny Kilmister poster.

“It’s gonna work out, I’m telling you.” You smiled and looked back up at him, his eyes, his lips… without thinking you closed the gap, pressing your lips to his.

Jason was quick to return the gesture, rubbing your arm. His free hand went to your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving up. “Maybe you just need to relax.” He mumbled against you, moving down your neck.

He undid your belt and fly of your jeans, letting you melt into the cushions of the couch while he rubbed you through your panties.

You wriggled out of your jeans, getting your panties down with them, soft and pink with lace fringe and a little bow. Jason rubbed your clit and slow circles, listening to your heavy breathing in his ear as he nipped at your neck.

A soft gasp left you when he pushed a finger in, curling it just right. He went slow, taking in every noise, every twitch, seeing what you liked and finding a good speed before adding another.

You could already feel yourself getting close, back arching and thighs trembling, body heating up. “Jason,” you started, tugging on his hair to get his attention, as if you weren’t all he was focused on, “tell me- tell me what you want to do.” You mumbled between moans.

“What I want to do?” He repeated, pulling away from your neck to look you in the eye. He kissed your lips. “I just want to make you happy, I want to make you cum and scream and I want you to forget about your family and just be happy with me.” You bit your lip, a whine leaving you. “Can you cum for me, sweetheart?” He asked, kissing you again.

It was perfect timing, your eyes rolled back, your hand fell from his hair. His arms tightened around you and he littered kisses all over your face while you came down from your high.

Jason pulled you onto his lap, getting your jeans on your ankles. “So, I was thinking movies? Get some Christmas pj’s?” You stared at him trying not to laugh at the immediate change.

“Seriously?”

“What? I got hot chocolate, the TV functions, I think.”

#metallica fluff #metallica x reader #metallica smut #metallica imagines #metallica rp #metallica fanfiction #metallica #80s metal #metal #jason newsted x you #jason newsted fluff #jason newsted x reader #jason newsted smut #jason newsted

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darlingsfandom · 6 months ago

Note

stalker lenny miller x neighbour younger reader PLEASEE

You got it friend ✨

tw: stalking, stealing, he’s a creepy pervert!

not proofread.

“Hi Mr. Miller!” Rang in his ears making him turn around to see you standing there waving with your mail in your hand.

“Hi sweetheart, how are you?” He gave you a small smile. You walked across the yard in your little slippers since it was early morning.

“Pretty good! Love that we’re having colder morning again.” You smiled at him which made his heart skip a beat. “I wanted to give you your mail last night but you must’ve been asleep.” You had a few pieces of junk mail in your hand. Lenny’s job kept him busy and gone for days at a time so he had asked you to collect it for him.

“Thank you, I can always count on you!” He took the mail out of your hand making sure lightly brush his finger tips against your fingers. To say Lenny enjoyed you was an understatement. He watched you, everything you did he knew about it. Lenny had access to you 24/7 and you had no clue about.

“Do you want to come in for some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.” Lenny asked.

“That would be lovely.” He put out his arm for you to loop around. Once he had you inside he couldn’t help but think about how he could just keep you here, but he knew now was now the time. He helped you sit on the stool in front of the island in his kitchen.

“Sugar?” Lenny put a mug in front of you that looked similar to the one you had in your own kitchen. It was a simple red mug with black polka dots, what was even funnier is the fact that his mug had a chip in the handle just like yours!

“Yes please !” You put your hands in your lap as he poured the coffee for you. A small smile appeared on your lips before a quiet “thank you” left your lips. Lenny leaned on the opposite side of the island sipping his own coffee watching how you drank your coffee.

“So anything new ? How’s grandma doing over there? Better ?” Lenny asked.

“Eh nothing new. Grandma is grandma you know. We do our afternoon walks, she still does her bird watching from the porch but you won’t believe this… we went for the early bird special last week and she got flirty with another old man!” You giggled making Lenny laugh with you.

“Grandma still has it going on eh?” He laughed before the both of you made that face that said “ew” .

“Well at least one of us does.” You sighed into your coffee.

“Oh please, you’re beautiful Y/N, you could get anyone you wanted. You’re also smart, caring, funny and a very polite young lady.” Lenny spoke up making you stiffen as he moved closer with each word.

“Oh! Umm thank you… for everything , I gotta get going.” You jumped off your stool and quickly made your way back into your shared home with your grandma. Lenny watched carefully how you went back inside. He knew what he was doing. He didn’t care , he found it funny that you didn’t question why he had your coffee cup in his home, you didn’t notice that he had picked flowers out of your garden and put them in his kitchen.

That moment in the kitchen played in his head over and over as the days passed. You still smiled and waved at him when you crossed paths that you knew of. Lenny had taken some time off work to relax after his last mission with Anna or so he told his boss but it meant he could watch you more. He’d do normal things like take out his trash, check the mail, went for runs shortly after or shortly before you’d go on your walks, he’d even take up bird watching or so everyone thought! Why else would he have binoculars ?

It was the night you had just taken your grandma over to stay at her friends house because even in your eighties you still stay with your friends and to be fair she was just around the corner and Lenny caught out to this. He watched you pull into the driveway, lock the car and settle in for the night. He always thanked his lucky stars that his bedroom faced your bedroom window, well it was your grandmas storage room until you moved in with her to help her out seven months ago also known as when Lenny started stalking you.

You were mindlessly undressing in your room, tossing the dirty clothes into your hamper and walking into the bathroom to shower . Lenny had about twenty minutes to spare before you’d be done. He toyed with the idea for about thirty seconds before he was walking over to your home. The extra key was under the painted rock , of course he knew that! He let himself in quietly tip toeing along the carpet towards the stairs that for his sake were also carpeted , but he was still going to be smart about it.

The running water filled his ears when he passed your bedroom. He had to be quick , Lenny snuck into your bedroom and went straight for the hamper to steal another pair of your panties. He couldn’t take the ones you just had, that would be too obvious so he dug until he found an emerald colored pair and quickly ran off after making sure nothing else looked different. Once he was back downstairs Lenny took a deep inhale of your panties before he looked around your living room to see you had a magazine spread open , he arched an eyebrow and grabbed that too. It was a porn magazine but he didn’t care! It had your scent on it. The water had turned off and that was his signal to leave so he did, put the key back where it was and made his way back to his own house to his room and looked to see you standing there drying off completely clueless that he was just in there.

You finished drying off and turned to face to the window completely unaware that Lenny was watching you. You grabbed the lotion , put some in your hands and rubbed it slowly onto your tits which Lenny rubbed his dick through his pants watching you do your nighttime routine. He didn’t care that he watched you , stole your stuff or sent you some gifts. He sent you flowers at home and work, but the funny thing is… you never told him where you work just what you did! Lenny also sent little stuffed animals and he could tell you liked those because he seen them sitting on your dresser and what is even funnier is that he put a little bit of his cologne on the toys, so how you never made the connection ? You were as naive as he hoped.

Watching you day after day, week after week, month after month , Lenny was more than invested in you. He loved you. The gifts kept on coming, but he was careful not to send the same type of flowers or chocolates. He would watch from his kitchen window in the mornings to see you grab the paper from the porch and hoped you were in a tank top but it didn’t always happen.

“Mr. miller !” You waved at him with that same pretty smile he’s grown to love.

“Hello Y/N! How are you?” He asked throwing his trash into the trash can just like what were you doing.

“Good good, hey I know this is a long shot but have you seen anyone around ?”

“You’ll have to explain a little more my dear.” Lenny raised an eyebrow.

“Well you see I’ve been having these gifts dropped off on my porch and I just… I’m confused. There’s no notes or anything just a vase of pretty flowers!” You crossed your arms before looking at him with a sigh.

“I wish I had an answer for you dear but you know I’m not always home and when I do get home it’s pretty late, anyone crazy enough to deliver flowers that late.. “

“Yeah you’re right but it’s just strange because it’s always my favorite things like they’ve studied my brain or something.” A dry laugh left your lips .

“Maybe an ex lover ?” He shrugged .

“No no, haven’t had a boyfriend or girlfriend since high school! Hard to date these days.” You scratched your head before shrugging.

“Tell you what, I’ll keep my eyes open from now on and if I see anything I’ll tell you soon as I see it.” Lenny gave you smile that made you smile back before saying goodnight and heading back in. He had to run back in and double check the order for the newest gift he had.

His collection of you had grown full of your panties, magazines, only two coffee cups because those were too big to play off, some of your chapsticks, he even bought the same lotion you used on your boobs so he could have your scent on his hands at all times. You were his! But only he knew that and he liked it that way for now!

#lenny miller x you #lenny miller #anna #Lenny miller blurb #Lenny miller Drabble #Lenny miller x reader #Cillian Murphy #emsblurbs

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dazednstoned · 1 year ago

Text

Modern Rdr2 hcs:

-Abigail dresses like it's the 2000s (I'm talking miniskirts, low rise jeans, heeled flip flops w the fucking sparkles). She will never change too.

-Charles and Arthur go on dates to those adoption events to pet all the dogs and cats

-the whole gang frequently gathers for family bbqs. Every time someone ends up getting punched, passing out, or storming off

-Abigail puts Jack on one of those backpack leashes for kids (John too if we're being honest)

-Tilly, Karen, and Marybeth do full goodwill, garage sale, and vintage market days. They do not mess around either

-the only thing hosea knows how to do on his phone is play chess

-Sean still can't read in modern time

-john plays guitar and writes really horrible love songs for Abigail

-Javier and john r for sure in a band together, they're pretty good when they sing the songs Javier wrote

-Lenny and Sean co-parent an extremely neglected widgetable

-Arthur listens to facebook reels on full volume in public w no shame. Isaac is mortified every time

-john has various tattoos, half of them are god awful. He definitely got Abigail's name or initials tattooed somewhere and she was livid

-Karen gives herself piercings with a really shitty piercing gun

-arthur and John work together in construction, an auto shop, or in the equestrian field.

-Dutch has a very rigid and lengthy skincare routine

-john uses 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner, but he says it's 3 in 1 bc it also counts as bodywash

-Tilly is the only one of her family to graduate college (Arthur dropped out of hs when Eliza got pregnant and john never went)

-Hosea is one of those old people you just see walking around the neighborhood at like 8am

-john and Arthur don't wear sunscreen or put on lotion. Abigail sometimes manages to force some sunscreen on John's face before he goes to work tho

-bill refuses to go to gay bars but uses Grindr

-Abigail cuts John and Jack's hair bc she refuses to pay for something she thinks she can do herself (she cannot do it herself)

-Kieran is a hair braiding god. I'm talking French braids, fish tails, you name it.

-john owns a really shitty pick up truck. Jack was either conceived or birthed in the backseat of it (maybe both)

-Sean falls for those free iPhone scams every time

-the only videogame charles plays is stardew valley. He thought it would be relaxing, it wasn't.

-Tilly and Mary Beth are in a book club together

-Abigail is the type of parent to not let her kid play w nerf guns or watch pg13 movies (John is the exact opposite)

-Sadie spends her weekends at rage rooms

-everyone's fridges are covered in drawings Jack made for them

-John, Javier, and Sean game together. Violence always ensues

-dutch does not tip waiters

-john tried to play catch w Jack once and ended up getting hit in the groin by a baseball. He didn't know 4 yr olds could throw that hard

-Abigail and Karen (& sometimes Charles) drink cheap wine together every Sunday and discuss the dumb things their boyfriends did that week

-Lenny and Hosea do the wordle everyday

-Jack is in little league soccer. John sits back drinking a beer as Abigail shouts at the referee

-Abigail got a tramp stamp of a little bow when she was 17 (she regrets it)

-Hosea exclusively sends emails

-Abigail hides John's weed socks bc she doesn't want Jack to see and "fall into a life of drugs" when he's older

-Arthur is a hiking dad through and through. While John is a sit on the couch drinking a beer w his kid in his lap kinda dad

-uncle is the old drunk that lived in the same trailer park as Abigail and John did when Jack was a baby. He kinda just stuck around after

-Miss Molly O'Shea would be a makeup god and u cannot convince me otherwise

I might do a pt 2 late in the future!

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theres-a-body-here · 3 months ago

Text

Scumtober - Day 13 (Touch Starved)

Bill Williamson x Male!reader

"Get… off…me you… sonuvabitch…" Bill wheezed, writhing beneath the man choking him. Clawing at the strong arms cutting off his windpipe, he tried to gain some leverage to throw off the stranger.

The man on top of him snarled, eyes blazing with anger. Spit flew from his lips as he tightened his grip on Bill's neck.

The score was meant to be simple: clean out the old cabin Sean had scopped out a day before, grab whatever supplies they could find, and leave. The last thing Bill expected to encounter was an O'Driscoll thug waiting to get the jump on him.

Struggling against the thick hands squeezing his throat, Bill kicked wildly beneath the man pinning him down, desperate to shake free and get enough air back into his lungs.

A sudden gunshot rang through the cabin, stopping the struggle as quickly as it started.

Bill gasped for air, coughing as the weight of the dead man collapsed onto him. As soon as his airway opened up again, he shoved the corpse away forcefully, crawling backwards until he hit the far wall.

Glaring at the body lying in front of him, Bill rubbed at his bruised neck, wincing slightly at the pain caused by the throttling. He swallowed hard, still catching his breath, eyes bloodshot as adrenaline surged through him.

"Bill?" a voice called out in a hushed shout.

As Bill turned to look towards the source of the voice, his vision swaming, the room spinning slightly. It took a moment for his gaze to land on you crouching near the door, scanning the room with your revolver raised.

The relief washing over him upon seeing your familiar form sent his shoulders sagging, dropping the tension inside him just a fraction.

"He was…the only one here," Bill managed to croak out, massaging his tender throat.

"You took too long exploring the cabin so I came. Thank God I did," you say, standing to approach Bill while holstering your weapon. Offering a steadying hand, you helped him rise up from the floor onto a nearby chair with care.

Taking a deep breath, Bill let himself relax further as the blood flowed freely to his head, the dizziness beginning to dissipate.

Before Bill could say thanks, he suddenly felt your hand gently cradle his chin. He stiffened instinctively, eyes widening a touch as you guided his head upward with gentle pressure from your thumb.

The warmth of your skin pressed against his jaw sent a strange sensation coursing through him.

Eyes lowered bashfully, Bill couldn't help but feel his own cheeks growing warm under your gaze; unable to bring himself to meet your intense stare directly, opting instead to fixate on a spot somewhere along your shoulder.

"He really got you good," you muttered as you examined his raw skin.

"Uh…" he began nervously, clearing his throat quietly as he shifted his posture slightly, closing then unclosing his legs unconsciously, fingers tapping anxiously against his leg.

"I should've known something was off sooner," you whisper, your hand now cupping his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"It isn't…It isn't your fault," Bill stammered softly, shaking his head slightly in protest.

You retracted your hand slowly, leaving behind a lingering warmth where your palm had been resting. "We should get going. Dutch'll probably have a fit if we come back empty handed and late," you sigh.

Forcing back a whimper, Bill did his best to keep his disappointment hidden. "Yeah…yeah, you're right," he agreed, swallowing hard as he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. "Let's go." He added firmly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest.

The ride back to camp passed in silence, only the sound of clomping hooves against the dirt road and the distant birdsong echoing through the trees.

You wave to Lenny as you enter camp, guiding your horse to the makeshift posts with Bill following behind. Bill opens his mouth to say something...anything, but his mouth dries up. He watches as you hop off your horse and tie it securely. With his head slightly down, he does the same. Before he could head off and drink himself to death, your hand grabs his arm to stop him.

"You need to rest," you said softly, pulling him gently by the arm towards his bedroll setup.

"Nah, I'm fine," he protested weakly, "Just wanna…get a drink…"

Despite his words, Bill makes no effort to pull his arm away from you.

"Please…" you insisted, tugging him along. "At least let me put some ointment on those bruises."

At the mention of your hands on him again, Bill felt a phantom hand pressing against his face, engulfing his head in warmth. He wanted to feel the way he did at the cabin again. He wanted to be touched...by you.

"Alright, alright. Fine."

Scumtober 2024 Masterlist

#male!reader #male reader #scumtober #scumtober 2024 #flufftober #fluff #bill williamson #bill rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #bill x reader #touch starved

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toasttt11 · 3 months ago

Text

brownies

December 2, 2019

Hayden walked up to Connor and Leon’s house with Archie, she knocked on the door and heard Lenny bark once and the door opened revealing a smiling Lauren, “Hayden!” Lauren was beaming as she saw Hayden and pulled her into a quick hug, “I’m so glad you could come!”

“Thank you for having me.” Hayden politely said back and held up a dish, “I brought healthy brownies.” Hayden felt odd not brining anything and she has made a recipe for brownies that are diet friendly.

“Oh Connor is gonna love them.” Lauren smiled taking the dish knowing how much Connor loves chocolate.

Hayden un clicked Archie’s leash letting him into the house and start sniffing Lenny.

Another smaller dog came over to Archie and Lenny and started rubbing on Archie.

“That’s Bowie.” Lauren told Hayden as she led Hayden through her house and towards the living room where Connor, Leon and Celeste were sitting as the boys were watching a game.

Celeste had just gotten back in Edmonton the day before and she was excited to be able to meet Hayden.

Celeste looked up and beamed seeing Hayden she got up and walked over, “I’m Celeste! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Leon has told me so much about you.” Celeste kindly told the younger girl and held out her hand for a handshake.

“Hi i’m Hayden.” Hayden shook her hand, “Hopefully all good things?” Hayden asked teasingly with a small smirk.

“Oh definitely.” Celeste agreed laughing.

Hayden sat between Lauren and Celeste on the couch as Connor’s chef finished making dinner.

The dogs came trotting over and they all went right to Hayden, Hayden petted her dog first before petting the other two, “Hi Lenny and Bowie.” Hayden softly spoke to the two dogs and laughed slightly as Bowie jumped onto her lap and licked her cheek. Archie laid down on Hayden’s feet and Lenny rested his head on Hayden’s knees.

Lauren awed watching the dogs with Hayden and took a discrete photo of them and shared a soft smile with Celeste.

“Do you have plans for the holidays?” Celeste asked curiously wanting to know more about Hayden.

Hayden nodded, “Yeah my family is coming up here as i’m kinda in the middle of everyone.” Hayden told Celeste and Lauren who was apart of the conversation.

“Oh where do they all live?” Celeste titled her head curiously.

“Jack lives in Jersey playing for the Devils, Quinn lives in Vancouver playing for the Canucks and Ellen, Jim and Luke are in Michigan.” Hayden explained with a softer expression as she talked about the remaining of her family.

“How long have you know all of them?” Lauren asked knowing that the Hughes are family to Hayden.

“Since i was four and they moved in next store to me.” Hayden told the girls making them nod.

The chef finished dinner and they all got up heading to the dining table, Hayden sat at the end of the table with Lauren and Celeste on her other sides and the boys next to their own girlfriend.

Hayden made a humming sound as she took a bite of the pasta, it was an incredible, “Connor you’re not allowed to get rid of Sheridan.” Hayden sternly told Connor as she absolutely loved the food from the Chef.

Connor laughed, “Don’t worry i won’t.”

“He would never.” Lauren smirked teasingly at her boyfriend, she loves having a chef and loves how amazing the food is.

Hayden actually spoke up in some of the conversations as they all ate dinner.

The table was cleared after they all finished eating and they stayed around just talking with each other.

Lauren got up and went into the kitchen and grabbed the dish of brownies and brought them to the table with some little plates, “Hayden made us dessert.” Lauren told everyone flashing a smile at Hayden.

“Heathy brownies.” Hayden shrugged casually with a slightly nervous smile as she hasn’t cooked or baked much for others since her parents died.

Connor made a surprised sound as he took a bite and it tasted incredible, “It’s so good. Is there sugar in this?” Connor asked Hayden.

“None.” Hayden answered smiling slightly glad everyone seems to like it, “It’s a family recipe my mom made it.” It was her mom that made the recipe for her father when he was playing hockey and wanted something sweet but still okay with his diet.

“Thank you for sharing it.” Lauren squeezed Hayden’s arm slightly having a feeling it wasn’t easy for Hayden to make the brownies and share the recipe.

Leon and Celeste left a little after dessert but Lauren and Connor managed to convince Hayden to stay a little longer.

“Have you seen Connor’s shooting room?” Lauren asked with a mischievous smile knowing Hayden would love it.

“No.” Hayden shook her head.

“Come on i’ll show you.” Connor told her and gestured for his young rookie to follow him and Lauren followed them as well down to the shooting room.

Connor opened the door to his shooting room turning the lights on, “You want a stick?” Connor offered seeing Hayden looking around and he could tell she was itching to shoot a few pucks.

Hayden nodded, “Please.”

Connor flashed a smile and grabbed one of his sticks knowing Hayden could use it just find as she is only slightly shorter than him.

Hayden nodded in thanks as she took the stick and Connor used another stick and passed over a few pucks for her to shoot.

Lauren sat down on the small couch in the shooting room that Connor and her had gotten for her so she could sit and be with Connor when Connor is in the room.

Lauren has always known Connor is a incredible Captain and leader but seeing how gentle he is with Hayden and the way he’s seemed to take on a mentor role with Hayden more than he has ever with anyone else, it was heartwarming to see.

Lauren knows Connor sees a lot of himself in Hayden and wants to protect her.

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satureja13 · 1 month ago

Text

The Boys told Dayn about their issues to repair the ship and he was wondering why they just didn't ask Lenny. Saiwa: "Eh, we cant understand him?" Dayn: "But he could have shown you. Like this: Lenny, where did you break the communication system?" Lenny pointed his little paw towards the stern of the ship. Dayn: "See?" Saiwa: "We didn't know that was a thing ^^' " Dayn cuddled Lenny: "Aouww, he's so shy and cute!" Well, Lenny wasn't all that 'shy and cute' when he crashed and rumbled through the ventilation shafts and scared them to death and destroyed the ship...

Vlad and Jack went back to duty at the bridge and the others followed Dayn and Lenny to the ship's stern. Where they found another engine room they hadn't even noticed before...

Dayn: "It's here? Oh my, poor boy! You must have been so afraid when you hid back here!" The Boys almost felt bad, but just almost. They haven't forgotten yet how they cowered at the bridge in fear - for days!

Dayn collected a few parts together from Great A'Tuin's storage and his own ship and started the repairs. Jeb watched him eagerly so he could learn from him. Dayn: "So this is just an interim solution. I hope it will last until you reach the nearest outpost to replace the broken parts. I'll message the owner you're on your way and if you should get lost, he's going to search for you." Jeb: "Thank you so much. So, what is the purpose of this second engine room?" Dayn: "This is mainly for cooling the engines and devices. A strange coincidence though, that Lenny ended up here destroying the only parts here that are crucial for communication and routefinding..." Lenny looked aside. He might have had his reasons? ö.Ö'

Dayn kept rambling on: "... and what did we have a ball back here! The cooling water in the bassin is very clean. Like almost all the water on the ship it runs through a reprocessing cycle. Yeah, and we used it as a hot tub and had quite the fun, if you know what I mean! ^^' " Well, at least Ji Ho and Kiyoshi know what it means to have a ball in a hot tub ^^' (Ji Ho even three times! 1 - 2 - 3) The last pic doesn't look like they're really having a ball. That was before their first woohoo and they'd been so nervous!)

Ji Ho and Kiyoshi are still reliving their former hot tub experiences, while Saiwa is plotting his first - with Jeb :3 (Their faces!) And poor Jeb didn't get it or he's just too shy to respond ^^' He's still peppering Dayn with questions about the devices of the ship and how to handle them so he can brief Jack what he'd learned. (That's important too!)

And after Dayn finished, they invited him over to have a hot cocoa. But no matter how hard they tried, the tray didn't produce any mugs... So they talked about their adventures instead. Dayn, from when he was part of the Sixam Away Team and they explored a meteorite crash scene and the Boys chimed in because they also found a meteorite crash scene in Selvadorada! Kiyoshi went silent. He wasn't with them then. That was when he lived in the tree... He'd missed out so much because he'd been so busy all the time. Fullfilling his duties for the Resistance and the Council. He's determined to make it up to Jack and the others. This time, he won't fail them again. The decades in the tree reformed him. Jeb looked lovingly at his best friend <3 He's glad it all turned out so well in the end - well, at least until now. Kiyoshi is back together with them for almost a year now and he and Jack are slowly figuring out their fated-mates-thing.

Eventually, Vlad was able to pour some cocoa for them! (Turned out that it can't be served while sitting? -.-)

Dayn also tought them some basic words/meowls in Lenny's language, so they'll have less misunderstandings ^^' He also already messaged Albaleyh and the Kids about Lenny's whereabouts. Seon Mi and Joon Gi are still sad he left. But they are happy he's helping the Boys out to rescue their father. For them this is the turning point and they are positive it'll work out now :3 And they are finally eating again.

Vlad and Jack sat at the bridge and drank their cocoa. Having a break and cherishing the silence after all the commotion. Experiencing thrilling space adventures really isn't as fun as in the movies...

The Little Goats Sartyrs ogled them from their meadow in the cargo bay below. Little Goat: 'That hot tub basin thing will provide so much fun!' Little Goat: 'Ikr! I wonder which couple will explore it first!?' Little Goat: 'Let's place bets!'

What will await them on their odyssey through the galaxy? Stay tuned and find out in the following episodes of

Star Trek - The Original Series Theme (What I was going for starts at 0:29. I didn't find a clip without the intro ^^')

'Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds; to seek out new life and new civilizations; to boldly go where no man has gone before!'

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

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hungry-tum-stuff · 7 months ago

Note

Your character and their friends just ate lunch, but your character has a notoriously big appetite, and it's not long before they're hungry again. They feel silly saying so when their friends are still plenty full, so they keep quiet about it, intending to eat when they return home. Eventually, though, their rumbly belly gives them away, and their amused friends urge them to have a snack.

absolutely adore your writing & ocs btw

Thank you so much! It really means a lot to me when folks like my characters and my writing :D

For the first time in awhile, Buck had a weekend off.

This didn’t happen often. He usually only closed up his auto repair shop on Fridays and reopened on Saturday, but his buddies Lenny and Bruce, two of his regulars, had planned a fishing trip and invited Buck and Dante. Dante wasn’t on a case at the moment and Buck ran the auto repair himself, so he figured it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to close up shop and take a weekend to relax.

But it was also the weekend just before the full moon, which meant that Buck’s appetite was in full swing. Despite Dante worrying about it, Buck wasn’t going to turn during the trip. But he would sure as hell feel it coming.

Buck already had a pretty big appetite to begin with, being as tall as he was. He could clean his plate at any restaurant, he always took seconds, and he snacked frequently throughout the day. Now that he wasn’t a high school football player anymore and instead just beginning his thirties, his healthy appetite had left him with a strong physique and a soft middle. But during the days leading up to the full moon he just felt like a bottomless pit: Whatever he ate never seemed to be enough. Thankfully Dante was an excellent cook and had done enough research on werewolves to help keep his tummy quite satisfied, but when it wasn’t, it made sure everyone knew just how hungry he was.

During the drive up to the lakeside town his stomach had started to growl despite having eaten breakfast less than two hours ago, and as a result he’d had to endure Lenny and Bruce making jabs at him about his belly whenever it made itself known during the ride. They’d stopped at a diner as soon as they rolled into town, and were just now heading out to shop for supplies for their trip.

“That should keep Buck full for about thirty minutes.” Bruce teased, leading the pack down the street and towards the supermarket.

“Yeah well I’ll be full until dinnertime…” Lenny groaned, rubbing his stomach as Buck scratched his neck bashfully at the comment.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine until then too fellas.” He insisted, at which Dante raised an eyebrow in his direction. They’d all eaten a lot: All four men had gotten some variety of sandwich or lunch special with a side, and three of them were leaving the restaurant positively stuffed. And while Buck did feel fine, he also felt like he had enough room for a second course.

“I hope so, because we got a lotta shit to do until then.” Bruce said as he grabbed a cart. “Speaking of, Dante, you wanna find something for dinner tonight? Buck here tells me you’re a hell of a cook.”

“Oh yeah, no problem.” Dante agreed, smiling slightly at Buck.

“And we will find the rest of the shit for the cabin.” Lenny interjected, and they peeled off to hunt for their respective things. Buck tagged along with Lenny and Bruce because he knew they’d end up at the fishing counter, and he had to get some bait and tackle of his own. But not too long into their shopping, Buck felt that persistent ache begin to gnaw at his stomach again. He rubbed it discreetly and just hoped it would stay quiet as his friends were hemming and hawing over which bait was better and which hooks they should use, and the store was loud enough that any noises his tummy made weren’t too noticeable.

But once they rolled around to the food section to start picking up snacks, Buck found it much harder to ignore his tummy. It was definitely never a good idea to shop on an empty stomach, because now food was the only thing on his mind after walking through aisle after aisle of snacks, desserts, frozen treats, and everything in between. His tummy was already rumbling something fierce, but thankfully the hum of the freezers and whatever conversation Lenny and Bruce were having was enough to keep the attention off his noisy gut.

Eventually they regrouped with Dante by the produce section, flagging him down as they scanned for an open checkout lane.

“Wha’d you get for dinner?” Bruce called as they walked over to meet him, and Dante held up some of his ingredients triumphantly. Buck watched the package of raw chicken like it was a steak being waved right in front of him.

“I’m making one of Buck’s favorites: Chicken Scampi.” Dante proclaimed, only for Buck’s stomach to howl a terribly loud and hollow-sounding noise. He slapped a hand over his belly and chuckled nervously.

“Sorry, I s’pose I’m just really looking forward to that Chicken Scampi.” The other guys chuckled too, but Dante made sure to give him a pointed look that came across as worried.

“Well could you make it now Dante? Doesn’t sound like he can wait much longer.” Lenny joked as they got into line. Considering Buck’s stomach was snarling over the beeping of the cash registers, he was probably right.

“No, but I can get him a snack.” Dante insisted, piling his ingredients on the belt and adding a few extra bags of beef jerky on there with them. And as soon as they were checked out, Dante shoved them into Buck’s hands as Lenny and Bruce checked out their things.

“Eat.” Dante said sternly, standing beside the other. “This is your time off too y’know, so don’t worry about trying to follow our eating schedules. I know you hate being hungry.”

Buck tore open a bag of jerky and immediately stuffed as many pieces as he could fit into his mouth. Minding his manners, he did finish chewing before he got out a “Thank you, honey.” between bites. Dante just gave Buck’s belly an affectionate pat.

“Anytime. And don’t worry, I got enough to feed a family of ten, so make sure you eat you fill tonight.” Dante pointed at Buck sternly, as if he needed to be convinced.

“That shouldn’t be no problem at all.”

#finally… Buck tummy #thank you for the ask!#and the very nice compliment!#sfw hunger kink #tummy kink #stomach growling #hunger kink #tummy #belly kink #original characters

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azures-bazar · 2 years ago

Text

Accommodating

Re-uploading this one shot because I wanted to add some changes. I'm experiencing a massive writers block tho, my inspiration is gone (my new job is taking most of my mental energy away but I love it lmao)

Here is some SOFT!Arthur one-shot, again, because boy oh boy it makes me want to write a full story about him going through our current era lol

Don't mind his absolute child-like fascination for modernity, I mean... it's cool to see our tough cowboy happy, isn't it ?

Arthur Morgan x GenderNeutralReader

Word count : 2.9k

Short summary : You make Arthur try some new technologies, and it’s quite funny to watch his large blue eyes gaze at them !

A/Note : I bought myself a galaxy projector not so long ago and wondered how Arthur would react lol. Don’t mind it !

Tags : cute, Arthur discovers modern things, mentions of Avatar, movie-watching, snacks, cute nicknames, cuddles, soft boah is in the modern world, men can also cry

A cowboy in the modern world… what a weird story to tell ! Arthur had been in your life for a few months already, slowly accommodating to your era. Sometimes, it was fun, sometimes it was almost scary, and, occasionally, it could be sad. You knew Arthur was an outlaw, a thirty-six, probably thirty-seven year-old man who had been abandoned on the top of a mountain, but he never really brought the subject to the table. In fact, on a few occasions, he would mourn the rest of his gang, he would mourn his friends he would never see again. You had done your best to cheer him up during his rather sad moments, but nothing could really fill that void.

Arthur missed these folks, a few names were frequently mentioned : Hosea, John, Tilly, Charles, Sean and Lenny. Six people he would describe at times, probably the six people he missed the most from his former life. A father-figure, his siblings, his closest friends… he often wondered what happened to them, to these people becoming distant memories he could only mourn. As of 2023, even little Jack was gone. You wished you could do something, probably beg for Francis Sinclair to come back and drag all these people he mentioned to your time… but Francis was long gone, not even bothering about stepping by your place anymore.

You knew Arthur loved drawing stuff, so you bought him a set of sketchbooks for him to practice. He would hole himself in your now-shared room, sitting on the edge of your window or on your bed, spending about one or two hours sketching figures, animals or even sceneries which appeared to be from a very distant era, mixed with modern buildings and figures he came across while wandering in the streets with you. You often left him alone for him to enjoy his solitude, listening to some blues while sketching his discoveries before he would head to you and proudly show you some of his works. One of your walls had a full set of Arthur’s drawings framed and displayed to the eyes of any guest coming in. After all… it was art ! And nothing could make Arthur more happy than receiving compliments about his sketches he often disliked.

Arthur still had some hard time getting used to a smartphone you had bought him as you thought it would be a good thing to keep in touch whenever you would be away from him. He nearly broke his phone’s screen twice, unable to understand why it would not switch on, struggling to send you correctly written texts. His large fingers did not help much, he would get easily frustrated by not selecting the right letter for his text. You absolutely adored each one of them, finding them incredibly cute by knowing how much Arthur wanted to do things like you. Sending a text usually took you a few seconds, whereas Arthur would roughly spend one minute writing a five-word sentence filled with typing mistakes, some of them being due to his autocorrector.

"Im misqing yoi, Y/N !" was an almost daily message he would send you

At some point, you saw an add of a galaxy projector while scrolling on some social media, right after telling Arthur he would probably get a lot of followers if he decided, by miracle, probably, to create an account for himself. He was handsome, had some sweet-looking traits and could easily model for some alternative brands. He often said he would never do such thing, finding his face too ugly to be shown to anyone. How wrong he was, he was probably the most gorgeous-looking man you had ever met ! But, somehow, you did not want to encourage him to post pictures of himself. Social medias were a rather dangerous place for healing minds, and Arthur still needed time. Besides, he would probably not even be able to post anything due to his lack of ease using his digital keyboard !

You bought that lamp later that night, it got delivered quite fast. You carefully unpacked your new tool and quickly headed to your bedroom, followed by Arthur who had stopped reading a book about extinct species as he saw you wander around your place with this curious thing you held. You calmly placed the lamp on your bed, reading the instruction manual while Arthur touched it several times, not understand what the hell this little thing was and what was its purpose.

"What’s that ?" Arthur asked

"It’s a galaxy projector." you answered.

"Why d’you need that ? Can’t you just look at ‘em stars from your window ?"

"Light pollution prevents it. These are often used to create a cute ambiance at home or to distract kids. Wanna give it a try ?"

"Sure."

Arthur sat on the bed as you switched all lights off, plugging your galaxy projector on, making a large blue and purple light come out of it, filled with laser dots representing stars. The background was moving a little, creating a wave effect which froze Arthur on place. He kept his head up, looking at your now star-covered ceiling. His surprised and mesmerised face was absolutely priceless ! His eyes were shining, his mouth remained half-open as he could not help but stare at these fake stars covering your ceiling. All his troubles were forgotten, making him return to a child-like state. It was such a beautiful thing to see !

"And it can also distract grown-ups." you smiled

Your cowboy-roommate did not even react. His attention was completely focused on the ocean of fake stars he had above his head ! Of course, Arthur knew what a projector was. It would have been awesome to see his reaction if he had never seen such thing before, he would probably have been trying to catch these laser stars like a cat and look confused. But, at the moment, his reaction was pretty cute.

You left Arthur alone in the room to buy a ready-made lunch at the local market. He had a phone and would call you whenever he would need your help, if he would get lucky enough to make his fingers touch the right icon on his screen. It only took you a few minutes to buy some finger food for the two of you to eat while watching a movie, you came back to find Arthur exactly where you had left him thirty minutes earlier, in the same position, with this same amazed facial expression blooming on his face. He was hypnotised by these lights enough to feel suddenly so lost as you opened the curtains of your bedroom.

"Wh… what’s going on ?" he said, placing his large hand over his eyes. "Damn sunlight…"

"I brought us some food. You wanna watch a movie ?"

"Yeah, why not ! Just… just let have my eyes back first, hun."

Arthur rubbed his eyes and shook his head while you smiled. You absolutely loved listening to him giving you cute nicknames, such as hun, sweetheart, lovebug… even calling you boo, sometimes, after he heard about that nickname while watching TV. It took him a few more seconds to leave your bedroom, keeping his eyes partly closed until reaching your living room, helping you placing all the food on the table, still looking surprised you did not have any forks or knives to eat these carrots, chips, mozzarella sticks and cucumbers. He glanced at the chips and took one between his fingers. Since his arrival in your era, he had never seen or had the opportunity to taste chips !

"What’s that thing ?" he asked. "Is that really food ?"

"Oh, that’s a potato chip."

"Really ? Just like fried potatoes ?"

"Yeah, just like fried potatoes, but smaller and thinner. We can eat them for snacks or very random occasions. Try it !"

Arthur nodded, taking a bite of the chip before smiling and taking more of them into his large hand. You could not help but chuckle at his sudden addiction to salty treats, wiping away a few crumbs stuck in his three-day beard with the tip of your fingers. He turned shades darker and smiled, gently taking your hand and rubbing it with his thumb as you launched the movie. Avatar, by James Cameron. Back in a day, that movie had been vastly acclaimed for its large technological progress, and was still pleasant to be watched to this day. You would take Arthur to watch the second Avatar movie someday soon in case he liked the first one.

"Are ‘em blue folks real ?" Arthur asked while pointing a Na’vi on screen

"No, they’re modelled with computers." you smiled, trying to explain Arthur about motion capture in the most easiest way. "Our technologies allow us to record actors and then modify their bodies thanks to computers to morph them into these blue folks, like you call them."

"Is there a planet called Pandora too ?"

"I don’t know. Probably ? The universe in infinite, and we didn’t explore much yet."

The gaze Arthur gave you was adorable. You could see his eyes shine with admiration, it was such a privilege to be able to witness an era which was more than one hundred years ahead of his time, despite its good and bad moments. You had tried your best to keep Arthur away from newspapers in order to help him remain in his rather innocent state of discovery, knowing that a simple glance at the news on TV would probably make him terribly sad and somewhat nostalgic of his own time.

It was quite unexpected, but Arthur cried during the movie. He cried because of its overall beauty, the story appeared amazing to his eyes, the soft melodies and choirs chanting in background soundtracks moved him a lot. He loved the bioluminescent effect of some scenes, the overall atmosphere of the movie, not taking his eyes away from your TV while wrapping his arm around your shoulders, gently kissing your temple at times. He adored that, he adored this moment. Having you close to him while being fully taken into this movie made him forget about all his past troubles.

"D’you also have ‘em guns ?" he softly asked

"Maybe… why ? You want one in case you’d come across blue people ?"

"Mmmm… yeah. Jus’ in case. I miss my good ol' revolver, sometimes."

You rested your head on his shoulder, somewhat amused by his sweet attitude. You would listen to his gasps, his soft squeals, his almost inaudible wows… you could not deny how adorable Arthur was. You could even hear him sniff, his chest trembling a little whenever a scene would be emotional enough to bring him to tears. Who would have thought Arthur could be so sensitive ? Those who knew him much more than you did. Hosea and Charles, for instance, and most probably John at some point, even Dutch. Just by looking at his drawings, you could have guessed he had a soft heart and high intelligence hidden underneath his rather menacing appearance.

The movie lasted for so long… you had time to check your phone about a dozen times while resting against Arthur whose eyes were glued to the screen. You did not even want to bother him, he was absolutely hypnotised by the movie and did not want to be bothered. You smiled at him as the credits rolled, noticing tears streaming on his cheeks as you teasingly poked them.

"Getting a little sensitive, huh ?" you smiled

"That was a beautiful show !" Arthur answered. "I loved every second of it ! Can we watch it again ?"

"Someday, we will. But... let's just take a break, okay ?"

Night came pretty fast, Arthur made you a lavender infusion, you found enough energy to work a little while Arthur sat on the couch and started sketching. Very random figures, some fantasy-like sceneries… and you. You could easily tell he was drawing you by looking towards your direction a few times, then proceeding to sketch something, and looking back again. Another artwork to frame, that was for sure !

"What are you drawing, cowboy ?" you smiled

"Well… I’m trying to sketch you, but I can’t get it right… you’re too gorgeous and my hand shakes too much."

"That’s… that’s really sweet !"

"I mean it."

What Arthur told you made your heart stop beating, you turned shades darker and hid your face behind your hands. Your smile widened enough to cause your roommate to move closer to you, carefully closing your laptop with a large smirk blooming on his face. He made you stand up, slowly uncovering your beautiful face before dropping a sweet kiss on your forehead.

"You’re making me melt, you know that ?" you smiled

"Let’s get you to bed so you’ll stop workin’ on your… weird machine here."

"It’s a computer, Arthur."

"Well, computer or not, you’re going to bed with me ‘cause it’s kinda late."

You shrugged, you didn’t notice how fast time had passed since you decided to get back to work ! Remote-working had its ups and downs, and Arthur had complained a few times about you staying up too late instead of going to bed and hide into his embrace. He could hardly sleep without having you next to him, and there were no ways to escape him that night. How could you resist these puppy eyes and insisting behaviour ? Your arms spread wide for him to lift you up while you dragged your legs around his hips. Arthur loved carrying you around your place, he could easily remain in shape by doing this almost on a daily basis ! You did not mind it. In fact, you loved having him carry you from a room to another. Bridal and koala style, as you called it, were your favourite.

Arthur calmly put you on the bed and proceeded switching all lights off while you changed into some more comfortable wear, slipping under your blanket as Arthur moved next to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He took advantage of you turning yourself towards him to passionately kiss you before making you rest your head on his shoulder. You remained like this for a few seconds, in your pitch-black bedroom, up until Arthur cleared his throat.

"Erm… Y/N ?" he sheepishly asked

"Yeah ? What’s wrong ?"

"Would you mind… switching the galaxy lamp on for a bit ? I… I liked it and…-"

"Sure, sweetheart."

You gasped at your own sudden reaction. "Sweetheart ? Really ?" you scolded yourself, covering your forehead with your palm. You never dared giving Arthur nicknames, not finding anyone of them suitable enough for your time-traveling cowboy, his sole name sounded just fine, you would sometimes call him by his surname. Sweetheart came out of nowhere, and was well deserved !

"S-sorry." you stuttered

"Nah, it’s fine." Morgan responded. "I like ‘em sweet nicknames. "

Arthur smiled, deeply flattered by the nickname you just gave him. His heart pounded faster than expected as you calmly reached out to get the lamp and switched it on. A beautiful fake galaxy suddenly covered your ceiling, filled with laser stars which slowly moved along with the rest of the digital ocean of blue and purple clouds behind them. You analysed Arthur’s reaction and smiled at his sight.

"Why do you like this lamp so much ?" you smiled

"Oh… it just reminds of home." Arthur answered as he moved closer to you, allowing you to place your head back on his chest

"You never slept with a roof over your head before you came here ?"

"I did, at some point… but I got used to fall asleep while gazing at the stars from a corner of my tent, or sometimes from my bedroll when I was away. Gazing at ‘em moving above me was always calming."

"If you want, we could go camping this summer. Would you like that ?"

You heard Arthur moan a little, feeling his heart pound faster. Your head rose a little, allowing you to get a better view of Arthur’s beautiful face. Your hand caressed his chest, drawing circles on them while you kept gazing at him. His eyes kept staring at the ceiling until he felt your gaze, slowly turning his head to you.

"That’d be awesome." he smiled

There were many things left to discover, many things you wanted to show Arthur. The world was full of treasures, modern or ancient, cultures you wanted him to get familiar with, places to visit… Arthur’s health was back to normal, you could now guide him through your own era without bothering about any health issues he would encounter. Indeed, that man was not twenty anymore, but you were ready to do so much for him ! You were ready to guide him, to be with him. Beyond what Francis had first asked you. Your help turned into a beautiful blossoming relationship filled with embraces, kisses and… very noisy nights.

Switching this galaxy lamp became some sort of ritual every single night. Along with waking up to Arthur’s face and his hugs after you would come back from work, your daily embrace in bed facing a fake galaxy was your most favourite part of the day. At times, you would run your fingers into Arthur’s dirty-blonde locks, massaging his scalp with singing some song. Sometimes, he would do the same with you. You adored it, you adored him. No, you loved him… and did not have the courage to tell him just yet, but you knew this day would come soon enough. The world was filled with treasures, mysteries and beauty.

And Arthur was going to find out about them.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader #modern arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #modern cowboy #soft arthur is the best #azurestales #cute #fluff #rdr2 au #sweet arthur morgan makes my heart melt idk why #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction

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applepiesupreme · 1 month ago

Text

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 44

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/156122218

He opened his eyes and was momentarily bewildered by the chandelier his eyes landed on. Then, a split second later, it came to him: they were at the hotel. His head instinctively turned to the window - it was still dark but the quietness told him this was the winter morning dark of Sunday and not the late night dark of Saturday. His hand reached out and his fingertips touched her skin.

The bed was so massive that they had rolled apart from one another at some point and she was huddled away from him under the covers. Savigne’s deep breathing indicated she was fast asleep, dead to the world. He grinned in the dark, unabashedly proud for being the reason for that. He carefully shifted to lie closer and faintly palmed her belly. No kicking yesterday and no kicking today. What did the silence mean? Had he been too wild, too overzealous? But if something had happened, they would know, right? At the very least there would be pain? Fucking idiot, read a book, he told himself again.

After that he was unable to fall back asleep and lied there for a long time, his mind awash with idiotic happiness. Last week this day he was lying in a hammock in Guarma, distantly listening to the quiet murmur around the campfire and looking up at the stars, worrying about things a thousand miles away he didn’t know and couldn’t change. Wondering if she was fine, if she was well, where she was and how she was and if he would ever see her again. The boat was due to arrive the next day, and he had felt restless and twitchy, desperately trying to will the time to pass faster.

A week later here he was, waking up next to her again. His wife. The jolt that notion injected through his spine took his breath away and he sat up, unable to contain the movement.

He carefully crawled off the bed and parted the curtains on a window. The faint hue of dawn was coloring the sky now. He shut the bathroom door so he can turn on the light and not wake her, checked his pocket watch for the time and then went around to collect his clothes and get dressed. Then he turned the light off again, stepped into the main room, put on his coat, slung his satchel over a shoulder, took his gun belt to tie on outside and exited. He walked away, then returned and locked the door. Wasn’t ideal to lock her in, but leaving the door unlocked on her seemed unwise.

He passed by the night shift receptionist snoring at his desk. The winter air immediately bit his face and he pulled up the collars of his coat and adjusted the gloves on his hands before he set a brisk walk towards the Jewish quarter.

Another early Sunday morning in the city, and this time his mood was even better than the last one. He thought of the year he had - full of happiness and high points but also full of loss and grief. He was still mourning the death of Sean, Hosea and Lenny. But he was also mourning the loss of Dutch and the loss of the gang, steadfast presences in his life for as long as he could remember. The disappearance of that purpose, once so indomitable and unquestionable, filled him with vertigo. For all his adult life it had been the thing that made him him, and now it stood like an empty glass, drunk up and left dry. What was he, really, without the gang, without the outlaw life?

Gonna be fine, he told himself. You will be a husband and a father. And your own man. That other thing - it’s done. Dead. Even if you stay, all is frayed and used up, nothing can be restored. Let it go. This here is what you want.

All true words. But for years to come, he knew he would still be mired in self-doubt and uncertainty. Might be that was Savigne rubbing off on him. He used to be a simpler man. On. Off. In it. Out of it. Now he was getting all sentimental like she was and running circles in his head. “Philosophizing under the stars” as Hosea used to say. He wanted this new thing with all the thunder in his old heart. But he was also afraid to let go of the other; afraid that when he did, he couldn’t find the man he was again and then who would he be? Without the grinding stone that this life was, would Arthur Morgan lose his sharpness and go blunt? Would he become weaker? Softer? Would he devolve into one of them drunks passing out at a bar early afternoon, bored and dissatisfied with his life?

He pulled the door to the small hole in the wall store open. There was a turning of necks by the diners crammed around some rickety tables that stuffed the opposite end of the humble room. The smell of coffee and tea and toasted warm bread and pickles and fish washed over him. In front of him, a simple counter neatly bedecked with pots and pans with different ingredients. Behind it, a door that probably led to a downstairs kitchen. Ropes of baygals were hung on the wall behind the counter and in front of them, a young boy of maybe fourteen.

He gave his order of two baygals, but the lips bowed when he said extra onions.

“We don’t do that.”

“Did, last time I was here.”

“You must have been somewhere else, we don’t do that.”

Arthur gave the kid a look and chewed his cheek. Cunning, smart eyes. Surly and defiant, as if here he was the boss and he wasn’t going to be challenged by a guy three times his size. He sure hoped his elated mood wasn’t about to get soured by one smartass kid first thing in the morning.

“Son,” he started, calmer, “I ain’t so old, ‘m feeble. Was here. Was given exactly what ‘m orderin’ now.”

“Well I don’t know what to tell you, you’re wrong mister,” was the coy nasal response as those wiry arms crossed on the bony chest. He puffed the dark curly locks that were falling into his face off his forehead with the same confidence and insolence Arthur himself used to have at that age.

Arthur's head turned to the right and met those of the conglomeration of people who were sitting in their work overalls, silently chewing their breakfast.

“Is it the money?” was his patient exhale. “Ya askin’ me to pay more? Cause if that it, make the damn things and I’ll pay.”

“It’s not the money,” the nose turned up. “It ruins the taste.”

“Look here kid, good luck on yer career as food critic,” was Arthur’s dry response. “But make me the baygals way I wan’em and I’ll be on my way.”

The wiry arms tightened and the patrons in the shop babbled something in Jewish to the kid who spat a string of stuff back. Arthur waited through the back and forth, his patience wearing thin. In his experience, days that started off wrong had a way of staying so, and he sure hoped that wasn’t going to be the case today.

The rising voices summoned the older man Arthur recognized from his previous visit from the kitchen and the heated banter puttered out. The man threw a suspicious glance at the kid who was a spitting image of himself and the thin arms loosened a little, then he turned to Arthur.

“How can I help, sir?”

“Yer kid tellin’ me ya don’ do extra onions no more. Well you gonna make an exception for my wife,” he growled. “Cause that how she like ‘em.”

The man wiped his hands on a towel, did a nod and gave his son a look that drained the color off the sullen teenager’s face. “Do as you’re told,” was his soft ask. The kid harrumphed and pulled two baygals in front of him. “No,” his father said quietly. “Get fresh beigels from the kitchen.”

The kid objected in Jewish and his father slowly raised a hand which cut off the stream of babbling. “It’s impolite to speak a language in front of someone who doesn’t understand it.”

The kid’s jaw muscles worked.

“Go get the beigels,” his father said calmly and the kid tore out of there with a huff and stomped down the stairs.

The owner turned to Arthur. “I apologize. I assure you, it’s not you personally he’s angry with, but the whole world.”

Arthur grunted his acceptance. He remembered what that age was like.

“He’s going through a phase,” was the father's tired assessment.

“Which one he at?”

“The one where he thinks he knows everything better than his father,” the man offered with a bent smile.

Arthur chuckled at that and so did the other patrons.

“It’s not a phase, cause you’re still there yourself aren’t you, Josef?” an older man yelled from the back and the clientele snickered louder.

“That there is my father,” the man said apologetically. "He likes to sit there and...'keep an eye on me'." He pointed to the gray in his hair to imply the silliness of the notion.

Arthur grinned wider. The kid returned, was immediately annoyed at the joviality in the room and set to slicing the baygals. “Who eats extra onions?” he muttered darkly.

“This gentleman’s wife,” his father said with dark warning. Then he turned to Arthur and just to make polite conversation, asked “What phase are yours going through?”

“Ain’t born yet,” was Arthur admitted. “Soon, I hope.”

“Your wife is with child!” the man exclaimed and the shop broke out in mazel tovs and congratulations. Arthur nodded in acceptance and felt an odd mixture of pride and shyness. The boy colored and added the ingredients without looking at him, but his movements softened.

“Well she has good taste,” the shop owner grinned. “Anything for you?”

The cowboy palmed his beard and thought of a polite way to say that he didn’t enjoy this food. “I ain’t much of a fish guy.”

“I see,” was the smiling response. “Allow me to make you something different. Free of charge. For the new father.”

A clatter of suggestions erupted from the clients, all in English to remain polite. The owner held up a slow hand and Arthur realized that this gesture was his thing. The room fell quiet. “I’m the owner here and I know what I’m doing,” he said calmly. “And since you’re all sitting here, you clearly agree.”

“Get a load of this guy,” someone lobed in. “We’re just here because it’s the only beigel shop in town, you fool!” The men laughed and clinked their tea mugs.

“Ignore them,” the man said with his soothing voice. “He who throws dirt always loses ground. I will make you a pastrami bagel with mustard.”

A short discussion between the diners, and then a collective approval that this was the correct choice.

Arthur nodded politely to say he accepted. He didn’t know what pastrami was and had low hopes for it to be to his liking, but if a man offered you something, you took it (even if you were going to feed it to the next starving dog).

The baygals were placed in a paper bag, he paid and was about to leave when he paused at the door and turned back around. He shifted on his feet, unsure as the shop owner watched him with hooded eyes. Everyone else fell silent and there was an uptick of tension as if they expected him to start a confrontation. Eyes flitted to obvious bulk of the guns on his hips under his coat. These were a suspicious people, he decided, stingy with their trust and wary of outsiders.

“I…uh…” he swallowed. He would describe himself as a confident man, but sometimes his confidence just drained out when he most needed it. “I have a question.”

“How can we help, sir?” was the cool response. The silence in the shop swirled thick and deep.

“Was told the baby kickin’ a good thing,” flew out of his mouth to his own amazement.

A moment of confused silence followed before the owner offered a courteous “Yes?”

He felt compelled to turn around and leave before he made a fool of himself, but then thought that train had just left. So he rounded his shoulders and barged on: “So when it ain’t kickin’…that mean it’s bad?”

“No,” was the gentle smile. “They don’t kick all the time.”

“Don’t listen to him, he only has seven children!” the father shouted from the back and chortles erupted.

The owner ignored the room and said “It’s fine either way” to Arthur. “The real kicking happens when they’re grown,” was the addition as his eyes slanted to his son.

A sea of agreement and encouragement from the spectators. “It’s fine” and “very normal”, and then “my cousin said his didn’t kick at all!” to which the counter was “your cousin didn’t even meet his child before she was two”, another clanking of cups and wave of laughter.

He nodded his thanks and walked out with more congratulations chanted after him.

As he walked back, he ruminated on the challenges of fatherhood and raising a child right and how he had no idea how to do it. Well…he knew what NOT to do, so there was that. All he had to do was not be like his own father, which should be easy enough. But how do you make a child kind and good and strong? How do you make it choose well? How do you give it a good compass and a smart head? Maybe, he thought, they come as they are and all you can do is hope you’re lucky.

He ruminated on these things and found himself in front of the hotel. When he entered, the receptionist had changed back to the man from the previous evening.

“Mister Kilgore…”

He knew what was coming so he cut it off with a curt “I want coffee for my suite.”

This threw the receptionist off, but only for a moment.

“Of course. Was the room to your liking?”

“Was fine,” he waved his arm. These fools were used to being treated with the contempt of rich folks, and in that language he was versed well enough. He leaned over the reception desk. “But the next fool who comes knockin’, askin’ to enter is gonna eat lead.”

A flurry of blinking as if this was the most savage thing the man had ever heard, then another swift recovery and a firm nod. “We only meant to check on your comfort.”

“I understand some fools were clutchin’ pearls last night but that ain’t my concern. I booked that suite so I can do whatever I want. Yer precious bed is fine.” The man gave him a highly doubtful look but kept his silence. “Ya want me to recommend this hotel to my friends in New York, you gonna have to do better.”

“I hear you,” was the polite response. "I will send up a cart immediately. On us.”

Arthur released a patronizing huff, tilted his head as if to say 'that’s a good start' and walked up the stairs.

Savigne jerked awake with a gasp when a cold palm bloomed on her back and scurried away from it. “Jesus, why are you so cold?!”

“Went out to get breakfast.”

“Not this shit again…” was the dark mutter from under the covers.

“Guess I gotta eat them baygals myself then,” he hummed. She shot up and emerged hair mussed, face flushed. “Lox and extra onions,” he added, then laughed a little at the speed she scrambled off the bed.

She ran into the bathroom and quickly threw on her bloomers and her chemise. As she walked back, his eyes crawled over her, lingering on her bust and the swing of her hips. You would think after the night they had his hunger would be sated, but releasing those floodgates had only served to whet his appetite.

“Would you like to see the cabin?” she asked as she pulled her chair closer.

“Sure,” was his drawl.

“We could-”

The knock startled her like a deer and she half rose from her seat. He motioned her to sit back down. When he opened the door, there was a cart waiting and he wheeled it in and unveiled the fancy breakfast and the steaming coffee, and on the lower shelf, warm fresh towels.

Savigne waved a no at his questioning face. “Beigels! Now!”

He chuckled and placed her baygals on her plate and before he could pour coffee for her, she was frantically chewing on one and moaning with delight. “Dear god, how is it this good?!”

He was pleased at her reaction and sat down to join her. He took a hesitant bite out of his own baygal, grunted a surprised approval and devoured the rest of it, then started to work on the breakfast that was sent up.

"When this cabin gonna be ready?" he asked around his food.

"Should be just odds and bits left by now," she sighed, sipping her coffee. "We'll see. Did you like the hotel?"

She snorted at his "Place full of prudes" answer. "Tell ya what, I like the tub. How much a tub like that cost, you think?"

She chuckled. "A lot is my guess."

"Worth it."

"Without the plumbing you'd have to fill it by hand and that would be way too much work."

"I'd fill the damn thing every day," he grinned.

Eventually they put on the daily clothes they had brought with them, folded the nice ones into the bag, then Arthur took the bag and went to the table and emptied the fruit basket in it, gave it a thought, and stuffed the basket itself in there, too.

"What are you doing?" she watched with amazement.

"Takin' stuff that we been given?"

He swiped the champagne bottle, then walked into the bathroom and threw in all the soap and the scent bottles, too.

"Oh my god," she moaned and rolled her eyes.

"What?" he said defensively, "You think them rich folk don' take everythin' that ain't bolted down?”

She tsked and went to the door and when her back was turned he hastily stuffed in the clean towels in the cart because they were soft and plush, and also because fuck this hotel.

His jovial mood shifted when they arrived at the cabin.

"The hell is this?" he narrowed his eyes with disapproval.

"What?" she said defensively. "It's twenty minutes to Saint Denis. And only a rental."

He jumped down and to his astonishment, today she waited for him to come around to help her down.

She unlocked the door and he strode in, hands on his gun belt, face scowling with displeasure. She walked about, seemingly happy with the new floors, telling him how much drier and warmer it felt in here now.

"What do you think?" she bit her lip after she did her cursory checking.

"'M thinkin' I gotta slap some sense into Marston when we get back."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad!" He gave her a look. "Are you the same man who lived in an outlaw camp and slept on a cot or what?"

He scoffed as he strolled around. "Cot was ages ago," he smirked.

"Months," she corrected with a grin. "It's only until Spring."

He hummed, biting his cheeks. "'M pickin' the next one, tell ya that."

Savigne gave him a narrow eyed look. "Twenty minutes to Saint Denis. And it has a huge lot."

He leaned against the kitchen counter, crossed his arms and shrugged a ‘so?’.

A change came over her face. She tilted her head as she slowly sauntered over. "It's private," she said demurely, eyes flicking up at him. “Nobody can bother us.”

His eyebrows rose.

"I can prove it you…” she smiled, coy fingers playing with his belt buckle. “But...fair warning: you might change your mind about the cabin…”

He hardened immediately with the fervor of a teenage boy and she smiled, tracing the shape of his cock straining against his trousers.

He loosely gripped the counter lip behind him and responded with a cocky “Doubt that.”

His heart lurched at the look she gave him from under her brows. A moment later she was unbuttoning his pants and he squared his feet as she sank to her knees in front of him.

His grip on the counter tightened as she ran her tongue from his base to the tip, teased the head, then without further teasing, promptly took him into her mouth. A groan fell from his lips and his other hand fisted her hair as he watched his shaft rhythmically disappear between her wide lips into that warm cave. Fire ignited in the base of his spine. The cabin was cold and his wet skin prickled with the seesawing of heat and cold as she swallowed him, released him, then swallowed him deeper. He whispered a cascade of encouragements as he tried to control the urge to violate that delectable mouth.

His eyes glazed as she wrapped her fingers more firmly around the base and eased her lips up and down his hardened flesh. Then she started a gentle suck and a whimper fell from his slack mouth. A helpless twitching of his hips. The familiar pressure started to swell in his gut. His thighs tightened and his heart broke into a gallop in his chest. The only sound in here was a quiet creaking of wood and the sigh of leather and his heavy panting as he hardened further under her assault. His eyes turned to the window, to the patch of dull, overcast sky and the green of pines as he gently rocked on his heels with her ministrations. He felt himself unraveling under her quick tongue and trembled with pleasure, defenseless and dizzy. A flutter of a thought that she was getting entirely too good at this and that he was the luckiest bastard who had ever lived.

Cool hands ran up the back of his thighs as her head began to bob forward and back faster, her tongue teasing the bottom of his shaft. The heat in his gut intensified and churned, looking for an exit. His fingers coiled in her locks and he released a tortured groan, hunching a little. Then she hollowed her cheeks and everything vanished from his head - if someone asked for his name this moment, he wasn’t sure he couldn’t come up with it. His breathing became harsher, faster. The muscles in his thighs tensed. His hips gave a few clumsy jerks against her as the desire to embed himself into that slick, dark, tight space became overwhelming. She hummed around him and the vibration tore a desperate keen from him as he spiraled towards release, helplessly bucking into her mouth, all worries of choking her forgotten. Suddenly she took him to the hilt and swallowed. He felt her throat work around him and froze rigid, unable to move as the built up pressure burst like champagne from under a pulled cork and pure, sweet flame gushed through his cock.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he swam in a sea of light as she milked him until he softened in her mouth.

He leaned panting against the counter as she gently tucked him in and buttoned him back up.

“What do you think about the cabin?” was her sly whisper as she buckled his belt.

“Fuckin' love it.”

She laughed like a bird and kissed his flushed cheek.

After Arthur helped her back up the cart and turned to the Bayou she babbled rapidly about how to furnish the cabin, repeatedly bouncing between reminding herself out loud that it was only temporary and yet another bout of new of ideas. She huddled closer and wove an arm through his and prattled about how weird it will be to live away from people.

“I’ve always been around a sea of people,” she ruminated. “The gang is the least number of people I’ve been around and now it’ll be just two, can you believe it?! Well there’s John’s family nearby but that’s just five. Five! So few! I’m so curious what that’s going to be like. What do you think it’s going to be like?”

He sluggishly scratched his beard. “I’d say ‘quiet’, but ‘m thinkin’ there gonna be some chirpin’,” he grinned at her, amused by her happiness. Despite his reservations about the cabin, her enthusiasm was infectious and once again his mind turned to the prospect of waking up in the same bed, looking out the same window, clothes hanging in closets. Simple things most people took for granted, but for a nomad like him, fascinating, mesmerizing. The stability of it all. The firmness under his feet. His heart felt at peace, his stomach full, his lust slackened. It was a tranquil, sated happiness that he could get used to.

“I’m having the best weekend of my life,” she sighed.

He chuckled at that and gave her a warm look, elbows on knees, rocking with the cart.

“Hey!” came from behind them. He turned as John and Abigail caught up. Jack, who was sitting in front of John in the saddle waved at them with excitement.

“Where are you guys coming from?” Savigne asked.

“Went camping overnight,” John grunted. “Got sick of the Bayou.”

The horses flanked the cart as it took the bend to the camp.

Together they rode into mayhem.

Arthur pulled the reins and the horses stilled. For a moment they sat there watching people run around, talking and yelling. Then he climbed down, absentmindedly held out his hand and she took it to do the same.

Multiple people noticed their arrival and the reaction was immediate: everyone rushed up to them like metal pulled by a magnet, talking and yelling and crying at the same time. A boulder of fear sank into his gut. Had the Pinkertons found them? Was someone dead?

His arms rose and he bellowed “Calm down!”

When he could hear the buzz of insects again his eyes shifted around the group and he found Grimshaw as the highest authority there, so he locked on to her.

“What happened?”

“Dutch is gone.” She strained to get the words out, heavy disbelief in her voice. “And so is the money.”

The same disbelief jumped into Arthur’s heart.

“Bill and Javier are gone, too,” Mary Beth added breathlessly. The group huddled closer, surrounding them. He felt Savigne clutch at the hem of his coat like a child.

“You sure?” was his stupid question. Stupid because his gut never lied and his gut said it was true.

Grimshaw took a shudder of a breath and nodded firmly.

“How can he do this?” someone marveled.

“Has to be a misunderstanding,” said someone else.

“Maybe they’re just scouting out our next location?” rang Pearson’s voice.

“Fools!” snorted Karen bitterly. “They slunk out in the middle of night like thieves. “There ain’t no misunderstanding.”

Arthur’s head swiveled around. “Where’s Sadie? Charles?”

“Sadie and Charles rode out yesterday after you to talk to some Wapiti guy. Said they will return in a few days,” was Grimshaw’s answer.

“What are we going to do?” Tilly’s voice shook.

Then a babble of “I don’t understand”s, “impossible”s, “we’re missing something”s, “we should have”s, “could have”s.

Arthur held up a hand again, still trying to process what looked like the inconceivable. He realized too late that he should have been more cunning and not allow all four of them to stray away from camp.

John came to the same conclusion almost at the same time: “That was stupid, all of us leavin.” He gave Arthur an apologetic look.

Although deep down he agreed, he dismissed the other man’s guilt. “How was we gonna know they was gonna do this?”

His face hardened and he stepped towards the hut. People parted like tall grass and he strode over as the rest of them scrambled after him like ducklings.

The door banged open and he approached Dutch’s bed, stood there with an audience looking at it, under it. Of course the money wasn’t there. Nor were his personal possessions or his guns. And yet they still looked with him and ducked with him as if there was a crevice it could have slid into by mistake. Savigne stood a little off, seemingly the only one who wasn’t stunned, observing them. All faces except hers, probably his own included were slackened and twisted with the effort to come to terms with a calamitous shattering of faith.

He stopped and stood there a long time, hands working, head tilted down, hat hiding his expression. They waited, buzzing with impatience.

“Why would he do this?” was the hushed whisper.

Arthur’s jaw worked. “Punishment,” was his late response.

“For what?” Tilly murmured.

He met her eyes. “Betrayal.”

An explosion of objections. He didn’t respond and it died out by itself in a few minutes.

“What was yer decision?” was his low question he already knew the answer to.

“We were…” Strauss cleared his throat. “We decided to leave.”

A shuffling of feet.

“But he said we are free to decide!” was Pearson’s protest.

A huff by Arthur as he turned and sat on Dutch’s cot, took a deep breath, ran a palm over his beard and looked up at them. “Reckon he didn’ like the answer.”

His eyes crawled over the wrinkled sheets, the random objects left behind. How am I this stupid? He thought and locked eyes with Savigne’s sad, dark gaze. How did I think this was gonna go when we all walked away from him? Did I think he was gonna shake our hands and press money into it? That he was gonna clasp my shoulder one last time and wish me luck? Truthfully, a part of him had. Or at least had hoped that’s how it would go. After all, how many times had he listened to Dutch’s sullen droning of “nobody is keeping you here”s and “you can leave if you like”s?

That massive blind spot behind his left shoulder. A blurred, watery area his eyes refused to see clearly. The Micahs and Fussars and Brontes and Eccos of this world always so crisp and sharp to him, but that blind spot…fuzzy and blotchy. Maybe because those men had never wiped his brow when he was sick. Tucked his shirt in or ruffled his hair. Had never praised his good work and defended his bad choices. Maybe because they had never clasped his shoulder and told him he was more than a son to them.

'There is no honor among thieves' the saying went. And ultimately what were they all but thieves?

A long, thick silence as people turned this over in their heads. The gang faltered at the notion just like children whose parents had walked out and left forever.

“What do we do?” Mary Beth inhaled at last.

All the money he had earned over the span of decades. The things he had justified to earn that money! The violence, the cruelty, the harshness, the bullets shot and the punches thrown…His name sullied, posters with his face hung around towns. His body ruined, riddled with injuries and wounds. The years of sleeping in the dirt, in the mud, in the rain, in the cold, always running and hiding.

His jaw clenched and he rose from the bed. The group shifted on their feet and offered him an opening. He stomped through it and headed to their tent like a bullet as Savigne, John and Abigail scrambled to catch up.

They yelled his name but he barely heard it. There was a fire in his head, burning everything to cinders. All he could think was that they had robbed his child. Robbed it from the only thing Arthur Morgan could give it: the chance for a legitimate life. He wanted to wrap his hands around a throat and press until bones creaked under his fingers. Until a heart exploded in a chest. Until blood gushed down a nose.

He shot through the flap and they followed.

“Please, talk to me!” Savigne begged. He turned to her, eyes blazing as his hands tore open a crate and fumbled through it. A storm swooshed in his ears, tornadoes churned behind his eyes.

“Gonna go after them.” His voice sounded muffled and distant to his own ears. His eyes shifted to John. “Ready the horses.”

“W-what?!” She stepped to block off John. “Why? That’s exactly what they want.”

Arthur dug out his rifle and slammed it on the table. “They took my money,” he growled. “All our money. We have fucking nothing!”

“But…”

“THAT WAS MY CHILD’S MONEY!” he roared and both women jumped. That reaction sobered him a little and he stilled and looked away for a long moment, chuffing like a beast trying to wrestle back his fury. “Was all the money I made. Ever,” he growled. “My whole life. All I have to show for everythin' I done.”

He hated how her lips wobbled and her eyes misted as if he was a white hot furnace and she struggled to stand in his heat. It froze him to see it and he stilled, one hand stuck in the crate, his chest bellowing with his heavy breathing as he desperately tried to calm the wild horse bucking under him. Don’t fall off, he told himself over and over. Don’t fall off, you’ll never get back up again.

“Not all,” she croaked. He met her eyes and she hesitated but pushed on: “Only half. Right?”

A dark huff as he watched her like a wolf backed into a corner, slinking restlessly. Dangerous. Bristling. Desperate to run. Ears flattening with indecision if he should tear his way out with claws and teeth or if he should accept that approaching touch.

Her trembling hands rose in placation. “You give only half to the camp, right?”

“That my child's money!" was the low snarl. He broke eye contact and resumed digging out his shotgun. “And everyone else’s, too! Marston! Horses!” he boomed and John scrambled out of the tent and Abigail trailed after him.

“Is it worth the grub’s life?” Savigne said evenly. There was a sharpness in her tone that suddenly made him wary. His nostrils flared like he meant to smell her mood.

“Your fucking money,” she continued, the volume building as her hands curled into fists. “The gang’s money - Tilly’s, Mary Beth's, Pearson's…would you gamble that against the grub’s life?”

His face soured and he looked at her with disgust for suggesting it. “The hell ya sayin’?” was his dark whisper.

“Do you know,” she trembled with quiet ire, “what I went through last time you left for money and didn’t return? Do you know how much laudanum I drank to hold on? I sat there...” her arm shot out in the gang’s direction, “...for weeks, unable to work! To live. I still don’t know how I made it through that! And now you want to do it again?!”

His heart purpled but his ire was too strong. “‘M gonna be fine. I will come back,” he said dismissively and loaded the empty slots on his bandolier.

“That’s vanity talking.” He stilled at that, blinking with surprise. “You don’t know. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I’m asking: are you ready to gamble the grub’s life and maybe mine on that?”

His fingers fumbled and he dropped a shell, picked it up, then stood there, inspecting it in his hand, momentarily lost in thought.

Vanity.

She stepped closer still, clearly intimidated by his anger but perhaps more afraid of where it would lead.

He noticed the beads of sweat on her brow and the pallor of her face. His indecision deepened. The red shotgun shell slalomed between his fingers, back and forth and back and forth.

The dark slanted eyes looked up at him with a quiet heat that matched his own. “If you leave,” she panted. “Money or no money, when you return, I won’t be here.” She ignored his flinch. “I promise you, I’ll have someone else’s ring and someone else’s name.” He balked at this but her hand rose to stifle his objection. “You promised. You keep your promise or you stay away. You can’t keep putting us through this.”

He scoffed and looked away, hurt and angry and outraged by the violence of her words. But also torn. A little abashed. Conflicted. Her hand landed on his, the shotgun shell pressed between their palms. He ground his teeth, seething.

“Savigne,” he mumbled, flailing to make her understand the enormous sacrifice she was asking of him. Years of his life, wasted. Wasted on a man, on a dream. That money was supposed to be the seed of the good things that would germinate from the soil of misery. Without seeds it was all for nothing. Was all misery. “Was…all…I had,” he muttered, feeling short of breath.

“Not all,” was her quiet reminder. She slowly rose up on her toes, coiled her arms around his neck and tugged him down. Somehow he allowed it, followed it and leaned into her neck. The shell slipped from his fingers and clattered on the wood palettes when he embraced her back, timid at first, then firmer. He breathed the lavender in her hair and shifted on his feet and leaned closer. They stayed like that for a long time as his heart hammered in his chest and his breath stuttered. Her small hands glided over his back like she was ironing out the cracks and creases in his body. Like she was putting him back together, mending him. The twisters in his head swirled away and his mind settled. Things in there left strewn about, upended, displaced but at least calm, stable. She shivered in his arms and hung from his shoulders like the day he had saved her from the O’Driscolls and he pulled her closer still, careful not to hurt.

Who really had saved who that day anyway?

"It's fine," she sighed into his ear.

How to explain to her what this meant? How small and emasculated he felt now that he was stripped of his only worth?

“I got nothin’. ‘M fuckin’ broke,” was his bitter huff.

She pulled back and gave him a stern look. “You have the money in your satchel. And I have mine. We’ll put it together and we’ll figure it out.”

An obvious sham. Savigne was always high strung and worried about money, always handled it with the frugality and fear of someone who never wanted to return to the lack of it. But her clumsy effort to mask this, to put on a brave face so she can soothe his humiliation simmered his heart.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, shamed anyway.

She fumbled with her satchel and tore out a neat stack of bills. Then she opened his, ignored his objections and stuffed it in. Her hands trembled as if she was giving away her own lifeline but she set her jaw and pushed through the motion before she latched the flap close.

“You said you would handle the money. There. Your job now.”

“I just lost thousands of dollars,” he scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And yer givin’ me more?”

“Well now you can’t go after them and lose that too,” she chewed her lips. “Because then we’re both - no, all three of us - screwed.”

He chuckled, took a deep breath and straightened to look around the tent, head a bit clearer, that thumping behind his eyes diminished.

“The others...they expect me to…" he trailed.

Her small hand snaked into his. “We'll convince them that you can’t.”

He didn’t like disappointing his friends. But this was one of those rare moments where his selfishness served him well. Because as he absentmindedly brushed his thumb over her fingers, he found that he liked the idea of another man’s ring on her less than the sting of that disappointment. Much, much less. He nodded reluctantly.

They walked out the tent towards the hut, but before they got there, Molly stumbled out from between the trees and wobbled in the middle of camp.

“Miss O’Shea,” Arthur sighed at her. “Thought maybe ya went with. ‘M sorry that-”

“Oh no!” she waved an exaggerated arc at him. “Don’t be sorry. ‘M gonna have the last laugh here!” As if to prove it, she crowed like a rooster.

Heads turned and conversations stopped. “That sonobitch isn’ winning! Gonna make sure of that!” she slurred.

“Yer drunk, sit down!” Karen yelled from somewhere.

“‘M gonna gofind the first lawmen…hicc…in Saint Denis and tell’imall…” an accusatory finger butterflied from person to person. “...Aaaallll boutyou! Specially that bastard who ranoff. They think…hicc…you dead!” her laughter shrilled at the sullen looks thrown her way.

“Come on, woman,” was Pearson's tired huff. “We’re sitting here in the mud with you.”

“You made this man!” she shrieked. “You built'im like some…some…” her hands fluttered to the sky as she bent backwards and Arthur took a small step forward to steady her before he stopped himself “…some dumb golden calf. Worshiped him! Dutch this…” she sneered, “…and Dutch that! Counted yer precious…hicc…pennies right into his palm. He thought he was a damn god! Then…” her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled back, “y'all decided he wasn’ god nomore. 'M fucking glad he robed you,” she chortled. “Fuck all of ya!”

Hardly anyone argued, her words rang too true.

“Miss O’Shea,” was Arthur’s tired attempt to reason with her, knowing damn well there was no reasoning with a drunkard.

“Pipe down you grumpy bitch!” Uncle hollered. “Even I’m embarrassed for you and that’s sayin’ something!”

“‘M gonna lead them riiiiiggghhhht here,” she swayed on her feet, stabbing a finger downwards. “‘M gonna tell’em-”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence as the gunshot tore a hole through her stomach and he reflexively grabbed Savigne’s arm and swung her behind himself. She gasped with shock, stumbled, then clutched the back of his coat to steady herself. His eyes shot to his left, at the smoking shotgun in Ms. Grimshaw’s hands. A soft moan, the plop of a body and a last exhale as Molly O'Shea was no more.

“Was getting tired of that damn woman,” Grimshaw drawled and tilted the gun down. “Useless bitch, moaning about all day.” Her eyes shimmered with dark satisfaction as she looked back at Arthur.

There was a tense moment of silence as the hands on the back of his coat clutched harder and he had a sudden clear sight of the state of things: how far they had all strayed from normal into desperation, madness and cruelty. How pitiful their struggles and absent their compassion had become.

Something quickened in his gut - the twitch of a well honed animalistic instinct that flagged danger.

Absurd, his head argued. These people are your family. You can trust them with your life.

But his gut whispered Like you trusted Dutch? Look at them: crazed with anger, drunk with desperation. And armed.

They're good folks, his head pressed.

This is an outlaw camp. There are no good folks here.

“John,” he breathed softly and the blur of a person appeared in the corner of his eye. “Hook them horses to the wagons instead. We leavin’.” The blur disappeared.

Grimshaw pushed up her chin and gave him a defensive look over her nose. “You know the rules.”

What Arthur knew was that this woman had hated and envied Molly for a long time and as soon as Dutch's protection over her had lifted, she had scraped her off like mud on her shoe. His ire from a moment ago returned, but different in flavor: How dare they do this sort of thing around his woman? The god damn doctor had said no god damn tension! His vision crimsoned.

“Next time ya fire a gun 'round my woman,” he said darkly, “will be the last time you shoot.”

She blinked at this. They had shared a long journey, Arthur and Grimshaw, but he didn’t like that cruel glimmer in her eye and despite knowing she was far from likable, he was pissed at the stupidity, the pointlessness of Molly’s demise. Pushed around, left behind and then shot in the gut.

Savigne squirmed behind him as if to peek around his back and he shepherded her back with his arm and a soft “Don’ look" over his shoulder.

“You know the rules,” she repeated, face hard.

He nodded. “And now so do you,” was his warning.

His eyes crawled around the camp as the gang shuffled to their feet and his appetite for explaining and convincing dried up.

“We leavin’.”

“What about us?”

Sadie's voice murmured in his head, reminding him that the gang loved him but that their love came with expectations and jealousy. He shrugged, shifting to keep Savigne behind him. “Stay. Leave. Your call.”

“What about Dutch? The money?” asked Uncle.

It irked him that they could turn this smoothly to the prospect of money as Molly’s body lied there, still warm, but he forced his face to relax. Now that the hair on his neck had risen, he was wary to reveal his hand.

“We'll talk when Sadie and Charles return," he lied smoothly. "We don' have the numbers. She know where 'm at, tell her to come by."

“So that’s it?” whined Tilly. “We're just going to let them ride off?!”

You go after him then, he simmered quietly. He's a lot less likely to shoot at you than at me.

“At least the bastard can’t get his greedy fingers on the Blackwater haul,” Karen drawled.

Somehow, in the aftershock of Dutch's betrayal, Arthur had forgotten all about that. “We divide the share of those three, might end up close to what we were due here,” he offered.

The news mollified the gang and he took the opportunity to turn Savigne around and urge her to walk back to the tent, all the while keeping himself between her and the gang, irrationally paranoid that the next shot would aim for her. He had no intention of returning here and odds were, this was the last time he was seeing most of them, but he didn't care because his gut churned with fear and alarm.

“Get yer shit,” he told Abigail as he walked by her. Ironically she was doing with Jack what he was doing with Savigne - shielding his view from Molly’s crumpled form. She gave him a curt nod.

“They shot her,” Savigne whispered, voice thick as she stumbled in front of him. “Just like that. She wasn’t going to do it, she was just upset.”

“I know,” was his tight response as he pushed her through the flap.

“Why?”

“They angry and afraid.” He pushed her to the bed and tried to make her lie down. Despite her dazed state, she objected to her boots, so he quickly pulled them off and she crawled up to lie facing him. He sat at the edge and casually brushed the hair off her face for a while so she wouldn't pick up on his alarm. She was pale and cold, eyes all wide like a frightened animal.

“You okay?”

It took her a while, but eventually she sniffed “Yeah.”

Maybe it was all in his head, maybe he was spiraling like the rest of them, but he thought of Dutch's empty cot and he thought of that big chestnut tree and he found himself very short on trust. His hand deftly folded his coat away from his guns.

“‘M gonna pack. We leaving',” he said when she calmed down.

“But…the cabin isn’t finished…”

“It’s finished enough, we’ll make do.”

She turned this in her head for a while. Then: “She told me once she grew up playing in the forests of Ireland.”

“Miss O'Shea?”

“Yeah.” Her face fell and her voice broke. “That little girl traveled all the way here to die in a swamp like some…some…animal.”

He didn't have words so he pulled the cover over her and squeezed her hand.

“Want you to rest while I pack,” he said as he rose to his feet. “We goin’ home.”

It occurred to him suddenly that for the first time in his life, that word meant something other than the gang camp.

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