#i think i used to draw the pants untucked from the boots but i liked the little chains that matched his coat

[cozylittleartblog]

so many people complimented rouxls' boots on the last deltarune post, i forgot i basically never post full body doodles so you've never been able to get a good look at him. so here he is ✨

#deltarune #rouxls kaard #doodles #art #deltarune chapter 1 #just a simple leetol post today. i would like to post more. i keep saying that but i mean it this time. #i think i used to draw the pants untucked from the boots but i liked the little chains that matched his coat #i've always read his uniform as an actual playing card? a lot of people see that the ropes on the front look like writing #like an actual rules card but i read it like his uniform *is* actually very boxy shaped and pulled at the waist #the way i literally read his sprite and the way i draw him are kind of different but i still try to keep that rectangular element #thats why i liked the dumb 80s shoulderpads because it doesn't break up that shape as much as these do #but that's why his coat has the front and back skirts with the slit on either side. its like two playing cards sandwiched together #and that only very loosely translates from my head into the way i draw him but. yeah #i definitely lean more into how he's depicted in merch rather than in game whjbdfghbjfdg

[feralthoughtdump]

Love Me Harder

CW: swearing, smut, reader calls Bucky “Sergeant”, spitting, choking, restraints (with a necktie), spanking, dom!Bucky

Word Count: 2.3k

“Oh you’re really testing me, aren’t you?” 

She giggles at Bucky’s words. Her plan was working, and it was working well. 

From giving him a quick peek at her lacy black panties while getting ready, to the teasing touches, to her giving the bartender one too many flirty looks, it was all to rile him up. Get him angry, and hopefully end their dry spell. 

Well, calling it a dry spell was a bit dramatic. It was just a little over a week without Bucky fucking her. Nevertheless, she was still irritated.

It wasn’t necessarily Bucky’s fault, nor is it hers. They’ve been busy. With him going on back-to-back missions, and her having a jam-packed schedule, neither of them had the time. 

But right when they found some time to take a break, Sharon threw a party and insisted that they’d come. 

The final straw was when she had taken her panties off in the bathroom and sneakily tucked them into the pocket of Bucky’s jacket. When his fingers grazed over the lace, he saw red. If they weren’t surrounded by others, he would’ve bent her over the bar and fucked her until she forgot her name. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant.” She purrs into his ear and leaves the table, heading off to talk to Sharon. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later when the crowd had dissipated and his watch read 1:03 am when the two of them decided to leave. 

She was disappointed when he said nothing, or more so, when he did nothing, as they got into the car, ready to head back to their shared Brooklyn apartment. 

She took off her makeup and showered with dissatisfaction on the tip of her tongue. Her plan was working, but it failed miserably. 

It didn’t help that his hair had begun to get long again. It hung in his face and was always so soft between her fingers. 

She loved to grab onto it when his head was between her thighs and the thought of it made her hornier than ever.

Sure, she could just touch herself and relieve the frustration between her legs, but it wasn’t the same. Plus, if Bucky found out, she would be due for the worst spanking of her life. 

She walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers and a thin cami, ready to sleep away the ache between her thighs. 

As she crouched down to pet Tux, the little black and white cat they adopted a few months ago, Bucky’s boots crept into her vision, illuminated from the bedside light.

“Look at me, doll.” 

His tone was authoritative and demanding so she knew better than to disobey. She looked up into his blue eyes, pleasantly surprised by the anger and lust that glazed over them.

She slowly starts to get up, Tux scampering out of the bedroom door, but Bucky places a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back onto her knees. 

He’s still dressed in the party attire, only he’s shed the jacket. Her mouth waters at the sight of his button-up shirt, now untucked from his black jeans with his tie hanging loosely from the collar. 

She slowly reached up to unbutton his jeans but he catches her wrist. 

“No. Not after the shit you pulled earlier tonight.” He taps his metal fingers on her lower lip. “Open up.”

She parts her lips and lets him slide the metal onto her tongue. They never break eye contact as she sucks, swirling her tongue around the digits. 

He lets his other hand caress her face, gently stroking her cheek. 

“Good girl.” He murmurs.

She closes her eyes and whines around his fingers. 

“You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He cocks his head. “Already so desperate just from sucking my fingers.”

She nods, giving his big doe eyes. 

He pulls her fingers from her mouth and hooks his thumb over her teeth. 

“Answer me!” He commands.

“Yes!” She struggles to speak with her open mouth.

He bends down and stares daggers into her. 

Without speaking, he spits, letting it land on her tongue. 

“Don’t you dare swallow until I tell you.”

She nods her head.

He observes her with an amused smirk, watching her eyes water and her jaw tremble. After about a minute, he unhooks his thumb from her jaw. Gently, he taps his fingers against her chin, signaling her to close her mouth.

“Swallow.”

He says nothing as she obediently swallows, then latching his lips onto hers. It’s rough, slopping kissing with teeth knocking into each other and gentle bites at her lips.

When he pulls away from her, she pouts with spit-slicken, swollen lips, the only thing on her mind being Bucky and his cock. 

The hardwood floor digs into her knees and she shifts, trying to relieve the pain. 

“Do your knees hurt?” He asks, voice low and gentle.

She nods her head. 

“Yes Sergeant.” 

“I guess I should do something about that.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, you really should.”

She’s taken by surprise at the feeling of his hand grabbing her neck, the metal squeezing at the sides. 

“You really need to fix that attitude of yours.” He growls, pulling her up to stand on wobbly feet. “You think that you can flirt with the bartender like a little slut? You think that you can tease me all night in front of Sharon and all her friends?”

“If it’s enough to make you fuck me,” She retorts with a gasp “then yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

She realizes that she should’ve just kept her mouth shut when he slams her down onto the bed, her feet bouncing on the mattress. 

His grip on her neck tightens and her eyes roll into the back of her head. A whine escapes her lips when he takes his hand away.

“Hands above your head.” He orders. When she doesn’t comply, he lands a hard slap on her thigh, making her cry out. “Now!”

She hurriedly obeys and watches with excited eyes as he loops his tie around her wrists, binding them together with a tight knot.

Her mouth stretches into a smile when Bucky shrugs off his dress shirt. She drools at the sight of his form, especially at the way his biceps flex when he pulls his undershirt over his head.

“Like what you see, doll?”

She bites her lip and nods.

“Such a shame I’m not letting you touch me. You’ve done plenty of that tonight.”

Her heart drops and a whimper slips past her lips.

All she wanted to do was get her hands on him but Bucky is denying her of that. It wasn’t fair. 

Well, in retrospect, she probably deserves it. 

So she sighs and pouts, hoping that her wide-eyed gaze would be enough to convince him to be nicer to her. 

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes. “I just- I just wanted you to fuck me.” 

Bucky wraps his hands around her ankles and pulls her down the bed. 

“Oh, doll, is that all you wanted?” He gently caresses her calf. “You just wanted me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?”

“Yes Sergeant.” She whines, all gaspy and desperate. “Can you please fuck me?”

He lowers himself onto the bed, letting her legs draw over his shoulders. 

“You’ve got such good manners, doll.” He plants a wet kiss to the inside of her thigh. 

“Asking so nicely too.” He tugs her (well, his) boxers down her legs and throws them onto the floor. “But I’m not fucking you yet.”

She’s reduced to a panting mess when he eases a finger inside of her. 

Her eyes squeeze shut as she takes a deep breath, careful not to whine too loudly. It was far too late at night and she wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors. 

Bucky’s done so little to her yet the way he dominates her, the way he’s able to take control over her, it leaves her dizzy. 

“Come on, pretty girl.” He murmurs against her thighs. “Let me hear those pretty sounds.” 

She shakes her head.

“The neighbors.” she whispers “I don’t want to wake them up.”

He shoves another finger inside of her, making her yelp at the stretch.

“I don’t care if they hear you. In fact,” he curls his fingers up, hitting that spot inside of her. “I want them to hear you. Let them know you’re mine.” 

She bites her lip, still reluctant, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

He pistons his fingers in and out of her and swirls his tongue around her clit. 

Her resolve is slowly starting to chip away as she lets out a breathy moan. 

“Bucky!”

He responds with a hum, the vibrations making her clench down on his metal fingers. 

She’s close. Very, very close. 

Her chest rises and falls as she struggles to control her volume, biting down on her lip so hard, it’s close to bleeding. 

“I’m-” tears pool in her eyes. “I’m gonna-”

He swiftly pulls away from her, slipping his fingers out of her. 

“No, you aren’t.” 

She tries to sit up, but finds it difficult, given her restrained hands. She collapses back onto the bed with a frustrated groan. 

“Please!”

He takes hold of her face, squishing her cheeks together. 

“I decide when you get to cum. Now, if you don’t stop being a whiny brat, I won’t let you cum at all. Do you understand?”

She nods her head, tears spilling over her lashline. 

“Words, angel, use your words.” He chastises. 

“Yes- Yes Sergeant.” She quavers. “Yes, I understand.” 

His hold on her chin is released and she inhales a shaky breath. When she thinks he isn’t looking, too occupied with stripping off his jeans, she discreetly tries to rub her thighs together. 

She isn’t so lucky. 

As a quiet gasp leaves her lips, his belt cracks down on her thigh. Her once quiet gasp turns into a loud yelp. 

“What did I just say?” 

“I’m sorry!” She wails. “I just wanted to cum!” 

He flips her over onto her stomach and smacks her ass with the belt, leaving a bright red stripe on her flesh. 

She bites down onto the pillow and lets out a cry, the ache in her tummy growing stronger.

“No, I don’t think you do.” The leather cracks onto her skin again and she pulls at her bindings. “Because if you wanted to cum, you wouldn’t be so disobedient.” 

She buries her face in the pillow, muffling her sobs as he continues his assault on her ass, occasionally switching out the leather belt for his metal hand, worsening the sting. 

“I knew you’d like this.” She hears him murmur, swiping a finger through her dripping cunt. “My dirty little thing.” 

He chuckles at her little yelp when he pinches the burning skin. 

“You’re awfully cute, sweet angel.” He coos. “So cute, in fact, I think I’m gonna give you what you want.” 

He pulls her hips up, her upper half sliding down the mattress. 

“Are you going to fuck me?” She asks sweetly, turning her head to look at him. 

“Oh, angel,” He gently pushes her sweaty hair out of her face. “Of course. I think I’ve punished you enough.” 

She winces and pulls at her restraints as he slowly pushes his cock inside. She’s taken him before, but she never really got used to the stretch. 

When he’s fully situated inside of her, he places a strong hand on her back, keeping her still on the mattress. 

“Remember what I said, doll?” He asks. 

“You decide when I cum.” She answers. 

He pulls out halfway and slams himself back inside of her, making her wail.

“Good girl.” 

The way he’s got her positioned allows him to go deeper, each thrust hitting that spot inside of her that would send her toppling over the edge in a few minutes. Normally, this would be a good thing, but now? When she’s so close? Not really. 

She’s no longer holding back on her volume. Her pleading sobs and desperate whines ricochet throughout the room, for sure, waking up the neighbors. 

As she tightens around his cock, she looks out the window, trying to distract herself with the view of the city skyline. 

Her little distraction fails to do anything when he snaps his forward, driving his cock deep into her. 

“Fuck!” She curses through gritted teeth. “I’m close. I’m really close.”

“Hold it.” He huffs. 

“I can’t!” She protests. 

Bucky removes his hand from her back and places it on her tied wrists. 

“Yes, you can. Do you know why?”

She shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. 

“Because I said so.”

Her mouth hangs open, moaning his name and desperate pleas. 

She’s clenching tightly around him, making him curse. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, angel.” He hangs his head, his hair ticking at her skin. “Gonna make me cum.” 

He lowers his head to her face. 

“You wanna cum? You wanna cum with me?”

She gives him an enthusiastic nod, a quiet ‘yes, please’ spilling from her lips.

“Are you going to be good?”

“Yes, Sergeant.” 

“Gonna misbehave and act out again?”

“No, Sergeant.” 

He grins at her. 

“Good. Good girl. Come on, cum for me.”

The pressure inside of her snaps and she cums with a loud cry, pleasure wracking through her body. 

She feels him release inside of her and she blissfully hums, a fucked out smile forming on her lips. 

“Fuck.” He quietly mutters, carefully undoing the tie on her wrist. 

When her hands are free, he lies down next to her and pulls her close. 

She quietly rests her head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, nosing at his throat. 

“Thanks.” She giggles, her head all dizzy. 

“For what, doll?”

“For the sex. I really needed it.”

He brings her wrists up to his lips, gently kissing along the red marks. 

“I think we both needed it.”

He turns off the bedside lamp and places a kiss on the top of her head. 

“Come on, doll. Get some sleep. It’s late.” 

Before they drift off to sleep, she quietly speaks up.

“I love you, Bucky.” 

He gives her a kiss on the tip of her nose. 

“I love you too.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #tfatws

[thereminzone]

I haven’t made illustrations in a while so in the meantime here’s some oc refs I’ve made!

[ID: two digital references for my characters, one for doc, and one for cyrille. Doc is designed to look like a humanoid leapoard seal. They are middle aged, with some wrinkles and long white hair. In one drawing they wear a labcoat, black collared shirt that is half untucked, an untied tie, grey pants, dark blue socks, and brown dress shoes. In the other, they wear a dark grey incomplete hazmat suit with the hood pulled down, white boots, and a face mask that has a piece that covers their neck. In both drawings they have one hand in their pocket and the other extended, showing it to be slightly distorted and bright white. A tect box is between the drawings that says: Doc, they/them, about 60. Design notes: hands are “warped” from long term magic use: slightly distorted and lack color. This efffect is spreading up their arms. Long hair, this is kept back in a loose braid. Designed after leapoard seals and silver tip sharks. Normal attire: feel free to draw their labcoat stained and such. Magic hazard gear: gear designed as PPE for dealing with magic (think like a hazmat suit or similar) that doc wears mostly incorrectly. Mask is comprised of two parts: a solid acrylic covering that shields their lower face, and a plastic sheet to protect their neck. Labcoat still worn over the gear, it’s the same labcoat. — the second image is cyrille’s reference: she is a slightly anthropomorphized secreatary bird, wearing a plague doctor mask designed to look like the beak and face pattern of a secretary bird, as well as a dark grey long coat with belts on it and an extra piece that covers her shoulders. She is very tall and thin. In one drawing she is facing directly forward with hands tucked behind her back. In another she is drawn from the waist up, facing the side and making an “aha!” gesture, with the feathers on the back of her head standing up. Text says: Cyrille, 55, she/her. Wears gloves and a mask at all times, very “holier than thou” energy, always very controlled and in perfect order. Text boxes in the middle of the image read “Keeps arms folded behind her back most of the time” and “feathers can move, use them to push more extreme emotion, since her face is covered. Otherwise, they lay flat.” End ID]

#digital art #my art #references #concept: doctor’s orders #oc: doc #oc: cyrille #described by me

[thewinedark]

Unique Dark Academia Fashion Ideas

By now I think we all know that silk shirts, oxfords, and old blazers are staples of Dark Academia fashion. Here are some ideas for fitting your wardrobe to the aesthetic that I haven’t seen a lot of. 

Tops

Silk button downs are great, but if you want something perhaps less fancy and simple, here are some ideas:

Cardigans. Specifically, tighter button down cardigans. While they are very similar to silk shirts, they aren’t quite as eye catching, and usually not as bright. I have a cream silk blend cardigan that I’ve been wearing under blazers instead of silk; it’s warmer, for one, and doesn’t make me feel so pretentious when my classmates are all in sweatpants.

Cotton. Especially for warmer months, a good cotton shirt looks great tucked in a pair of high waisted shorts or trousers. I would suggest one with buttons as an accent, to avoid it being too plain. You can also roll up the sleeves for peak “disgruntled professor/lawyer” look. 

Sweaters. I don’t just mean a black turtleneck here. Turtlenecks are of course great for winter and fall, but other sweaters are great also. I especially would suggest sweaters with interesting weaves or embroidery, as without the turtleneck they often need a little something extra to dress it up. There’s also the classic look of putting a button down underneath and pulling the collar out. For colors, jewel tones are always best in my opinion: deep reds, emerald greens, midnight blues. But you know yourself best, and if your hair looks great with cream, or light blue makes your eyes pop, go for it. Be sure to tuck over sized sweaters into your bottoms to avoid losing your figure. 

Bottoms

Bottoms are a little easier, as they’re usually not the statement piece of an outfit, especially in dark academia. Still, high waisted, pleated, 100% linen trousers are hard to find in thrift stores, so here’s some alternatives: 

Black jeans. Personally, I avoid low waisted pants like the plague. Unfortunately, it’s hard to find high waisted suit pants in thrift stores, especially ones with the tighter fit that I prefer. Often, I go for my pair of good quality, 100% cotton, extremely high waisted black skinny jeans instead. Avoid jeans with rips or that aren’t a uniform color. I definitely would suggest black if you’re going to wear jeans, though that may be my inherent dislike of blue jeans talking. 

High waisted pants of any kind. When it comes to tucking shirts in bottoms, you want a high waist. I can tuck the bulkiest of sweaters easily into my jeans, because they are high waisted and made of a thick material. Thin, flimsy material is hard to hide the lines of your tops in, and lower waisted pants often can’t hold the hem long before the top gets untucked. 

Skirts. I prefer more masculine clothing, but I do have quite a few skirts that I wear on occasion. And good lord, if they aren’t the most comfortable pieces of clothing I own. Specifically, long flowing skirts made out of 100% silk, cotton, or wool. Wool is great for winter months, and adds an extra layer of protection from the cold. Cotton and silk is best for the hot summer time, and if you’re having trouble with staying in dark academia fashion when you’re sweating out of your fingernails, consider skirts. A long skirt can dress up something like a t-shirt if you do it right. Sandals, a long breathable skirt, and a tied up or tucked in shirt is a great go-to when the sun is sucking away your soul. 

Shoes

I still don’t own a pair of oxfords. 

Boots. I’m a boot person. For dark academia, I would avoid taller boots; ankle boots or calf-length boots are the way to go. Go for leather, and tighter fits. A great way to pull your outfit together is to match your shoes and your belt or bag, and well as the hardware. If your belt is black with a silver buckle, go with black boots with silver accents. Try to avoid mixing metals (silver with bronze, etc.) if at all possible.

Ballet shoes. I don’t own any, but personally I think they’d be a great alternative to simple flats; especially if you lace the silk ribbons up your shins a bit. These are definitely best for summer months though, I would not recommend during the winter.

Accessories

A single accessory can completely change your outfit and aesthetic. Personally, some of my most used clothing pieces are not what you’d call dark academia. My go-to jacket is a bomber jacket with patches, and my usual boots are heavy Harley Davidson biker boots with metal caps. Here are some accessories that can turn your everyday outfit to something more dark academia-esque. 

Suspenders. I would recommend suspenders for everyone honestly. I was having trouble with a pair of trousers, because I needed to keep them high on my waist and tight to tuck in my shirt, but they had no belt loops. Suddenly I realized someone had solved the issue centuries ago, and used my suspenders. It worked perfectly, and also added a whole new level of dark academia to my outfit. I like using them in a subtle way though: under a jacket or blazer usually, that I might take off if it gets hot and just so happen to show off the suspenders underneath. Or, never even take the jacket off and just let people get subtle looks at them. Drawing attention to suspenders makes me feel like a douche for some reason; maybe it’s the images of fedora tipping that flood in. 

Satchel or book bag. I know this one is a staple, but listen. Buying leather satchel changed everything for my look. I might have a bomber jacket, skinny jeans, and biker boots but a satchel thrown over one shoulder shifts everything about my appearance. If you are able to buy one new, Amazon has some great options under $100 dollars. If not, keep your eye out whenever you go to the thrift store.

Hair accessories. Try silk ribbons. Pull your hair back with them, braid them into your hair, or use them as headbands. Learn how to braid metal cuffs into your hair if you’re up for a challenge.

Scarves. Scarves are such an easy way to dress up an outfit, as well as keep you warm. I would suggest long, silk scarves that have enough width that you can style it around your head/hair, which I think is a great look that also keeps your ears warm. Jewel tones are definitely suggested here, especially if you’re wearing all black it’s a great statement. 

Jewelry. If you’re religious, I would highly suggest jewelry with some sort of religious symbolism. Religious imagery is something I defiantly associate with dark academia. If you have any jewelry pieces that were passed down to you, try them. I like rings a lot, but for my right hand I cover all my finger with heavy steel rings that cover my knuckles (for punching purposes). On my left hand, I have rings from my family. I would again suggest not mixing metals, though it can look eclectic if that’s a look you like. 

That’s all I could think of at this moment, but feel free to add your own or message me!  Go forth and dress to make yourself confident, whatever that may look like. 

#dark academia fashion #dark academia tips #dark academia #clothing tips #dark academia clothing #grey academia #light academia #dark academia ideas #dark academia inspiration #fashion #dark academia aesthetic #dark academia style #my posts #thewinedark

[asweetprologue]

Words: 2618, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Fluff, geralt has a fixation on jaskier's hands, Pining, Confessions, it's about the hands tm

Inspired directly by this post by @valdomarx​

“I didn’t even ask you to come this time, witcher. I don’t know why you’re acting so dour,” Jaskier pouted. He was standing in front of a small mirror that he’d propped up against the table, the only thing with a reflection in the small inn. His shirt was untucked over his tight pants, which were a startling peacock blue this time around. It was a fetching color, nearly matching the bard’s eyes, though Geralt would never voice such a thought aloud. He was fiddling with the ties at the front of the cream shirt, trying to decide on a complicated pattern of lacing that was well beyond Geralt’s understanding. The smell of wisteria and honeysuckle filled the room, overwhelming in its recent application. Jaskier rarely used scents beyond soaps while they were traveling, and Geralt preferred when he could more easily smell the distinct musk of the bard himself, rather than cloying perfumes. 

He grunted in response to Jaskier’s comment, leaning against the bedpost. The inn was nice, actually, even though it was small. The sheets smelled fresh, the mattress was free of holes, and there was even a full bath off of the main room. Jaskier had sunk more funds into their accommodations than usual, expecting a big payout from the ball he’d been hired to perform at for the next several nights. “I’m not being ‘dour’,” Geralt said, watching Jaskier tug his shirt closed. His fingers played over the laces, easily working them into a tight series of delicate knots. Geralt wasn’t lying, truthfully. He wasn’t so much dour as… distracted. His eyes followed Jaskier’s hands as they tucked in his shirt, revealing his slim hips. The bard tugged here and there on the fabric, his fingers fluttering about as he searched for just the right amount of artful dishevelment. 

Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands. 

He wasn’t sure if this was a universal experience or not. Over the past few months, he’d overcome the initial shock of realizing he was interested in the bard. He’d known Jaskier for years - closer to decades - and it certainly was a notion that took some adjusting to. One day Geralt had just looked up and realized that the gangly limbed youth he’d met in Posada had turned into an extremely attractive man, a man Geralt very much wanted to put his hands on. The thought had been startling, and he’d spent full weeks telling himself that it was a fluke. And yet he was captivated by Jaskier’s broad shoulders, his strong thighs, his infuriatingly dexterous fingers. It was embarrassing really. 

But, he reasoned, he was in good company; literally half the Continent wanted to fuck Jaskier. Geralt was particularly unique in that regard. It was honestly more spectacular that he was a person who wanted to sleep with Jaskier who hadn’t. It was a bitter draught to swallow, but Geralt accepted it. Few people wanted a witcher in their bed for more than an hour, and he knew that it could never be a simple one time roll in the hay between himself and Jaskier. Geralt was already spending much of his time reminding himself that he was not and could not be infatuated with Jaskier, the famous bard, womanizer and, above all, his best friend. He was at least self aware enough to know that Jaskier’s rejection would be painful, and that losing him as a companion was unacceptable. 

Still, this left him with a predicament. While he assumed Jaskier had caught on to his developing feelings quickly enough, Geralt didn’t want to make the bard uncomfortable with his attentions. He tried not to let anything change between them. He didn’t reach out to pull Jaskier closer when they shared a bed at night, he didn’t give him the best cuts of meat during meals, he didn’t buy small, intricate rings or beautiful leather bound journals for him when they went to the market. He would think about it and then turn away, and keep things how they’d always been. Jaskier was bright and loud and annoying, and Geralt was quiet and snappish. If the bard had wanted anything more, he would have made it clear long before now. Geralt was doing a pretty good job of keeping things platonic, he thought. He probably would have been totally successful if Jaskier hadn’t chosen a lute, of all the cursed instruments, as his primary tool of the trade. 

The issue was that Geralt had something of a preoccupation with Jaskier’s hands, which may be a common experience but might be unique to Geralt himself, much to his dismay. They were just exceedingly nice to look at. They had long and elegant fingers with wide, reassuring palms that had spent hours cleaning, patching up and comforting the witcher. They were unscared except for a thin white line under his right ring finger, where Jaskier said he’d been punctured by a nail as a child. Though that wasn’t to say that they were totally unblemished. Years of playing had worn deep calluses onto the tips of his fingers, rougher skin that made Geralt shiver when they played over his scalp as they so often did. 

They were nice hands, but it wasn’t just that. They were expressive, an extension of whatever Jaskier felt at the moment. Geralt never knew what to do with his hands if he wasn’t in a fight, but Jaskier’s moved constantly. When he was angry they curled into fists and pointed fingers, elbows tights against his body as he raged at some perceived slight. When he was happy or excited, they darted about him in wide, sweeping gestures, an unspoken language that Geralt thought he might be able to read now without words. When he was tired they dragged, lingering on Geralt’s shoulders or pulling at the seams of his armor as he bullied the witcher into bed. Those moments were almost the worst, picking away at Geralt’s already frayed control, but he found it got to him the most when Jaskier was playing. 

To say that Jaskier transformed when he played was not quite accurate. It was closer to say that he became. Jaskier was always intense, bright and focused and vibrant, but when he picked up his lute and stepped onto a stage he was resplendent. When Geralt had first met him, he’d thought maybe Jaskier was a siren, or some kind of incubus, luring men in with his honeyed words and saccharine melodies. He’d quickly realized that no, Jaskier was as human as they came, but it didn’t stop others from acting like they’d been bewitched when he was around. Jaskier performing was Jaskier at both his least and most genuine, distilled into whatever the crowd needed him to be most at that moment. It was enthralling, to say the least, and Geralt wasn’t immune to the draw. 

At first watching the lute had been a defense mechanism, of a sort. Watching Jaskier himself was almost too intense, and Geralt felt exposed anytime their eyes met across a crowded room. So he’d taken to watching Jaskier’s hands, flying across the strings of the lute and dancing up the neck. Initially it had been only intriguing, and he’d found himself impressed by the bard’s skill. He was faster and more precise than any other player Geralt had come across, while remaining gentle in his ministrations. Jaskier touched the strings of his lute with such tenderness, as if he were caressing a lover.

One night while watching the bard, Geralt had though, Sometimes he touches me like that. And after that he was well and truly lost. 

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said, bringing Geralt sharply back to the present, “while I would never begrudge your presence, I don’t think the response to Toss a Coin will be as enthusiastic if the titular witcher is off glowering in a corner.” He reached for his doublet, a green jacket picked out with yellow thread that looked like gold in the right light. It was beside Geralt on the bed, and he nearly flinched away from Jaskier’s grasping hands. He thanked every god above that he no longer had the ability to blush the same way a human did, knowing that he would be pink in the face after watching Jaskier lace up his shirt sleeves. The man was actively putting clothes on and Geralt was nearly sweating from it. 

“I’m not going to glower in a corner,” he grumbled. 

Jaskier gave him a look that displayed an insulting lack of faith in Geralt’s word. “Well,” he said, “at least you’re dressed appropriately.” He’d managed to wrestle Geralt into a black jacket and a pair of dress trousers, though Geralt had won the fight to keep his boots and his swords. It was better, Jaskier allowed, that the people be able to see the tools of the trade. The bard reached out to adjust the collar of Geralt’s shirt. The witcher forced himself to still as Jaskier’s knuckles grazed his Adam’s apple. His skin hummed where they’d made contact. 

Jaskier gave him a pat on the shoulder and turned away. “Well, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said, giving himself one last glance in the tiny mirror. With a grin, he turned to Geralt and said, “If you’re very good I’ll buy you one of those tarts from the market for breakfast tomorrow.”

The words if you’re good rolled over Geralt in a disconcerting way, curling up at the base of his spine and settling like they intended to live there. Shit. He made a slightly strangled sound of agreement that he hoped just sounded annoyed. 

As Jaskier reached for the door, Geralt noticed that the ties of Jaskier’s undershirt had gotten twisted around one of the buttons of his doublet. He must have accidentally pushed the clasp through a loop in the laces while he was doing them up. Geralt wouldn’t have noticed unless he was watching Jaskier’s hands, but it seemed like he was always watching Jaskier’s hands nowadays. Watching, anticipating, hoping for the next touch. Geralt reached out and snagged the bard’s wrist before he even really knew what he was doing.

“Um,” Jaskier said, eloquent as ever. Geralt turned his hand over - in for a penny, in for a crown - and started undoing the buttons on the doublet. Jaskier hummed in realization, seeing where the laces had twisted into a knot. Focusing on his task, Geralt bent his head slightly, pulling the thin string loose from its tangle. As he did so, pale, unmarked skin was revealed through the parted fabric, a spider web of delicate blue lines branching out before Jaskier’s warm palm. Geralt’s thumb brushed briefly over the veins, Jaskier’s skin as smooth and soft as fresh rose petals under his rough fingers. He was seized suddenly by an overpowering urge to put his mouth there, to breathe in the scent and find Jaskier hidden under all the oils and the smell of crisp linen. Without thinking too much of it, Geralt bent down and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s wrist, just below the swell of his thumb.

Jaskier gasped. 

It was like taking a mouthful of Thunderbolt - the world coming sharply into focus, his mind keenly aware of his surroundings. Geralt nearly jumped back, flinching away from the sound. Fuck. Why had he done that? He’d been helping with a fucking sleeve, it hadn’t required his mouth. Jaskier was going to be pissed. He was going to demand that Geralt stay here while he went to the banquet and then he would find someone to bed for the night and he wouldn't try to find Geralt in the morning, and Geralt would have to set back out on the Path alone all because he couldn’t control himself enough to lace up one sleeve - 

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice cracked slightly. The witcher clenched his jaw, wincing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He couldn’t meet Jaskier’s gaze. “That was… inappropriate. Have fun at the ball.”

“You’re not coming?” Jaskier asked, sounding distressed now. His scent was still free of the sour stench of fear and anger, but Geralt could hear his heart beating faster. “Geralt, look at me. Just - Are you alright?” Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Geralt was startled enough at the contact that he raised his eyes to meet Jaskier’s. 

The bard looked nervous, but there was something else in his face too. Something softer. Geralt swallowed heavily. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” he said. His face tingled with the phantom of a shameful flush. 

Jaskeir smoothed his hands gently down Geralt’s arms. A comfort the witcher certainly didn’t deserve. “I don’t mind,” Jaskier said, impossibly. He bit his lip, his tongue darting out to sooth the spot. Geralt couldn’t help but follow the motion even as Jaskier gave him a wry smile. “I wish you’d do it more, if I’m being entirely honest. After all these years, I assumed you weren’t interested.” He took a breath, as if he was about to launch into a very demanding ballad, or perhaps jump from a cliff. “But I very much am. Interested.” 

Geralt stared at him for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. Jaskier was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. His infuriating fingers played anxiously over Geralt’s, not quite holding on. Unsure of what else he could reasonably do, Geralt kissed him. 

Jaskier’s hands flew away from his own, and Geralt had a singular crystalline moment of panic before he felt them threading through his hair. Jaskier twisted closer, throwing himself into the kiss with little of the finesse he was so renowned for. It was too hard and too fast, but Geralt drank it anyway, inviting Jaskier in with his tongue and trying to convince him to stay. His fingers tangled in the loose ties of the shirt sleeve, and he could feel Jaskier’s pulse against them. It was almost more intimate than the kiss itself. Jaskier’s heart beat quick and steady under his hand, a rapid tempo just for him. 

Finally Geralt pulled away, breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to the bard’s. “This is a fucking terrible idea,” he said. 

Jaskier jerked back a bit to glare at him. “How so? Counterpoint: I think it’s a singularly marvelous idea, actually.”

Geralt shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “I can’t… I don’t want to ruin this. You. What we have.”

“We could have more,” Jaskier said, uncharacteristically fragile. Geralt wanted so badly not to break him. “Anything. If you just want a fuck, that’s fine. We can do that. If you want more than that, I… That’s okay too. Or not. Whatever it is, whatever you want.” His fingers smoothed down the back of Geralt’s hair, just at the base of his skull. A caress, as soft as if he were playing his favorite instrument. Maybe he was. 

“I’m going to want you,” Geralt said, like a warning. “Longer than you want me.”

Jaskier looked indignant. It was one of Geralt’s favorite expressions, when it wasn’t directed at him. Maybe even then. “I doubt that very much,” Jaskier bit out. The fingers in Geralt’s hair tightened, and the witcher let out a shaky breath. “I have loved you for almost my entire adult life. I doubt I’m going to stop anytime soon.” Jaskier still looked nervous, but there was more anticipation in it than before. Something closer to hope. “So I’ll say it again: Whatever you want. What do you want, Geralt?”

“You,” Geralt said, leaning in again. He pressed the words against Jaskier’s lips. “Always you.”

“Then you have me,” Jaskier said, and he did. 

#my work #my fics #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fan fiction #fan fic #witcher fanfiction #valdomarx

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When the Weight Comes Down - 6

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); fingering, foreplay, hand job.

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: Hope you guys are keeping well. I don’t have much to say today but love you guys.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter Six: Scared

He said, I can make you scared, it's kind of what I do

💀💀💀💀💀💀

You stared at the message. You really weren’t sure about this phone thing. It was awkward and you typed so slow, even though you had no idea how to respond. But, as always, Steve was persistent. He wanted a picture and after a lengthy struggle with the camera, you managed to take one and send it. Just a smile, but he wanted more. You insisted you needed to go to bed and his acceptance, even via font, was terse.

You hated the phone. It was like he was with you all the time. You dressed in the early morning dim and set off for your opening shift. It would be just you until noon that morning. You muted your phone and left it in your bag as you went about loading pans into the ovens and turning on all the lights. 

You took the chairs down in the small lounge area and straightened the tables. You sorted the loaves by expiration, hoping the older ones would sell that day so they didn’t end up in the trash. The time passed quickly and you were soon selling breads and buns to the locals.

When Babs arrived, she sent you on your break and you had your usual homemade sandwich in the corner with a small tea. Your bag vibrated on the chair and you pulled it out. The battery icon flashed as you opened the deluge of messages.

‘You there?’ was the most recent from your only contact.

You pondered over the screen and sent a quick response. ‘Just working. Phone battery low.’

He sent a winky face before the phone beeped and shut down entirely. You shrugged and dropped it in your bag. A happy coincidence or deliberate negligence. You’d worry about when you got home. Plug it in then and face the music.

Babs sent you off with a box of stale, or soon-to-be stale, muffins and you cut through the back streets which ran parallel to the main stretch. An extra five minutes on your walk but it kept you from any unexpected meetings. 

As you stepped through the front door, the house was quiet. Your father was snoring on the couch but your mother was nowhere to be found. Not even in the kitchen. You set down the muffins and your bag slumped to your elbow. You headed down the hall and found your door slightly ajar.

You nudged it open to find your mother at your bed. The bag of clothes Steve had bought you spread across your mattress as she held up a sparkly thong. Your heart dropped as you tossed your bag on the floor. She spun to face you, her expression a mix of disgust and shock.

“Your father was right,” She hissed and threw the panties at you. “What are you doing with that-- that criminal?!”

“Ma,” You caught the panties and flung them on the bed as you came closer. “You saw what he did to Pa; what he would’ve done.”

“And you just stood there,” She snapped.

“And you!” You retorted. “Just like you let Pa beat you. I should’ve just said nothing at all and let him have it.”

“We’re your family,” Your mother sneered. “Do you understand what you’re doing? People will talk!”

“People already talk about us!” You spat. “They say you’re some crazy lady and that Pa is a lush and you know, I think they’re right.”

“Has he touched you? Did you let that man touch you?” 

“All I’ve done is defend you. Both you and Pa, and why?” You narrowed your eyes. “I spend my days in a fucking bakery just to keep this shit hole in your name and you call me a slut?”

“Don’t swear.” She lowered her voice. “And I never said that.”

“Get out of my room,” You demanded. “Now.”

“Don’t speak to me like that in my house--”

“That I pay for as you give every cent to that slob to go drink away,” You huffed. “So just leave me alone. Like you always did.”

You went to the door and waited. Horrified, she crossed the room and you made to close the door as she stepped into the hall. She turned back.

“Sweet pea--”

You slammed the door in her face. There was no lock, she had made sure of that. You stormed over to your bed and grabbed the large plastic bag. You stuffed them all inside and dropped it at the end of the bed. You fell onto the mattress and buried your head under the pillow and yelled.

You’d never felt so completely trapped.

💀

You stayed like that until it was dark out. You just stewed in your self-pity and helplessness. You didn’t move until you heard a gentle tapping. You rolled over and opened your eyes. You sat up and rubbed your forehead as it sounded again. It took you another set of rhythmic taps to realise it was at the window.

You rose, the blouse you wore wrinkled and untucked from your work pants. You flicked on the light and neared the window. A shadow stood outside and you barely held back a frightened shout. 

Steve smiled in at you as he bent slightly to look in. He motioned to the lock on the top of the lower pane and you reached out to unlatch it. You slid the window open, confused and surprised. He grabbed the window sill and poked his head through.

“I’ve been messaging,” His smile fell. “But you haven’t been answering.”

“I… It was a long day…” You peered past him. “How did you-- Why are you here?”

“Should I come through the front door?” He lifted a brow. “I’m sure your ma will welcome me right in.”

“No, no,” You gestured for him to lower his voice. “Steve… I was napping and I’m-- I’m very tired.”

Before you could argue further, he was pulling himself through the window. You backed up and watched in shock as he easily swung his other leg over the sill. He stood and pushed the window closed without looking. He licked his lips as he looked around your room.

“Steve, you really shouldn’t--”

“You should answer me when I message you,” He put his hands on his hips. “Next time, I won’t be so understanding.”

“My… My phone’s dead,” You blinked and glanced over at your purse.

“Then plug it in,” He ordered.

You took a breath and went over to the door and retrieved your purse from beside it. You took out your phone and crossed the room to grab the plastic bag from the end of the bed. You fished out the charger at the bottom of the mess and fumbled as you plugged it in next to your bed. You set down the phone on your dresser as Steve’s boots made the floorboards groan beneath the worn blush rug.

The plastic crinkled as you turned back and he huffed as he looked inside. He shoved his arm in and pulled out the same sparkly panties your mother had been so offended by. He popped the tags of and held them up with his index.

“I’ve been dying to see these on,” He said as he stepped closer. 

You stared at him. He wiggled his finger and you snatched them from him. He smirked and sat on your bed. The frame gave a whine at his weight. The twin was barely big enough for you but had held up through the years. You sucked in your lip and looked down at the thong.

“Surprise me,” He closed his eyes as he leaned back on his hands. 

“I… I can’t,” You kept your voice soft. “My parents--”

“If they wanna get nosy, I’ll deal with them,” He opened one eye and nodded. “You’ve got one minute, doll.”

He closed his eyes and a shiver crawled up your spine. You got as far from him as you could. You went to the antique vanity you’d inherited from your grandmother as a child. The mirror was loose in its frame and the painted wood was chipped. 

You faced away from Steve as you placed the thong on the desk. You unbuttoned your blouse enough to pull it over your head and sat to remove your shoes and socks, forgotten in your inhospitable homecoming. You shimmied out of your pants and hesitated as you hooked your fingers in your underwear.

You nearly tripped out of them as you built your courage to pull them down. It took tries to get your legs in the right holes of the thong and you tugged it into place. You glanced in the mirror as the sparkles caught your eye in the reflection. You turned away quickly and folded your hands over your pelvis.

“Okay,” You squeaked.

Steve opened his eyes and looked you over. His lip twitched as his brows shot up.

“Come here,” He pointed in front of him. 

You were shaking. You’d never been around a man, anyone really, with so little clothes. Your steps were small, reluctant. He reached out to draw you closer.

“Hot,” He pulled your hands apart as he admired the panties. “But…” He looked up and cupped the plain cups of your bra. “This needs to go.”

“I…” You inhaled and felt as if your legs would crumple beneath you. “Steve, please, I never-- I can’t--”

“It’s okay to be scared,” He purred and kissed your stomach. “I can help you. You just have to listen.”

“You should go,” You breathed.

He scoffed and pushed his shoulders back. He slipped his leather coat off and let it fall around his body. He tapped his toe, his eyes never left you.

“Get that bra off.” His voice was stern. “Now.”

You swallowed and slowly reached back. You struggled to unhook your bra as Steve stood to fold his jacket over your dresser then fell back onto the bed. He stretched across the small mattress, his boots hanging off the foot. As you let your bra sag and it slid down your arms, he watched intently. He spread his arm out and gestured you to the bed.

You neared and he caught your wrist. He drew you down so that his arm was beneath your neck and his other hand tickled your thigh. He carefully but deliberately explored your body. He lingered on the panties and played with the thin strap and traced the vee of fabric.

His hand continued upward and he cupped your tit. You trembled as he nuzzled your temple, his breath hot on your cheek.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, doll,” He coaxed. “I only want to make you feel good.”

“Steve,” You tensed against him as he toyed with your nipples. They were hard and sensitive to his touch. “It’s…” You stopped his hand. “It’s too much.”

“Shhh,” He kissed your cheek. “You don’t want your ma or pa to hear us.”

“Please,” You pleaded and he pushed your hand away from your chest.

“Tell me, did you ever touch yourself? In this bed?” He hummed. “All alone in this room, night after night, you must have.”

“Touch myself?” You stuttered. “I… never…”

“Never?” His hand crawled up to your neck and he grasped your chin. He turned your head and kissed you. He was hungry but patient. He drew away slowly. “What a pity.”

His hand brushed back down your chest and over your stomach. He rubbed the fabric of the panties and you squeezed your legs together. He pinched your thigh then forced his fingers between them.

“I don’t want to hurt you, doll.” His threat was softened by his dusky tone.

You let him part your legs and gasped as his finger brushed lower. He shoved the panties aside and you tried to push your thighs back together. He gave a tut in warning. You went limp and he pressed his fingers along your folds. You shuttered and let out a pathetic squeak. He moved his fingers slowly and you felt an odd tingle.

“Doesn’t that feel good, doll?’ He cooed. “Hmm?”

You gritted your teeth against a whine. His fingers swirled around your clit and sent ripples through you. You clapped your hand over his and he pressed his lips to yours. He kissed you as if to devour you and his hand never wavered. He parted and his hot breath tickled your skin.

“Shhh,” He whispered. “We don’t want anyone to hear, do we?”

He kissed you again and you tilted your pelvis against his hand. You were set off-kilter by the ripples sent through you as the fear trickled along your spine. It felt so good but so wrong. His hand moved faster and he pressed harder. 

You grasped his bicep as the waves overwhelmed you and your cry was stifled by his mouth. He kept on until you were whimpering and weak. Tugging on his arm as your cunt was overwrought and tender. As he pulled away, you peered up into his eyes. Stunned and embarrassed.

“Wasn’t that nice, doll?” He put his slick fingers to his tongue and licked them. “You taste sweet.”

You closed your eyes and turned your face from him; mortified. He shifted on the bed beside you and you heard the soft glide of a zipper. The bed creaked, your bodies flush on the small mattress. You on your back, Steve on his side as his arm snaked around you.

He took your hand and wrapped your fingers around something thick and firm.; warm flesh that twitched as you held it. He guided your hand along his cock and you gasped. He led a steady motion and groaned.

“Just like that,” He let go and grabbed your chin. “Keep going.” You kept your strokes even as his muscles tensed. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes snapped open and you looked into his fearfully. Your gaze slipped down and you saw yourself playing with him. He turned his hand and shoved two fingers past your lips. He pressed down on your tongue and breathed against your cheek.

“Faster,” He hissed and you obeyed. “That’s it, doll.”

He hummed as he gripped your jaw tighter and your lips closed around his fingers. He chuckled and dragged his lips along your temple.

“You’re gonna make me cum, doll,” He purred. “That’s all you. You’re... so fucking sweet. You don’t even know--”

He inhaled sharply and spasmed against you. You felt a heat seep over your hand and Steve pulled his fingers from your mouth. He slowed your strokes until you were still, his cum strung along your hand and thigh. You could feel his heartbeat as your own hammered in your ears.

Your hand fell to your side. You were paralysed. Steve kissed you again, this time softer. He fell onto his back, crushed between you and the wall.

“I’m gonna pick you up after work tomorrow,” He said breathily. “I want you to wear the red dress… no panties.”

You were quiet as you stared at the ceiling. You felt dirty and used. And yet you felt good. Your core still pulsed as your thighs brushed together.

“Got it?” He asked.

“Yes,” You whispered. “The red dress.”

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #biker au #biker!steve rogers #biker!au #series #when the weight comes down #mcu #marvel #captain america

[norasalina]

So outfits. I think they would mostly stay the same, just get them remade in the knife/bullet resistant fabric from Melvin Potter, whom they free from kingpins control and give funding to create a proper workshop where he can invent in peace to his hearts content in exchange for helping with uniforms/armor. He loves it and enjoys spending hours talking over their designs with them, wanting them to be perfect. He and Ezio get along especially well, as once a nobleman always a nobleman (he’s got style, okay. He is not picky).

I do think they would have breathable masks made to cover them from the nose down, because of cameras and eyewitnesses. Maybe keep a Tron-like helmet to wear under the beaked hood if they ever need to go out in daylight for a world-ending scenario.

But for like everyday wear, I definitely see Ezio in tailored suits or very nice jeans and button downs, maybe slacks and a polo if he’s lazing about at home. Wears the same type of sunglasses Tony does, cause of course. Nice dress shoes that are specially designed for him to be able to run/jump around in.

Altair probably does jeans and button-downs, or slacks and a tunic. Has a nice bespoke suit just in case, but rarely uses it. Mostly nice sneaker-type shoes, maybe loafers with the tunic and slacks.

Eivor is probably jeans and tshirts with various poofy fur jackets that remind her of home, maybe leggings and long shirts as lounge wear. Boots all the way, saw a studded leather pair and wears them whenever she can.

The boots.

Connor is just jeans and tshirts with sneakers, he doesn’t really care as long as it’s not childish and he can move in it freely. Has a few cartoon character shirts as a joke from the others.

Arno has jeans, shirts that button halfway down, and a scarf or ascot with long coats and boots. Will need to change his style up when it heats up, will probably just ditch the coat and stick with ascots and maybe button downs with a nice vest.

Nikolai has slacks, button downs, jackets, and dress shoes. Maybe jeans and the button down, for around the apartment.

Jacob does tight pants with untucked button downs that have their popped collars tucked over an open vest, leather duster with popped collar and boots. Still has a top hat cause he thinks he can pull it off. (He does, but only cause his outfit and accent gives him a roguish look and the hat just lets him peer out at people with superiority.

Also I can’t draw top hats apparently.

Evie dresses similarly, tight pants or leggings with boots and a leather duster, but she has a longer closed vest and her button down is tucked in.

Desmond stuck to jeans, tshirts and hoodies, but does get nicer ones now that he has the money.

#assassin's creed #marvel #crossover #outfits #uniforms

[the-awkward-outlaw]

"I won’t stop until I hear you scream.” give me more smut with low honor Arthur? Angst maybe?

Sorry this took so long! I promise, I am getting to all my requests but this has been a psychotic week. Also note I’ve never written for low honor Arthur, so this might be off personality as I’ve never played low honor either.

Warnings: do I need to add this? SMUT AHEAD

You ride along in the train next to Arthur, feeling stiff and slightly awkward. You had an argument with the outlaw recently. It was about Mary. Although you’ve been running with the gang about five years, you only hooked up with Arthur right before the Blackwater mess. You knew about Mary of course, but Arthur made no notion at all in the past five years that he was still interested in her. That was until a few days ago in Horseshoe Overlook when he got that damned letter from her. 

You read the letter of course. Arthur made no attempts in hiding it and he’d run off so quickly shortly after receiving it that you had no doubt he was going off to see her. When he got back, you immediately pounced on him, angry, bitter and stung that he was still chasing after her when he had you. As could have been predicted, he’d gotten nasty right back, telling you to stay out of his past business and reassuring you that nothing happened between them. Although Arthur was very rough on the edges and often rash, you knew deep down he’d never do anything to prove he was disloyal to the gang or to you either. It was extremely obvious to everyone that he prided himself on being your man, in owning you.

Arthur sits beside you on the train, swaying back and forth with you. “So you still ain’t talkin’, hmm?” he said sharply. He’d taken you out to Big Valley to try and sooth your nerves, and while the thick forests and swift streams had done you good, you’re still stung about that whole Mary business. 

“You didn’t even tell her you were seeing someone else,” you say. 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes. “It never came up, darlin’. Trust me, the moment she would have mentioned us being together, either in the past or the future, I would have told her exactly how things are. That I’m involved with you and will be for a long time. If you allow me to, that is.” 

You know his patience with you is running short. He always did have a small fuse. You sigh, knowing your frustration needs to end with him. Still, you’re wound up so tight from that Blackwater business and then fleeing into Colter and nearly freezing to death. You and Arthur have been so busy, there has been little opportunity for any intimacy between you. Then Arthur got that letter from Mary and your chances of being open to him became even smaller. You and Arthur have made love only once and that was just before the Blackwater massacre. 

To say having sex with Arthur has been the best sex of your life is an understatement. He’d been forceful and rough, but you liked it. He’d dominated you in a way no man in your past ever has and you loved every second of it. He’d tried being physical with you out in Big Valley, but you’d rejected him. Now you’re starting to wonder if your frayed nerves can be soothed by him helping you relax. 

When you get back to Horseshoe Overlook, it’s nearly dusk. You and Arthur grab some stew and join the others around the fire for a bit. When you think it’s late enough that people won’t find it suspicious why you’re going to bed so early, you tell Arthur you’re heading off to your shared tent. You lean in and whisper in his ear to come join you in a few moments. When you’re seated on the cot, you strip off your boots and then Arthur comes into the tent quickly, closing the tent flaps. He turns to you, a hungry look in his eye. 

You stand up, your face telling him to hold off for one second longer. “Arthur, we’ve hit our first rough patch. I don’t want this to become a pattern between us, but I was thinking maybe a little bit of… intimacy could do us some good.” 

He licks his lips and his eyes grow hungrier. “I agree, darlin’.” 

You smile and reach up to start unbuttoning your blouse when he rushes over and throws you down onto the cot. As soon as you’re down, his hands quickly undo your shirt, a few buttons ripping in your haste. You don’t mind, you can fix them tomorrow. As soon as he’s got your shirt open, he untucks your chemise from your jeans. Then his eyes grow even hungrier and he reaches into his satchel, pulling out some rope. 

“I’m gonna own you, darlin’,” he growls. He doesn’t move until you nod, your breath quickening. He ties your wrists together and then pins your hands above your head, tying them to a hook in one of the crates acting as the headrest to your cot. He didn’t do this your first time, but you kind of like it. Being completely vulnerable to him, giving him all control. 

He stands up just long enough to remove his boots, his satchel, hat and then finally his shirt. He doesn’t remove his pants, though you can see him pushing through his pants. He leans back onto the bed, hovering over you and then he grabs the hem of your chemise and slides it up, rumpling it under your chin. He studies your naked breasts for a moment, sending shivers through your spine. Finally, gratefully, he caresses them with his fingers. He’s gentle, delicate. He traces them so softly, you can barely feel him. God, he knows how to tease you. He rubs your nipples with his thumbs, flicking them and making them stand out even more. 

One of his hands strokes slowly down your stomach and undoes your jeans. When they’re open, he slides a hand in and finds your slit. You’re soaked already by this point and he grins, drawing a quick line up your slit, just fast and hard enough to make your hips lift just so. 

“You want this?” he asks, suddenly grabbing his bulging package. You’re gasping under him and nod.

“Please, Arthur,” you say breathily.

He grins and then stands up, ripping your pants off all the way. Then he removes his own. Your knees have gone up, you haven’t really been paying attention. He puts his hands on your knees and spreads them, making it so you’re completely exposed to him. He stares unashamedly at your wet opening. 

“I’m gonna have fun with you,” he says as you tremble, your hands still tied up. His hands go to his erection and he pumps a few times, making it even harder, the head darker. Then he reaches over and slips a finger into your dripping folds, making you gasp. Finally, oh finally, he’s touching you where you need it, but it’s not enough.

“Oh Arthur,” you say, your eyes closing as he tickles your nub and clit. Your hips begin to pump up and down in sync with the movement of his hand. His fingers drift down to caress your opening where you want him most. “Please,” you groan. 

He chuckles darkly and his hand moves back up to your clit, stroking it more. Then he slides his whole body over you and without warning pushes his cock into your core. You gasp again and wince. You hadn’t been quite prepared for him, but he feels so good you don’t care. You were built for one another. His length fits you perfectly, and it’s curved in such a way that he can brush your spot with ease. He begins pounding into you, pushing against it now. You move your hips with his, the friction mounting between you.

His hands plant onto your knees and then he pushes them up and farther apart, allowing him to sink even further into you. He kisses you as you gasp and moan.

“You close?” he asks huskily. 

“Mm, you’re close, big guy.” 

He smiles against your lips and he continues to pound himself into you, his thrusts becoming less rhythmic. Your walls clench around him hard and that ends him. He pumps a few hard times into you, and then one last hard time, his cock spurting into you. 

As he grows soft, he pulls himself out of you, making you twitch and whine. He’s not going to leave you like this, is he? You’d come close, but now your own release is ebbing away. 

“Arthur,” you pout and open your eyes. 

“Oh don’t worry, darlin’. I’m gonna take care of you.” 

Your knees are still spread apart and he stares down at your opening, the leaking juices. He reaches both hands into your slit, one spreading your folds apart to expose your clit to the cool air. With the other, he rubs and pushes it. His hand glides up and down your soaked slit and you begin to pant and groan. Your hips sway up and down in time with his hand. God, he feels incredible. 

His hand begins to push harder and he glides faster until he stops on your clit. He begins circling it, hard and fast. It’s too much! The sensations rip through you, fogging your brain. “Ar… Arthur, I’m gonna… I’m gonna… I’m gonna…!”

His hand holding you open lets you go and squeezes your nub while he continues circling and pressing your clit. That’s it, you’re tipping over the edge. He doesn’t stop as you tip your head back and grab onto the rope holding your hands, your toes curling and your hips digging into the bed. It’s too much and you start trying to pull away, but he just moves with you and you’re hindered by the rope. 

“Arthur! Please, I can’t… I can’t anymore!” you whimper as another orgasm rips through you. If you keep going like this, you’re going to explode. 

“I won’t stop until I hear you scream,” he says darkly and his hands continue to work. His fingers squeeze your nub as his other tickles your mound. Then, he removes one hand, opening you again and his hand on your clit begins sliding up and down extremely fast, pushing and rubbing your nub and your clit at the same time. You didn’t know you could orgasm a third time so soon, but you are and it overwhelms you. You’ve been trying to keep quiet during the fucking since you’re in camp, but Arthur clearly wants them all to know exactly what he’s doing to you. 

“Please, Arthur,” you cry, “I… I’m gonna… I can’t…” 

“Just let it go, love. The sooner you do, the sooner this will all be over.” He continues running his hand up and down your slit with speed, but he pushes even harder. Your hips suddenly, involuntarily jerk up and you’re completely overtaken by your orgasm. It forces your head back and your mouth to open, your voice coming out in a sharp, hard release. Your entire body shakes and he stimulates you again and again. Without warning, you feel moisture squeeze out of you and onto his hands. You’ve never done that before. Satisfied, Arthur’s hand slows down and then stops. 

“Yeah, you’re alright girl,” he says deeply, grinning mischievously at you as you pant on the cot. 

“Damn it, Arthur,” you say, completely exhausted. “Next time you’re trying to do something that requires you to be silent, I’m going to come and make it impossible for you to remain so.” 

“That better be a promise,” he says with a grin. He leans down and kisses you.

#rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #awkward asks #lh arthur #arthur x female reader

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Helllooo May i request a fic where the reader is an art student in the university of oxenfurt and Jaskier come in as a model one day. She falls in love with him immidiatally and just cant stop painting pictures about him. Later Jask visits her in her studio and see all the stuff about himself. Then love confession( maybe he's been writing songs about her) and some soft kissing😇

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 2,099Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: This was a lovely prompt, I hope you like what I did with i!

“Hmm… I don’t think you’ve quite captured me.”

You shook your head and a little smile turned up the corner of your mouth but you kept your eyes focused on your canvas.

“You are supposed to be a model and models don’t speak,” you murmured quietly.

“I’m so bored though.”

You glanced up at the man who posed in front of you. Jaskier was hunched over, chin resting on his fist. He looked more pouting than pensive as he was supposed to be but the moment your eyes met, he perked up a bit.

There was no one else in the art studio since it was after hours, class having ended long ago. You’d been sick one day and Jaskier had graciously volunteered to come by and help you catch up on what you’d missed. You were in week three of the “month long strip tease” as he called it, taking a layer off each time. This week he was down to a loosely untucked chemise, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and pants whose laces were undone but still rested just at the hip. Boots were long gone, leaving him barefoot. Indeed, if anyone who walked by the doors saw him in his attire and you, a bit sweaty with disheveled hair, tired after a long day of classes made longer by this extra work, they would have assumed something unsavory was happening. They would have been tragically mistaken.

“You didn’t have to agree to this. Hell, it was your idea,” you reminded him, extending the handle of your paintbrush to gently position his chin back to where it was supposed to be. He playfully nipped at the brush but then moved back into position dutifully.

“Hmm, yes, and why do you suppose I did that?” he asked. It was the same flirtatious tone he used with everyone and you knew that, but still you felt a little shiver of excitement at the tone. Perhaps one day someone would use that with you and mean it but it wouldn’t be Jaskier, the traveling bard with a thousand muses around the globe. He had no need for a simple art student with barely enough life experiences to count on one hand. That would change when you graduated, though. You were determined. Though as the day came closer you grew more anxious about those barely conceived plans.

“You are a patron of the arts of course,” you replied, mixing the shades of blue together. You’d known the first day he walked into the classroom that those eyes would torment you as you tried to create the right shade to capture them. You knew you’d never feel you truly got it right and so far you’d been correct. You’d made far more paintings than the three you’d done for class. In your personal studio you had what appeared to be a shrine to the bard. You just couldn’t get him out of your head and your fingers itched constantly to paint him again, to try and capture his likeness better, more accurately.

“I suppose that must be it,” Jaskier said in somewhat plaintive tone. Yet when you looked back at him again he gave you a little wink and you stopped worrying, rolling your eyes again and setting to get the portrait done.

You were finished before another hour passed and though he tried to catch a glimpse you successfully hid it from him.

“I offered you a deal,” you said, “You show me the song you’ve been working on and I’ll show you the painting that I’m working on. A fair trade of artistic sampling.”

“Perhaps another time,” he said, “May I walk you home?”

Since meeting in that first class nearly a month ago the pair of you had struck up an easy friendship. In truth you felt much more than that for him but you were happy just for the chance to talk with him, much less anything else. He was brilliant and funny and endlessly encouraging. When you told him of your dreams of traveling he’d insisted that you do it and even offered to introduce you to some nobles who had a keen eye for artists they wanted to support. In all of that time, though, you’d never seen each other away from the sprawling campus of Oxenfurt University.

“Alright,” you said a little reluctantly, nervous but also unwilling to pass up a single opportunity to spend more time with him. He gallantly offered you his arm and the pair of you walked through the streets. It was twilight and lamplighters were roving about to light the lanterns that would keep you safe as you walked, the skies bathed in a soft golden and pink watercolor.

“Are you excited to be finishing classes soon?” Jaskier asked.

“I should be,” you said. He laughed, but not unkindly. It was a laugh of understanding.

“I felt much the same when I approached graduation,” he said, “Sometimes I think that’s why I come back so often to lecture and just visit. I felt safe here.”

“Do you not feel safe out there?” you asked.

“No. But that’s part of the fun of it, right? The uncertainty, the potential for danger which makes it exciting,” he mused.

“I suppose so… But I do wish there was a way to both have adventures and be safe or at least feel safer,” you replied.

“Travelling with a witcher has helped a bit. You’re much harder to kill with one around,” he said.

“You’re also the target of more attacks though,” you countered. You’d heard him tell stories about his adventures to breathless students but you hadn’t joined in on their glee. Instead you’d grown more and more worried about the bard’s safety and whether you’d ever see him again once he’d left the school to join Geralt on his next hunt.

“Well there’s always a tradeoff,” Jaskier said glibly. You walked in silence for a time and when you reached your home you realized that at some point during the walk your hooked elbows had slid down to clasped hands. You both noticed at the same time and laughed a little nervously.

“Would you like some tea?” you offered instinctively, not wanting the moment to end. Jaskier eagerly agreed and followed you into your house. It was a humble place but he praised it as though it were a mansion, and he’d likely seen many in his time. Hell, as a viscount, perhaps he had even been raised in one.

“Make yourself at home,” you called as you walked to the little kitchen to get the fire going. Jaskier didn’t need telling twice, already walking around the room, looking at book titles and little drawings. He smiled at what appeared to be an early art piece of yours that had been lovingly framed by a family member, a drawing scrawled by a child that seemed to be… a dog? An elephant? Some animal. He continued to walk through the little house, glancing into the open door of your bedroom. There was a closed door and though he knew you probably would rather he didn’t, he couldn’t fight back his curiosity and opened the door.

—–

“Jaskier? Tea is ready! Jaskier?” you walked back into the little living area and saw no sign of him. You poked your head down the hall and almost walked back away, thinking he may have left suddenly, and then you saw a sliver of light coming from the door you knew had been closed. Your heart leapt to your throat and you ran towards it as though you could outpace what had already occurred.

There stood Jaskier, staring at a portrait you’d most recently completed, surrounded by sketches. Not all were of his entire face or body but you knew that he knew exactly whose disembodied hands and eyes and mouth and other randomly positioned angles of body they were.

“Fuck, ok, I can explain,” you began, heart beating a mile a minute. Jaskier turned to look at you but you didn’t see fear or disgust, just a soft look of surprise.

“Y/N?” he said.

He was giving you the chance to explain like you said you would but no words came to mind. You just stared at him blankly, panicking, feeling the walls close in around you.

“I think… I may be able to help,” he said. He walked past you and you waited to hear the front door open and close as he left, possibly to get the guards but most likely just to escape you. But then you heard him walk back, holding the leather notebook he drew in often but never showed you. He opened it to a page and handed the book to you, a nervous, expectant look in his pale, blue eyes. You took it with trembling fingers and at first you weren’t sure why he was showing it. Perhaps he thought that he should offer some exchange of art since he’d seen yours. Maybe he somehow didn’t recognize the man in the pictures as himself. Maybe this could all blow over and be nothing.

And then you saw your name.

“Jaskier what is this?” you asked, flipping the pages and finding more descriptions, not with your name specifically, but of a woman who sounded unmistakably like yourself.

“This is the bardic version of what this room shows, I believe,” he said, his voice soft, “They’re pieces dedicated to someone I have fallen very much in love with over the last few weeks.”

Your wide eyes tore away from the journal to meet Jaskier’s. Now he was the one who looked uncertain and scared, waiting for you to run from him.

“You don’t think it’s weird then?” you asked, gesturing to the room as you placed the journal on a shelf nearby, hands trembling too much to keep a secure hold of it.

“Oh no, it’s very weird. But love makes you do weird things. Like fill a journal full of half-formed songs about someone or stay late to pose for paintings or snoop in rooms you know you shouldn’t because you just can’t resist getting every little bit of them you can,” he replied, moving a bit closer and gently brushing his fingers against your cheek. Though he’d thrown on his doublet again the chemise was still unbuttoned and you rested your hands against his chest, fingers twining in the dark hair.

“Whoever said anything about love?” you teased, “I could just be incredibly enamored or perhaps a very artistic murderer.”

“Well I was speaking for myself mostly,” he answered, “But you’re right. I should be concerned. Shall I call Geralt to defend me against you and your wicked brush?”

“Ooh watch out, Jaskier, don’t sass me! You may find yourself having a brush with death,” you said, emphasizing the pun unnecessarily. Jaskier groaned and shook his head.

“Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind.”

You opened your mouth to make some other, terrible joke but he stopped you with a kiss, mouth brushing against yours with the barest touch but you recaptured his lips with yours and felt him card his hand through your hair as yours tightened against his chest. His kisses were soft and tender and nothing like what you’d expected the renowned rogue to offer but then the people who spread those rumors hadn’t known him like you did.

“Come with me,” Jaskier whispered against your lips.

“What?” you breathed back. His eyes found yours and you were struck again by the puzzling color. Was it blue? Or was it grey? Was it even the same thing all the time or did they change on you? You would spend the rest of your life trying to figure it out but oh what a happy quest.

“When you graduate you said you want to travel the world. You’re graduating soon. Come with me when you do. I’ll take you everywhere. I’ll show you the world. I can’t promise to keep you safe, there is always a tradeoff, but I will do everything I can and I promise you it won’t be boring,” he replied, words spoken in a hushed tone like someone offering a fervent prayer. You considered his words, thinking about the risks but more than that, thinking about the things that are worth taking risks for. And the people.

“Ok,” you breathed in response, “Yes. Take me with you. Show me everything.”

“Oh love,” he said, licking his lips which quirked into a wicked grin, “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

#Anonymous #jaskier x reader #jaskier drabbles #jaskier imagines #jaskier fluff #reader request

[artificialqueens]

Nostalgia, Part 3 (Rujubee) - Dartmouth420

nostalgia is a series that follows the re-ignition of raven/jujubee’s friendship (with benefits) while jujubee competes on all stars five and raven is working on set. there will be one chapter for every episode of AS5 where jujubee appears. drag names used with male pronouns.

summary: Jujubee’s coming off the thrill of the challenge win and the lip-sync battle. But jealousy is a double-edged sword… and bad habits are hard to break.

tw: smut, dom/sub dynamics, mild degrading language, mild jealousy

a/n: i’m enjoying the heck out of AS5 and i hope y'all are too.

Jujubee was very pleased with his performance in the challenge. Designing and presenting the hotel room had been surprisingly fun and despite his early misgivings, India and Alexis had been great to work with. Jujubee was confident, he’d been funny, coherent, and had delivered exactly as he’d intended. One hundred percent pure Laotian gold sheets indeed.

Raven hadn’t been around much and Jujubee hadn’t sought him out.

“Girl,” said Mariah, in that patient, knowing drawl of his as they painted their faces in the mirror in preparation for the runway and the judging, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Do you now?” responded Jujubee, carefully covering his mild panic. Not that there was anything to panic about but he had technically broken an important rule…

“Don’t you look at me like that, I ain’t a snitch!” laughed Mariah, “But I noticed that hickie. Maybe next time I’m feeling the stress of the competition I’ll go see for myself if darling Raven is around. I’ve got good memories of that mouth.”

“Since when?” responded Jujubee. He hadn’t realized the two of them had ever been involved, though hook-ups were certainly common among the community.

“We’ve both been around for a while,” said Mariah, with a knowing shrug, “We’ve both been getting around for a while.”

“Damn, who hasn’t he let fuck him?” joked Jujubee lightly, but slight jealousy was twisting in his stomach. He couldn’t deny Raven’s reputation. Though Jujubee had vaguely hoped he had the other man to himself, at least if their on-set shenanigans were going to continue.

“Out of the old generation? That list is short. From what I’ve heard he and Raja are working through the younger ones, too… just ask baby Naomi.”

Jujubee chuckled and he and Mariah returned to the task at hand. 

-

Jujubee won the fucking challenge! 

He couldn’t help letting a few tears escape his eyes as the pride and relief overflowed. It was a lot. And then the damn Untucked was a lot, too. Connecting with Mayhem and Blair was great, but emotional as hell. Nerves and anticipation were creeping up for what was to come next.

He spoke with everyone, changed into his leopard-print catsuit, picked out his damn lipstick and then before Jujubee knew it he was standing on the runway, and Ru was shouting “Ru-veal yourself!”

Jujubee turned, heart in his throat as he stared at the screen and the assassin contained behind it. Jujubee’s prediction from the other week in the bathroom with Raven returned to him, and his heart pounded in anticipation. Was it Raven behind that screen? Production would never be able to wrangle it, there was no way, but-

The screen rolled up and Jujubee saw soft orange velvet ankle-boots and while they were lovely shoes Raven would never wear something like that in a million years. As the screen rose Jujubee forced Raven to leave his mind as he focused on the task at hand, which was going to be beating Monét-motherfucking-X-Change in a lip-sync battle, to a Lizzo song.

All Stars Five was hard, damn it.

Monét gave an amazing performance, and Jujubee did his best but the emotion of the day left him a bit thrown off. Jujubee was disappointed with the loss, he could admit that. Somewhere in back of his mind he knew if he had been lip-syncing against Raven he could have beaten him, and felt ever-so-slightly cheated that his prediction hadn’t come true. Oh well, it was water under the bridge. 

Then there was the matter of sending Mariah home which was way more fucking tragic than anyone including Jujubee had been ready for. 

“Good luck, girl,” whispered Mariah in Jujubee’s ear as they hugged and he left the runway, “And have fun.”

-

When Jujubee finally, finally got back to the hotel after a very long day, he walked down the hall to his room and noticed a figure leaning against the wall next to his door, one arm tucked under the opposite elbow, eyes down on his phone.

It was of course, Raven, looking like a tall drink of… chaotic whore. But what else was new? Jujubee approached, quiet, waiting for Raven to notice him. 

“Hey bitch!” said Raven when he looked up, a grin his face, “I heard a rumour that you won the challenge today.”

“Mm-hmm,” replied Jujubee, self-satisfied, sliding his hotel key into the slot and then opening the door. The day had been an emotional roller coaster, full of highs and lows. He was dead tired on his feet. 

Raven followed him inside without needing to be asked and said, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, fuck I needed a win.”

“I know, you deserve it. It’s been a long time coming.”

Jujubee tossed his day bag onto the chair, and laughed, “I thought it was gonna be you behind that screen. Bitch I was like ooh shit we just talked about it last week and now I’ve won? Hope he’s ready… ”

Raven put his phone down on the table, “I wasn’t lying to you when I said I’m not an assassin-”

“Jury’s still out on that, I can’t trust anyone.”

Raven laughed, and Jujubee gave him a suspicious side-eye that was mostly for show. Mostly.

“Monét destroyed you.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘destroyed’,” replied Jujubee, mildly insulted. He thought he’d held his own pretty well in the lip-sync, but the disappointment that it wasn’t Raven had thrown him off… 

“Kicked your ass, cut you to pieces, sliced and diced,” continued Raven, stepping closer to him.

“Shut up.”

“No, I live to give you a hard time,” said Raven, passing by Jujubee and making his way over to stand next to the end of the bed, “One more bitch down, huh?”

Jujubee took a moment. Raven was posed awkwardly, looking down at the bed with his arms crossed, avoiding eye contact. Jujubee cocked his head to one side, and considered his response. He was pretty damn tired tonight but elation and pride were still tingling under his skin. He had just won, after all. And curiosity was pulling at him.

“Did you get a chance to say goodbye to Mariah?” asked Jujubee, casually, reaching for the water bottle he’d left out on the table.

“Yeah, I saw him afterwards. You know how emotional the eliminations are. We, uh, talked,” said Raven quickly. Jujubee recalled his earlier conversation with Mariah, noted Raven’s avoidance of eye contact and presumed something must have happened. But it seemed odd that Raven wouldn’t brag about it.

“Did he say anything interesting?” asked Jujubee.

“Interesting?”

Jujubee shrugged and took a drink of water. All he could picture was Raven’s mouth around his cock the first week in the supply closet, how good it had felt and whether Raven had done the same thing for Mariah. Jujubee was certain that he had, but there was no rational reason to feel jealous. Both he and Raven were in serious, if open, relationships and fucked all kinds of people on tour and in the ins and outs of their lives. This wasn’t anything special. 

“Anyway,” said Jujubee, putting his water bottle down. He decided to be straightforward. “It’s been a long day girl, what do you want from me?

“Oh, well,” Raven practically purred, an absolutely salacious expression appearing on his face that caused a tight thrill to swoop in Jujubee’s stomach, “You won today. I’m here so you can claim your reward.”

Ah, of course. I’ll let you fuck me if you win. Jujubee had assumed Raven meant the crown, not just a main challenge. Perhaps Raven was using it as an excuse, and he was more interested in keeping this thing going between them than Jujubee had realized. What exactly were they to each other?

“I don’t have the energy to top you tonight, I’m exhausted,” said Jujubee, crossing his arms.

Raven’s mouth fell open for a second, and then he closed it, and he shifted, still standing by the bed.

“Okay, but like, I prepped and everything-”

“Wow. Someone’s entitled.”

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t think I will bitch, this is my room.”

Raven let out an annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes. Jujubee felt a kind of calculating power, because there was something so fun about fucking with Raven. It was easy. It was almost as much fun as actually fucking him.

“Sit down,” ordered Jujubee and there was an instant change in the air, and to Raven’s expression. But Raven didn’t obey immediately, he waited, drawing out the moment. And then Raven sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Jujubee expectantly.

Jujubee approached him. There it was, the thrill of the power exchange that occurred so smoothly between them every time. 

“Keep your mouth shut,” said Jujubee. “I don’t want to hear your whining.”

Raven bit his lip and nodded.

“Take your pants off.”

Raven unbuckled his belt and undid his fly and lifted his hips, sliding his jeans to his ankles and taking them off his feet. Jujubee just stood and watched, and then brought his hand up and examined his nails, performing indifference. Raven huffed and removed his underwear as well. He was already hard. Well that was certainly fun, considered Jujubee, allowing an approving smile to appear on his face.

He approached, closing the distance between them and took Raven’s face in his hands. Tilting his head back and kissing him. Raven responded, hands going to Jujubee’s back. Jujubee broke the kiss and stepped back out of his reach. “Don’t touch." 

Raven looked disappointed but he didn’t say anything, doing as he was told. A jolt of excitement shot down Jujubee’s spine.

Jujubee decided he might as well cut to the chase.

"Open your legs.”

Raven obeyed. Jujubee stepped froward and dropped to his knees, hands on Raven’s overly-tanned thighs and regarded his cock for a moment. Raven was still, practically holding his breath.

Jujubee dipped his head and took Raven’s cock in his mouth and felt the other man practically shudder at the sensation. Jujubee went to work with his hand and his mouth, and while he didn’t fall over himself to suck cock at any given moment the way Raven did, he’d been doing this a pretty damn long time and he was pretty damn good at it too.

“Mm, fuck… ” murmured Raven.

Jujubee pulled back instantly, digging his nails into Raven’s inner thigh. Raven hissed at the pain, and Jujubee grabbed him by the chin with his opposite hand. 

“Did I say you could talk?”

Raven shook his head, a smirk growing on his face. Jujubee held eye contact until Raven looked away and pressed his lips together, pouting, submissive.

“Keep your mouth shut you little slut, and maybe I’ll let you finish.”

Jujubee wasn’t entirely sure where that had come from, because he really hadn’t been planning for things to get this intense. But Raven inhaled sharply, and his cock twitched and he obediently remained silent, so Jujubee returned to his task. 

They really shouldn’t let this become a habit, considered Jujubee as he sucked on the head of Raven’s cock and Raven let out a heavy breath. Warm nostalgia rose in Jujubee’s chest.

During All Stars One there had been part of the Untucked that had remained unaired, during the heavily staged Fuck, Marry, Kill conversation. Raven had just infamously and hungrily told Manila, “I would actually fuck you.” But what Raven had said next, in response to Jujubee’s name coming up had been to simply give him a wink and say, “Been there, done that. Marry.”

They hadn’t done anything yet, of course. Raven had been holding off on him since Season Two. It had only made the tension between them higher, much to Jujubee’s frustration. Jujubee’s response to Raven’s name had been, of course, “Fuck. Baby, I’ll make sure you can’t walk the next day.”

And he had.

Jujubee snapped back to the present, because it seemed like Raven was going to come soon. Raven had fallen back to his elbows, his breath shallow, and a flush was beginning to creep up his neck to his face. They really weren’t supposed to be doing this. The stakes were too high and Jujubee wasn’t exactly sure where Raven would fall under the ‘no conjugal visits’ rule, should anyone find out.

But anyway, Raven finished, staying obediently silent and keeping his hands off Jujubee as ordered. There was a certain satisfaction to it. Jujubee efficiently spat into a tissue and tossed it into the wastebasket in one swift movement. Raven lay back on the bed with a lazy hum, rolling onto his side. 

Jujubee didn’t have anything better to do so he flopped down next to him, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“You can talk now,” said Jujubee dryly.

“Mmm, permission received.”

There was silence for a moment. Jujubee considered whether he wanted to go to the effort of having Raven give him a handjob or something and then decided against it. He was dead tired. Sleep was looking attractive.

“You know you could be getting laid plenty this season, if you want it,” said Raven, seemingly out of the blue.

“What makes you say that?” asked Jujubee.

“That short bitch Cracker wants you, it’s obvious,” stated Raven with feigned nonchalance, rolling onto his back, tucking his arm under his head, “You going to fuck him?”

“Perhaps,” replied Jujubee, delicately touching his collarbone, giving Raven a smirk, “Are you jealous, bitch?”

“No,” said Raven, rolling his eyes, “You can do what and who you want, obviously.”

But Jujubee knew him well enough to read his body language, to see the set of Raven’s jaw and the tension in his shoulders. Raven was such a brat, and he was clearly feeling insecure about being left behind for someone younger and more fun. Oh, sweetie. 

“Well, now that I know such a great place to fuck people on set-” began Jujubee.

“Hey, no, that’s my spot!”

“Who else are you possibly fucking at work?” joked Jujubee, a vision of Mariah flashing before him.

“Eh, there was this twink PA I liked but he’s working somewhere else now, so-”

How intriguing. Ah, Jujubee could certainly pursue Cracker if he wanted to, the man wasn’t unattractive, but playing with Raven’s ridiculous emotions would probably be more fun. It wasn’t that Jujubee wanted to actually hurt him by any means, but Raven could be so dramatic and self-centred that there was a certain satisfaction to winding him up.

“So it’s just me?” teased Jujubee, pushing his luck.

“Do you think you’ll fuck Cracker?” responded Raven, dodging the question.

“Hmmm… I could.”

“But will you-”

“I don’t know yet, bitch!” laughed Jujubee, “I need to focus on winning. We probably shouldn’t even be doing this, it’s a distraction.”

“No it isn’t,” said Raven, a sly smile growing across his face, “This is what they call emotional support." 

The two of them laughed and Jujubee rolled his eyes, "You’re so stupid.”

“You like it.”

“To a point.”

Raven shrugged and then yawned, “Well I better go, I have to drive home.” He looked down at himself, amused, “Ha. I’m still naked.”

Jujubee admired Raven’s ass as he got up and pulled his underwear and jeans back on, heaving a deep sigh.

“Bye bitch,” called Jujubee, as Raven got his phone and left with a casual wave of his hand. The door shut behind him, and Jujubee blinked, the exhaustion of the day crashing back down on him. He got up and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

Tomorrow would be another challenge, and in all likelihood another twist. But whatever, Jujubee was ready. Bring it on, All Stars Five. 

#rpdr fanfiction #rujubee #raven #jujubee #smut #canon compliant #nostalgia #dartmouth420 #tw dom/sub dynamics #tw degradation #submission #s2 #as5 #on set fic

[jacklyn-flynn]

70, Cullen and his mabari. LI as witness. Good luck and have fun! 🤣

Seriously though, this may be my favorite ask so far. I had SO much fun with this one! 

70. “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

Dejah tried to concentrate on her book but Rogue was making it difficult. His soft, pathetic whines kept drawing her attention. Even Lailani, her own brindle Mabari, kept giving her son the side-eye from her spot curled up against Dejah’s drawn up legs. 

“Do you want to come and lay with us?” She asked the dog. His head lifted from the pillow it was rested on and tilted slightly. “I can move your bed for you, handsome boy.” She tried to entice. With another soft whine, he laid it back down again. His brows kept raising and dropping as he looked longingly at the door. 

She sighed and untucked her legs. Lailani shifted to let her mistress stand. Deja’sh hand rubbed her softly rounded stomach absently. “I can’t help you get up anymore, remember? No heavy lifting. And you, sweet boy, are very heavy.” She said, kneeling beside the giant dog. “Can I look? Roll over for me.” 

With an exaggerated huff, the mabari rolled onto his side. She examined the incision on the side of his barrel chest, where his front right leg had been less than a week before. It was healing nicely with the aid of her magic and shouldn’t be paining him overly much, but she laid her hand on it and sent gentle waves of warmth into the pup to comfort him.

She owed him so much. Rogue had been out hunting with Cullen when they’d stumbled upon a bear. It should have been hibernating but it was clearly sick. No less dangerous. Perhaps even more so in it’s hunger and misery. The giant mabari had taken on the beast and saved Cullen’s life. His leg had been horribly mangled in the process, however. 

He looked up at her with the saddest puppy-dog eyes. She sighed and stood back up. “You really are pathetic.” She said with an affectionate smile. “Wait here,” Dejah instructed with a shake of her head. She slipped on some thick shoes and wrapped a fur cloak around her shoulders before stepping out into the cold. She tugged the edges of the cloak together over her stomach. 

The door to Cullen’s workshop creaked when she opened it, the wood frame at war with the chill outside and the dry warmth inside from the fire. He looked up from his work and frowned when he saw her. “Sweetling, you shouldn’t be out in this cold!” He chastised, setting down his tools to envelope her in his arms and hold her tight against him. 

“I’m pregnant, vhenan. It means that I’m growing a baby, not glass bones.” She laughed, though she burrowed against his warmth anyway. He buried his face against her hair and squeezed her tight. 

“I know...just with the bear-I-” He faltered. “I’m grateful to be here to worry about you at all. Allow me to do so.” 

She looked up at him, all levity gone. “I know, my love. It’s okay. You should really be worrying about Rogue though.” 

He frowned. “Is something wrong? The wound?” 

“No,” Dejah assured him. “He misses you. He doesn’t understand why you’re out here all the time. I think he worries you’re mad at him.” Cullen’s frown deepened. She glanced around him at the project on the bench. “It looks like it’s almost done.” 

“It is, I just need to finish the last support. I’ll be in a few minutes.” He assured her. 

Dejah kissed him and headed for the door. “You don’t need to walk me back to the house.” She assured him when he started to follow her. 

“Fine, but I’m watching until you get back inside.” He argued.

She smiled and kissed him again. “Nettlesome human.” She teased. 

*****

True to his word, he came back to the house less than a quarter-hour later. He kicked off his boots and rested his contraption against the wall, immediately walking to Rogue’s resting spot. 

The dog perked up hopefully, his butt wiggling as much as his prone position allowed. Dejah watched with amusement as her mate knelt on the ground and lowered himself to his elbows, scratching behind the mabari’s brindle ears. He lowered his forehead to Rogue’s and she could hear him talking in a gooey voice to him. 

Rogue’s butt wiggled faster and faster and he started to let out happy whines, sniffing and mussing Cullen’s hair. Rogue licked his ear, making the man laugh and press it against his shoulder to get Rogue to stop. 

Dejah rolled her eyes. Ferelden’s and their dogs.

“After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?” Cullen asked Rogue quietly. He kissed the dog’s head and rose. “Come on, up with you. You have to get used to walking again.” He encouraged, helping the massive beast stand on three wobbly legs. 

Cullen retrieved his project from beside the door and headed to their bedroom, patting his thigh to get the pup to follow him. Dejah followed them with tears in her eyes. Damn hormones. 

He laid the ramp he’d built along the end of the bed. It spanned the length, rising gradually so that Rogue could easily make his way up. Cullen encouraged him, his hands on either side of Rogue’s chest as he hobbled up the ramp. Gratefully, the dog collapsed on the end of the bed and looked up at Cullen, panting and wiggling his butt happily. 

“Who’s a good boy?” Cullen praised, scratching his stomach as Rogue rolled over to present it. “Yes, you are! The best boy! My bear killer!” When Rogue’s tongue lolled happily out of his mouth and he let out a please grumble, Dejah lost it. 

Her shaky inhale and sob drew his attention immediately. “Sweetling?” He asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong?” He quickly went to her, holding her at arm’s length to look her over. 

“I’m fine.” She sniffed with a wave of her hand, trying to hold back her tears. Rogue had struggled his way back down the ramp and nudged her hand, apparently as concerned as Cullen was. “It’s just-just-you and how you’re taking care of him. And how much you love him-” She sobbed again and he pulled her into his arms tightly. She buried her face against his chest. “And you’re going to be such a good father and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying and I don’t know why I am but just watching you and I can’t help it and if it wasn’t for him I could have lost you and you Fereldens and your dogs are so ridiculous but so adorable-” 

“Ssshhh.” He soothed, cutting short her rambling and seemingly never-ending, sentence. “Breathe, sweetling.” He chuckled as he ran his hand over her hair. “Now do you understand why we love them so much?”

She sniffled and nodded, pulling out of his embrace. She wiped away the tears on her cheeks, sure that the surge of emotion was passing. “I do. You can go back to praising your dog now.” She said with a hiccup. 

He smiled and kissed her forehead.  Kneeling again, he let Rogue lick his face all the while promising him a great, big druffalo steak all to himself tonight.

#Fluffy prompts #Cullen x Dejah #Good boi #the best boi #the handsomest boi #the bear fighting boi #Fereldens and their dogs #Rogue and Lailani

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 32)

Hotel Grand

Here it is. The one where Arthur pops reader’s cherry. I really hope this is worth all of the build up, I would love to hear what you think, I worked very hard on this chapter! :)

I’d just like to thank @hoodoo12 for reading through this chapter weeks and weeks ago for me, even though she isn’t in the fandom. She’s a very talented writer, and I definitely think you should check her out (especially if you have any interest at all in orcs/fantasy stuff, she has some really cool stuff going on!)

Without further ado, get yourself a cup of your preferred beverage, settle in and enjoy!!!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Arthur and I snuck outside and over to the horses, mounting up on Jet together and heading away from camp. We passed Charles on the way, he'd volunteered to keep guard for a little while, and I was grateful it was him who saw us leave. Arthur asked him to make sure nobody worried if they realised we were gone, explained we were just heading to Saint Denis. He didn't give him any more detail and Charles didn't push for it, but he told us to have a good night with a smile that didn't have a trace of the suggestion one from anyone else might have. I appreciated him. It pained me that what we were planning on doing was so unavoidably blatant, but Charles made it a little less embarrassing. 

We rode into Saint Denis, my chest pressed up against Arthur's back tightly, it was more than a little pleasant sharing a horse with him with the excuse to hold on so firmly. Saint Denis had changed a bit since the last time I visited a number of years previous, it seemed bigger, but I still recognised it. I knew where to go and gave Arthur directions, and eventually we hitched Jet up outside the Hotel Grand. The place was fancy, just like most places in the city, but not so fancy as to make me feel like I daren't touch anything. We headed inside and I insisted on paying for the room, reminding Arthur that I still owed him for the room he paid for way back in Blackwater. He'd found it amusing that I still remembered that, and let me.

We headed upstairs to the room, hand in hand, and I hated to admit that I was beginning to feel nervous. My palms began to sweat and I knew that Arthur must be feeling it; even so, he didn't comment. He let us into the room and shut the door behind us, locking it. The room was lit by two wall sconces either side of a lovely wooden four-poster bed topped with burgundy, floral patterned sheets. The room was quite small, with enough room to fit the bed with fair walking room around each side, and a wardrobe against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. Two large windows occupied the far wall, and Arthur was already heading over there to draw the curtains and shut out the city. 

I made my way over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and bouncing up and down a little, pleased with how cushioned it was. Though, anything would be an improvement on a plain bearskin rug. 

I heard movement behind me, a number of clunks as Arthur removed his boots and gun belt, then the bed dipped and he was crawling up behind me. He shifted and scooted on his backside, sliding his legs either side of me so he was sitting on the edge behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. I felt his lips at my neck as he nuzzled his face against me, inhaling my scent and surrounding me with warmth.

"You still wanna do this?" He asked me in a quiet hum, one hand moving around to my back, dancing up my spine and to the nape of my neck where he played with the baby hairs poking out below my bun.

I turned my head a little. "Of course," I whispered. 

Arthur reached for my bun, removing the few large hair pins holding it in place and running his fingers through it to loosen and free it. He leaned over and put my hair pins safely on the table beside the bed before returning his hands to me; letting them trail up my sides, close to my breasts and back down again. His hands were so careful and they set my pulse racing, one slipped to my neck, holding my hair aside as he kissed along the back of it. Then he was carefully popping open the buttons that ran down the back of my blouse, untucking it from my skirt. With shaky hands I pulled it off of me, discarding it as Arthur blessed my newly revealed skin with more kisses. 

"If you ever wanna stop, don't be scared to say," he told me, ghosting his hands up my front, taking my breasts in his hands over the top of my corset cover, squeezing them gently in his palms. I bit down on my lip and let out a breath as I nodded.

I'd never been so heavily clothed during our previous encounters, in the back of my mind I began to overthink the act of getting out of it all. He still had three more damn layers to go; would he get bored before we could even start? 

"My turn," he whispered, letting go of me and leaning back enough to slide his suspenders down his arms and pull his shirt off. I turned my head and smiled at him as I began to unbutton my corset cover, tugging it over my head soon after. Arthur hummed pleasantly when he saw me in my corset, running his fingers down the lacing at the back, settling his palms on the curve of my waist. 

"Stand up for me?" He asked timidly, and I did just that, turning to face him. He took my hands and let his eyes wander over my body, the ruffles of my chemise poking out above my corset the only thing hiding my breasts. "God, you're beautiful."

I smiled bashfully at the complement. "Help me, won't you?" I asked, then lifted my leg as I hitched up my skirt. 

Arthur caught my foot in his hand and held me steady as he pulled the laces loose, tugging them slack before sliding the boot from my foot. He brushed his hand up and down my ankle for a moment, admiring, but soon had to let me go since I started hopping on my other foot like a clumsy fool. We shared a laugh as I offered him my other foot and he repeated the process. I took my boots from him and set them on the floor, letting him watch me as I loosened my skirt and petticoat, shimmying them down and removing them completely. 

Left in just my corset, chemise and drawers before him, Arthur licked his lips as he looked me over. He scooted forwards and took my hand, using it to spin me around just like he had when we danced together at Shady Belle. He made a small sound of appreciation, then spontaneously pulled me onto the bed. I gasped and laughed, surprised as he crawled and hovered above me, kissed his way down my throat and to my collar bone. 

"You look incredible like this, let me savour it for a little while," he whispered, his hand wandering south, dancing along my inner thighs. His fingers sought out the split in my drawers, meeting bare skin and dragging up, coming so close. I moaned quietly before he even touched me for real, prompting Arthur to lift his head and meet my eyes, a smirk behind where his teeth trapped his bottom lip. 

"Take– take this off?" I breathed before he got too far, my hands grasping at his union suit. He paused and sat up, pulling open the front – it was a wonder he didn't rip off any buttons – and sliding it down off his shoulders, baring his chest to me. He left the rest of his union suit as it was, the top half hanging down over his jeans, and I brought my hands to his chest to explore. 

Arthur watched me as I smoothed my hands over his torso, brushing through the soft hair, feeling the hot, mild clamminess of his skin, fingertips daring to pass along the edge of the new scar tissue his run-in with the O'Driscolls had earned him. I sat up enough to kiss him there when the urge to do so became too strong. He let out a soft sound then his hand was at the opening of my drawers again, coming up to touch me for real, fingers sliding between my folds and feeling the slick already forming there from his attention.

I gasped, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him close, feeling his hips press into my side, rolling forwards. He stroked me in slow, firm circles, working me up quickly as he subtly ground his growing erection against the side of my thigh. I heard him groaning quietly in my ear and it made me flush ferociously. I brought one hand between us, sliding between his body and his union suit, down until I could feel the brush of his pubic hair. I paused for a second, gathering my nerve before closing the distance and wrapping my hand around his length, pulling up.

"Fuck," Arthur sighed, moaning my name into my ear. I bit my lip.

It was impossibly hot in the confines of his pants and I stroked him slowly, feeling more comfortable with the act after a little time and the encouragement of his sounds. Arthur lifted his head, giving me no time to react to the kiss he planted on my mouth, eager and hungry and sweet. I moaned into his mouth, parting my lips and inviting his tongue inside, gingerly meeting his with my own and moving it in time. My hips rolled of their own accord when Arthur slipped a finger inside me, soon followed by a second that pressed against my walls, stroking a delicious place that had me breaking the kiss to release an indecent sound.

"Oh god, Arthur. That's so good," I exhaled, rolling my body in time with his fingers, riding them. He made a quiet humming sound, thrusting his hips into my own hand, reminding me to keep focused on him, too. 

I withdrew his erection from his clothes, pushing his jeans down to his thighs – Arthur finished the job and kicked them free of his legs – and I adjusted my grip on him, stroking faster. He growled out a moan, dipping his head against my chest.

"You better be careful, sweetheart," he murmured. My hand immediately froze.

"Did I hurt you?" I blurted out, making him chuckle.

He shook his head but didn't lift it. "No, but you might make me cum," he said.

I felt my face heat up at the blunt admission and slowed my hand, but Arthur pulled away from me after a few moments.

"Isn't that a good thing?" I asked a little sheepishly as he shifted on the bed, coming to kneel between my legs. He smiled at me, he looked a little amused. 

"Sure, I guess so. For me. Not so much for you," he explained, tugging on my hands to get me to sit up. He reached behind me and pulled on the lacing of my corset, loosening it before helping me unhook it at the front to remove it. "And I'd rather hold on a little longer myself, you know."

My blank stare made him pause, and realisation washed over his expression. Then his mouth turned down a little awkwardly.

"Oh, I guess you don't know," he mused, eyes dropping as if searching for the words in my chemise. He was a bit pink in the cheeks. "If I cum, I can't carry on like you might be able to. It don't work like that for us fellers, unfortunately."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I murmured, feeling a bit foolish.

"Hey, how were you gonna know? You ain't got one," he chuckled, cupping my cheeks and kissing my forehead. When he pulled back, he reached for the hem of my chemise and looked to me for permission before lifting it up and pulling it over my head, revealing my breasts to him. 

Arthur didn't hide the fact that he wanted to have a good look at me like that, letting his hands follow his eyes on their journey up and down my bare torso. 

"You're so lovely," he whispered to me as he moved forwards and peppered kisses over my body, starting at the hollow of my throat and moving down between my breasts, over the creased impressions on my stomach where my corset had held.

He flicked his eyes up to mine a little cautiously as he moved back up, one hand cupping my left breast, his mouth going to my nipple where he circled it with his tongue, all the while studying my reaction. I sighed and leaned into the touch, such a pleasant sensation, one he mirrored on the other side, sucking the bud into his mouth as it hardened. His hand moved back between my legs, fingers pushing in, thrusting slow but firm against my sweet spot. 

"So beautiful," he added after releasing my nipple, his fingers rolling it in his mouth's place. "You like this?"

I nodded eagerly and he chuckled. 

"Arthur, please," I found myself sighing. 

"Please, what?" He asked earnestly. 

"I want you," I told him, making him flush and falter. 

"You think you're ready?" He queried, fingers still working to make me shudder and writhe. I nodded. Arthur nodded too, withdrawing his fingers only to unfasten my drawers and remove them. 

He paused once I was naked, eyes settling between my legs, moving up to my chest, back down, all over me. It was the first time he'd seen me fully undressed and his erection dripped, stringy and clear, onto the bed sheets. Suddenly, he looked about as nervous as I had been feeling before. Regardless, he shed the last of his clothes too and crawled up between my legs, guiding my thighs either side of his hips, putting us close together. His length brushed against me, coaxing him forwards to rub against me on purpose, sliding through the slick of my core as his arms encircled me and pulled me close for a kiss.

He felt so warm between my legs, so good, I could only hope it felt as pleasant once he was inside me. 

"Don't let me hurt you," he whispered to me, pressing his forehead to mine, "I mean it, if it hurts even a little bit, tell me."

"I will." 

"I've never done this with a… with someone who's never done it before. I don't know how much it's supposed to hurt, or if it's even gonna, jus' promise me you'll stop me if–" he didn't finish, I was nodding before he could and so he just trailed off.

He looked down, his hand going between us and wrapping around himself. He dragged the head between my folds, slicking it up. His breath came fast and laboured. My heart was pounding in my ears so loud. It was finally happening.

"Fuck, can take being shot at by lawmen, but this…" Arthur said under his breath, ceasing movement. 

"Do you want to stop?" I asked, disliking the way his voice wavered anxiously. 

"No, I ain't scared for myself. I don't wanna mess this up for you, my first weren't nothin' special, I want yours to be perfect," he shook his head, "are you ready?" 

I nodded. There was just a few seconds of nothing, then he guided his length to my entrance, pressing forwards carefully. I could feel him spreading me open, stretching me like nothing – not even my own fingers – ever had. A sharp pain that was somehow dull at the same time came on quickly, and I inhaled sharply, squeezing his shoulder. He stopped immediately. 

"Is it in?" The words left me in a rush before he could pull out. 

"No, not– I mean, the head almost is," he told me and my eyes widened. "Does it hurt, or just feel different?"

"Both," I told him honestly and he started to pull out, but I stopped him. "Hold on, just give me a second."

He did just that, waited patiently for me, dotting kisses on my cheeks. I waited until the pain had subsided, then gave him the nod to continue. He didn't get far, pushing in little by little, only to have me gasp when I felt a sudden breech, like he hadn't really been inside me at all until that one moment, and there was a flare of pain. I couldn't stop him pulling out then.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, angel," he breathed, hand going to my thigh to stroke comfortingly. 

"I'm fine, it ain't that bad!" I reassured him breathlessly. 

"It ain't supposed to be bad at all," he lamented, frowning to himself. 

"Just try again, I just need to get used to it," I assured, touching his cheek and making him look at me. 

"I don't think you're ready, yet," he said. 

"What? No, I'm ready, I want this, Arthur don't–"

"I mean you ain't ready, right this moment. You need to be real relaxed," he shook his head, scooting backwards and bringing his fingers to my folds again, finding my clit and rolling it faster than he had been before. "Can I try something?"

"Yes, anything you think'll help," I nodded, relaxing into the cushions as he pleasured me again. I felt a little sore but he was taking care of it.

"You don't like it, I'll stop," he assured me, then moved further back until he was laying between my legs. I watched on curiously as he played with me, his free hand stroking up and down my thigh, coaxing my legs open wider. He pressed kisses against my inner thighs, then pushed his fingers inside me as his mouth drew closer to my center. 

I clocked what he was doing and my eyes widened. 

"Where're you going with that mouth, Arthur?" I gasped, receiving a cheeky smile from him.

"You gonna tell me to stop?" He questioned. After a moment, I shook my head, then he was closing the gap.

His mouth met me between my legs, his tongue circling my clit and licking at my folds. It was experimental, the way he did it, shy wouldn't be the word but he didn't seem confident in what he was doing either. But good lord, was it incredible. I moaned loudly, rolling my head back against the cushions when his lips closed around my clit and applied gentle suction, broken up by firm massaging from his tongue. 

"I'm starting to understand those bounties, this is damn criminal, what you're doin'," I sighed, my body arching, driving myself firmer against his mouth as I felt him chuckle. 

His free hand explored up and down my inner thigh, tickling me, making my tummy do flips almost as much as the ministrations of his tongue. There was something so intimate about being pleasured this way, and while it made me feel embarrassed if I thought too much about it, the way it felt made sure I didn't overthink for long. 

His fingers stroked a spot inside me that made my legs weak, he paid such pinpoint, perfect attention to it that I could feel myself growing close to my climax in no time at all. I was grateful when he didn't slow, I felt him moan against me when my hand flew down to his hair to keep him there, fingers carding through his locks. I felt his other hand moving up my body, interlacing with my own where it once laid balled into a fist at my side. It was a reminder to relax, and as soon as I did–

"Oh, fuck!" I gasped, highly unladylike of me, when I reached orgasm. Trembling on the bed as my body pulsed, squeezed Arthur's fingers. 

His mouth let up, moving to kiss the creases where my legs joined my body on each side, moving up to kiss below my navel, all the while rocking those fingers on that spot, bringing me down while never letting me hit the ground. I wanted him more than ever. 

Arthur came forward again, not removing his fingers, keeping me going, licking his lips and wiping the wetness from his chin before dipping his head against the junction of my neck and shoulder. He lavished attention there, echoing my moans as his mouth closed over my flesh, sucking gently. It was overwhelming in the best possible way, and I simply laid there clinging to him and singing out my enjoyment unabashedly. 

"D'ya like that?" He murmured to me, as if he needed to ask.

"Yes," I sighed, wrapping my legs around his hips and grinding up against him, feeling his arousal against the dip of my hip. "Do it, please," I breathed.

"You sure?"

"Yes," I squeezed him tightly, felt his hand retreat to fist his length, felt the head of it nudge against my opening. 

He pushed in, I felt that same pressure and stretch as he eased deeper. There was a slight amount of pain but not nearly enough to make me react, and Arthur released a deep, drawn out moan as I welcomed him. A smile passed my lips when I realised he was deeper than he ever had been, a sense of achievement, almost. I was wet and relaxed and I felt little more than slight discomfort at the unfamiliar intrusion, but the realisation that we were connected filled my chest with something new and wonderful. 

"You alright?" Arthur asked me breathlessly, peeling his head up to look me in the eye. I smiled at him and nodded, then he edged forwards a touch more and I felt his lower body press against mine, he was completely buried in me. He moaned out my name, his forehead meeting mine.

"Arthur," I sighed, unable to restrain my smile. My legs tightened around his waist and I found myself grinding against him, feeling him shift inside me and releasing a gasp. He felt huge, stretching me so much, but the discomfort I felt was overshadowed by enjoyment at being connected with him so intimately. 

Arthur kissed me, his lips needy and warm against mine, and he pulled his hips back just a bit, thrusting back in and groaning deeply. The slow drag of his length inside me made my breath catch in my throat and I clung to Arthur tightly, my fingertips pressing into his shoulders. He moved again, rocking into me slowly and steadily, breaking the kiss and meeting my eyes. 

"Sweetheart," he puffed, breathless and deep, "you okay?" He asked again. 

"Yes, I'm good. Better than good, keep going," I pleaded, cupping the back of his neck and skimming my fingers through the waves of his hair there. My other hand moved to his chest, thumb absentmindedly skimming over his nipple. 

"God, this feels incredible," he told me, voice strained. I hummed my agreement, caressing him and tilting my head, pressing my lips to the side of his face.

Arthur wrapped an arm beneath my lower back, lifting me up, tilting my hips, giving himself the perfect angle to bury himself over and over, getting quicker as we became lost in each other. My mouth kissed anywhere I could reach, my nose completely full of his scent and my ears blessed with the sound of his heavy breaths and pleasured groans. I felt like I could cry if I wasn't so absorbed in how good he was making me feel, his body grinding against my clit with every push of his hips. My heart fluttered in my rib-cage, making every pull of breath feel desperate; Arthur himself was about the only thing keeping me fixed on planet earth, it seemed like.

I loved him. That much was clear to me, I was completely in love with the man. 

"Arthur," I all but sobbed. He turned his head, putting our faces a hair's breadth apart. I pouted my lips for a couple of barely-there kisses, far too breathless for anything more than that.

"My gorgeous girl, this feel good?" He groaned, always eager to know how I was feeling. 

"So good, will you go faster?" I panted, and Arthur chuckled in response.

"Faster? Got you warmed up real quick, huh?" He teased, tilting his head and pecking my lips, nipping at my bottom one right after. He sped up his movements as I requested, clenching his jaw and grunting. "You feel amazing, princess."

"Yeah?" I whined, feeling an unexpected swell of pride that I could make him feel good with my body like this. 

"Yeah, fuck. My good girl," he praised and I moaned loudly, completely unable to hold back. "I'm so sorry, I don't reckon I can last very long."

"Don't apologise," I breathed, my body buzzing with intense arousal at his admission. 

"I won't finish inside you, I'll pull out," he assured me, not that I'd even considered that.

I wasn't so naive as to not understand why he'd pull out, but part of me felt like it was a shame. Wouldn't it be nice to share that with him? To stay connected while his pleasure peaked? My muscles clenched at the thought, and I found myself approaching my own orgasm surprisingly quickly. Feeling so full and having such intense pressure on my inner walls was such a new experience, one that I knew I'd be struggling not to crave often in future. I could only hope Arthur enjoyed this feeling as much as I did.

"I promise next time it won't be over so fast," he laughed breathily, his face betraying embarrassment behind his pleasure. He paused his hips for a moment, shifting to kneel as he kept hold of my waist, never breaking our connection. He lifted me upright so I was sat on his lap, and used his hands to guide me up and down. The new position made him feel deeper inside me and I cursed aloud at the surprising sensation. 

"Don't forget, I ain't got nothin' to compare this to. You don't have to be hard on yourself," I assured him, my voice somewhere between a moan and a laugh. He chuckled too.

"This is just gonna take some getting used to, feels so good. Fuck, so close–" he grunted, eyes squeezing shut in what looked like concentration. 

I snuck a hand between our bodies, feeling his stomach flex when I accidentally brushed against it, making him release a throaty groan. I rubbed my clit more firmly than his body alone could. I did so briskly, chasing my incoming orgasm, shuddering and tensing as I did, hearing more and more unrestrained sounds from him. 

Suddenly, Arthur rocked forwards, dropping me down onto my back, the momentum breaking the bond between our bodies. His hand wrapped around his erection – red and thick and shiny with wetness – and pumped it a number of times before he released, painting my lower belly and my busy arm with his seed. The sight of it was so arousing, so delightfully dirty, that I was soon joining him in the height of his pleasure; cumming at my own touch, the lingering sensation of him inside me making me throb and pulse more powerfully than ever before. My orgasm was so intense I couldn't keep my eyes open, they squeezed shut on their own and Arthur's name ripped from my throat just like mine had from his.

In the aftermath of our crests the room was thick with heavy breaths and the distinct hot, sticky sensation resulting from any physical labour, our flesh sticking and gripping one another's. My hand slowed and stopped between my legs, muscles going loose and malleable as Arthur held himself up with a pair of shaky arms above me. He lifted his head to meet my eyes, his cheeks flushed red and coated in a sheen of perspiration. It was so stuffy this far East.

"I couldn't stop myself," he began to explain, almost apologetically. 

I simply shook my head and flashed him a dazed smile. 

"Let me take care of you," he added, then went to touch me. 

I blocked his hand, shaking my head again. "I came," I told him breathily and his eyes darkened lustfully. 

"You did," he murmured, not bothering to make it sound like a question, coming to lean over me and spread kisses up my neck. "Nothing to say you can't cum again," he said lewdly against my neck, tickling and making me giggle. His hand scooped under my backside, squeezing my cheek and surprising me. 

"Arthur," I said in a faux reprimand.

"What? I missed that last one. Didn't get to see your face," he purred, then his teeth grazed over my neck, the hot wet push of his tongue soon after, like he was ready to devour me like Nosferatu. I snickered and patted his shoulder, he lifted his head and smirked at me. I grabbed his face and pulled him down to kiss him, rough and heated, lots of tongue and he squeezed me against him, spreading the mess on my stomach between us; he didn't seem to care, though.

Arthur rolled us over, and it was nice to not worry about rolling off onto the floor for a change. I ended up straddling his hips, his softening manhood nestled between my legs, still feeling hot and sticky. I thought back to what he'd said earlier about men not being able to carry on right away, and wondered just how long we would have to wait…

"When can we do that all again?" I murmured against his lips, not letting him answer before continuing our kiss. He hummed a laugh behind my mouth, his hands roaming up and down my spine, gently tugging on the ends of my hair.

"You're thinking of that already?" He asked when I finally parted from him. I nodded and smiled. "Christ, woman," he laughed.

"Well, you shouldn't've been so good," I grinned.

"Oh, I was good?" He quirked a brow, just a glimmer of arrogance in his tone that caught me by surprise. I sat up, let my eyes wander over the wet smears on our stomachs. 

"A little messy, but…" I lifted one shoulder playfully at him and he glanced down too. He made a grunt of acknowledgement. 

"Mm, sorry about that," he sighed, looking sleepy now that he was laying back into the cushy pillows. 

"You falling asleep on me?" 

"With you, hopefully," the smile he gave was lopsided and sweet. I glanced around and when no other options came up, I reached back and grabbed the corner of the bed sheet and pulled on it, managing to reach us both with it to clean us up. 

Once we were clean, I climbed off of him, going to lay down beside him and rest on his shoulder. I chose his right shoulder, still nervous to touch his left one after his injury. Arthur wrapped his arms around me and we laid naked on top of the sheets, still too warm to crawl under them. I let out a contented breath as I got comfortable. 

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling him peck the top of my head. 

"I should be thanking you. I just hope this was at least a little special for you," he replied.

"It was. It was perfect."

"Well, it… it means a lot that you chose me to share this with," he murmured quietly, a certain shyness in his tone. I turned my head and kissed his shoulder. 

"Who on Earth else would I choose?" 

"I don't know, I just feel real happy right now, I thought you should know that." 

I felt my stomach give a funny squeeze, all pleasant and warm. 

"Me too," I whispered, wrapping my arm around his front and snuggling in tighter. "I know things ain't been easy lately, but thank you for coming out here with me."

"Ain't no need to thank me, sweetheart. I'm here for my sake as much as yours," he chuckled, "it's nice to get away from the gang sometimes. As much as I like 'em. I dare say I like you a damn sight more, 'specially after that."

"I won't tell no one," I snickered.

"Yeah, best not. Dutch still thinks he's my favourite," he murmured against the top of my head playfully. I laughed a little, but my mind rejected all thoughts of Dutch. I still had a bitter taste in my mouth after Arthur's capture, how he'd left it so long with seemingly no plans to do anything about it. 

"Tomorrow," I began thoughtfully, changing the subject, "we riding straight back to camp?"

"I ain't in no rush. Bet everyone'll be laying around feeling sorry for themselves after drinking all night," he shrugged. 

"Alright, well, I might step out for a little while in the morning. There's somethin' I wanna go and get in town. There's a little place I remember, wanna know if it's still there."

"Yeah? We can take a trip around the city if you want," he said, though he didn't sound enthralled with the idea.

"I remember you don't like cities, I was thinking I'd go alone. You can stay in bed, have a well-deserved lie-in, or take a bath. Bath girl optional," I teased.

"Bath girl," he muttered, "I'm starting to regret somethin' I don't even remember saying."

"I'm joking," I lifted my head and grinned at him. "But really, I'll go on my own. Only wanna nip out, pick up a little something for us."

"For us?" He raised a brow with intrigue.

"Yeah. Don't get too excited," I chuckled, "for now though, let's make the most of this double bed."

Arthur let out a dirty chuckle. "Still thinking like that? Well, shit, I might struggle to keep up with you."

"I meant to sleep in," I burst into giggles. 

"Oh," he hummed, and I could tell he was embarrassed. 

"Although…" I purred, flashing him a suggestive smile and running my nails through his chest hair. "How long did you say we'd have to wait?"

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Monday Mornings

A/N: Hey there and HAPPY MONDAY! This is the last of the Nick smooches, and I decided to tie it in with Made Man. Think of it as an interlude of sorts, falling between the time that Nick arrives at the Dockside, and that lovely moment in the intro where the L-word drops for the first time...about two months before that, actually. Anywho, these Nick smooches have been F U N. I do plan on at least one more follow up section to the 10,800/ Make Somethin’ Nick, but that’s gonna have to wait it’s turn, because after this one... IT’S BILLY SEASON! 

Word Count: 2,282

Warnings: some lemons. and like ten seconds of HIGH STRESS. 

Prompt from: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire

AGAIN, i was feeling generous with this one, so have a whole day full of no reason. ;) 

Monday had quickly become Nick’s favorite day of the week. The Dockside was closed then meaning that you had the day off from slinging drinks and concealing drop offs. Steve rarely ran any illicit operations when the restaurant wasn’t open, not wanting to draw attention to the establishment with cars and people coming and going, so for all intents and purposes it was Nick’s day off too. The way that the two of you had been spending your Mondays lately made him realize that he never really stood a chance when it came to falling for you, regardless of how hard he’d tried not to after stepping off that ferry. 

He rolled over in the unmade bed. In the two months since your lazy routine had evolved to involve the bedroom, he’d only seen the comforter made up once. You preferred the feeling of getting into a bed that had already been slept in, even if the two of you hadn’t done much sleeping. Nick’s preference was simply a bed that you were in with him. Since all he had was the air mattress on the floor in the room he rented, your place was where you spent most of your time together. Face pressed against the mint green pillowcase, he inhaled the scent of your shampoo. A shiver went down his bare back and even though the windows in the old house were drafty and the radiator hadn’t worked since you moved in, he was sure that it had nothing to do with the temperature. It was you, the way you overpowered all of his senses. Especially common sense. 

From the white gray light coming in through the curtains he could tell that it was somewhere around midday. He lifted himself up to his elbows, your pillow still between his arms and bunched up against his chest, to look out the window properly. Sliding the curtain aside with two long fingers, he blinked against the blinding clarity of the colorless March sky. A thin layer of transparent slush covered the ground and coated the waxy leaves of the holly bush beneath your bedroom window. Another blink and his dark brown eyes adjusted to the light enough so that he could see that the precipitation had started to turn to rain, fat, frigid drops falling to water down the snow that started earlier. It would all be washed away soon, dripping into the sewage drains and leaving the day damp and cold. Letting the curtain go, he slumped back down into the sheets, releasing a long breath through his nose. Five more minutes. She gets five more minutes before I drag her back here…

He vaguely remembered you saying something about breakfast, vaguely remembered telling you all he needed was you...and maybe some coffee… but you’d slapped his hands playfully away from your waist as you laughed, shaking your head. “You can stay here, lazy bones, I’ll be right back.” You grabbed the closest scrap of clothing- the tee he’d worn the night before- and tugged it over your head. Nick tucked an elbow behind his neck and watched as the soft dark fabric unfurled over the curves of your body, just barely concealing the rounded cheeks that only moments ago he held firmly in both hands. 

“Looks better on you,” he mumbled as you scooped up a pair of jeans from the foot of the bed and stepped into them. With a smirk and a hop you pulled the tight denim up your legs and fastened them shut, tucking his shirt loosely into the waistband. 

You turned to him, your smirk still showing through the fringe of hair that had escaped your messy bun. “Maybe I should keep it then, huh?” You leaned over him in the bed and he stared up at you, a smile growing on his own lips to match yours. 

He reached for your waist again and this time, since there were clothes involved and the distraction wouldn’t be too impossible to walk away from, you let him make a grip on your hips. He slipped a finger through your belt loop and pulled you down until you fell giggling on top of him, one leg on either side. He dropped one hand to your thigh, the other still hooked through the loops at your hip. “Yeah. Yeah maybe you should.” 

You looked down at the shirt, pulling the loose fit away from your body to emphasize how large it was on you. “Yeah, I mean, fits so good’n all.” With a playful roll of your eyes you released the shirt and instead made a grip in his hair, letting yourself fall forward onto his chest. “I dunno though,” you said in a low voice, inching closer to his face. “Still think it looks best on the floor.” You gave a light pull on the thick locks in your hand and the sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a laugh before your lips made contact with his and his hands slid all along your body, over your jeans and untucking the shirt in question to seek the satisfaction of your skin against his palms. He felt you sigh into the kiss as he pressed you closer, and rolled his hips slowly but intentionally up into yours so that your sigh melted into a moan that he hungrily devoured. He knew that if you’d gone through the trouble of actually getting dressed that you meant business about getting breakfast, even though he’d be happy to go the whole day without food if it meant getting to continue this; getting to feel you like this, to taste you, to hold you and draw those sounds from you, with no rush, nowhere to be and no reason for any of it aside from absolute pleasure. 

He’d stalled you earlier when you’d gotten out of the shower, your wet hair smelling like rosemary and citrus, the steam still coming off of your body as he talked you back into the sheets and his arms. He flipped you under him, stealing your breath and absorbing your warmth as his fingers undid the towel you had wrapped around yourself so he could use them to undo you as well. His kisses matched each pass of his fingers, tongue slipping in, lips pressing and teeth nipping to mirror the pressure and pace he set as you writhed beneath him until you collapsed, spent for the third time that morning. Taking advantage of your dizzy euphoria, Nick’s limbs enveloped you once more and he held you close until you fell asleep against his chest, indecisive snow and rain falling outside the window. 

When you’d finally pulled yourself away from him, tucking his shirt back into your pants and pulling a sweater from a hook over the bedroom door, you blew him one more kiss and told him not to move, that you’d be back, and that after breakfast you could get back to the nothing that you both wanted to be engaged in. 

It was a war of wills every Monday morning, dragging each other in and out of bed, and Nick sensed that your will was waning with each passing week. It started out as nothing more than killing time on your shared day off, both of you clearly attracted to the other, but still naive enough to think that nothing would come of it; that you could get away with watching movies together, lounging in your living room while the day went to waste and you flicked popcorn kernels at one another. It progressed into sharing meals and one or two times, before the bedroom came into play, he’d crashed on the couch and walked you to work the following morning. Eventually, it had turned into what it was now, his lips and hands on you as soon as you were out of sight of your place of employment on Sunday night, not leaving until you were back in view Tuesday to open the bar. Somewhere in the last few weeks, Nick felt his own will fade, too, and as much as he’d told himself that he wouldn’t fall for you, you’d given him reasons to: the shape you made curled against his body while you slept, the way your scent soaked into his clothes so he went home missing you, the sound of your laughter as you teased him about his accent or his baseball team. I’m toast. 

The five minutes from the time he peeked out the window passed, and you still hadn’t come back to bed. With a sprawling stretch and a contented yawn, Nick sat up and looked for something to pull on. But with you wearing his shirt, all he could find were his pants. He yanked them on one leg at a time, then ran a hand through his hair before leaving your room for the first time in over twelve hours. Descending the narrow staircase, he heard the creak of the third step and felt the give in the railing. His eyes roved over the few pictures lining the wall, and the triangular bit of torn wallpaper that was peeling away from the sheetrock. All of these things were becoming as familiar to him as your bed and your body. It was what he didn’t hear or see or smell that heightened his senses; no coffee brewing, no sizzling eggs, clattering pans, or soft footsteps dancing through the kitchen. By the time he was halfway down the steps, Nick was on high alert. This ain’t right...she’s not here… 

The click of the door handle turning made him spin towards the living room as he quickly came down the last few stairs. He reached behind himself instinctively before silently cursing. Shit! Fuckin’ gun’s upstairs. He swallowed and squared up, waiting for the door to swing open, hands clenched in tight, white knuckled fists at his sides. The door opened and a few wet drops blew in before two boots- two bright green, polka dotted boots came into view, attached to a pair of legs wearing the jeans he’d watched you wiggle into earlier. Nick blew out a breath in a huff as he shook his head and you hurried inside, shutting the door behind you. You were balancing two cups of coffee and a paper bag and your hood was pulled up over your head until you shook it off. Nick leaned against the doorway from the hall to the living room, arms crossed over his bare chest. You still hadn’t noticed him, despite his racing heart that he swore could be heard back in Boston. He cleared his throat loudly and raised an eyebrow at you. 

You turned then, stripping your soaked outer layer and leaving it in a pile on the tiled floor of your entryway. “Oh,” you smiled, cheeks and nose cherry red from the chilly air. “Hey, Nick, I thought I told you to stay put?”

“Yeah, you did. And I thought you were just down here. You went out?” 

You held the bag up to show him the logo. “Yeah well I told you Atlantic Bagel is only open ‘til 2,” you checked an imaginary watch as you slid your boots off. “And I wanted my fix. Bacon egg and cheese on Everything?” You looked at him like he was supposed to know what that meant. “C’mon, Tortano, I told you about it when we woke up.” He shook his head questioningly. She thinks I’m gonna remember somethin bout’a bagel after all...that? You shrugged. “I got you one too, grumpy.” You set the bag and coffees down on the side table next to the couch and crossed the few remaining steps to wrap your arms around his midsection. 

You had brought the cold in with you and he hissed as you made contact. “You’re freezin’,” he uncrossed his arms to wrap them around you. “Jesus, is it really that cold out?” 

“Yeah, it is. You gotta warm me up.” You looked up at him and winked with a smile, a frozen flake still stuck on one of your eyelashes. 

He chuckled softly, scrunching his nose at you. “Yeah, I can do that.” Nick dropped a quick kiss to your lips. “Ya know, when I didn’t hear you down here I got...I uh,...I was worried. So… you gonna go out make sure I know, yeah?” You started to protest and he knew what you were about to say. “Yeah, yeah, I know you said you told me but how was I supposed to keep my head on straight when you were up there doin’ what you were doin’, huh?” You giggled and he loved the way it felt against his chest. “Just...doesn’t hurt to tell me twice. I just…” I just wanna know you’re safe. 

You rose on your toes to kiss him back. “Yeah, Nick, I’ll tell you twice.” You grabbed his hand then and tugged him back towards the stairs. 

“Thought you had to get your fix?” He tilted his head to the bagel bag and coffees. 

You shrugged and climbed one more step. “I can heat ‘em up in the oven.” You reached down and untucked his shirt from your jeans, pulling it up and over your head. “Or they’re good cold.” You tossed his shirt down to him and it landed on his outstretched hand. “But I think we were doing some quality nothing up there before I left, am I wrong?” 

Nick dropped the shirt so that it dangled on the rickety railing, taking the steps two at a time. “Yeah, yeah I  think we were.” I’m done for. 

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @thebbtongue  @lexxierave @songtoyou @poindexted @thesumofmychoices@gollyderek @zaffrenotes @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @roses-in-your-country-house

#made man #nick tortano #by the gun fanfic #nick tortano x reader #nick tortano x you #nick smooches #kiss prompts #kiss requests #a kiss in the bedroom #for no reason #monday mornings #HAPPY MONDAY #atlantic bagel is legit fyi

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Ok. So I did something. I completed this fic last month but there were some scenes that I couldn’t stop thinking about, that I’d outlined but had not completely written out. So I ended up writing them out as one shots, just to get them out of my brain. I had such a good time being back in this AU I decided to go ahead and post this to share it with you. So here’s the “deleted scene” of Baz convincing Simon to move into his flat. My thanks to all of you who have been so supportive and encouraging about this fic!

Chapter 17

Baz

I pick up Simon directly from the care home.

He’s pleasantly disheveled. Shirt untucked. Bronze curls drooping over his forehead. A bright spot of paint on his cheek that I can imagine licking off.

Fuck. Where did that thought come from?

Simon slides into the passenger seat and his bright grin brings a flare of heat to my chest. He’s the sun and I can’t keep myself from crashing into him.

I’m leaning towards him before I even think it through and he meets me halfway over the center console, lips sliding against my own, his breath sighing against my skin.

Fingertips trail heat along my jaw as he pulls back and that stray spot of paint folds into one of his dimples as he smiles at me. “Where are we going? You didn’t say.”

“Thought we’d head to your place. Let you get changed.”

“Being mysterious, are we?”

I arch a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know my nefarious plans for you, Snow?”

Simon shoves my arm. “Shut up, you barmy git. It’s only nefarious if you don’t plan on taking me out to eat. I’m starved.”

“You’re always starved, Simon.” I regret the words the minute they come out of my mouth. Because they’re true. They always have been true, but I know the background far better now than I did at Watford.

I know why he was always so painfully thin at the start of term. Why he’d be the first in the dining hall and the last to leave. Why it took weeks for him to fill out again, to lose the gauntness that haunted him in the early days of autumn.

Fucking care homes.

The touch of his hand on my forearm brings me back to the present. “You’re right, I am.” His fingers squeeze through the fabric of my coat. “Stop thinking so hard, Baz.” Simon pats his stomach with his other hand and laughs. “I’ve gained enough weight these past few weeks I should probably back off the snacks a bit. I’ll not fit in my clothes and I can’t be wearing trackies to work all the time.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. It comes so effortlessly to him, setting others at ease. Setting me at ease

We drive in silence, Simon’s hand still resting lightly on my forearm. I shift gears and navigate through the busy traffic to get to his flat.

I’ve spent the afternoon at my place. I tidied up the spare room, made it look more like a bedroom and less like an office. The desk is clean. The bed is made. The wardrobe has ample space and the contents of the chest of drawers have been parceled out to other locations.

There are two large, empty suitcases stashed away in the boot of my car. The backseat of the Jag should accommodate the rest of his meagre belongings.

I’ve not been sleeping well since we’ve come back. The time change is the likeliest culprit but my looming departure isn’t helping matters any.

Neither is Simon’s living situation.

I’d spent half the night pacing in my room, formulating this plan and rehearsing the words to convince him to agree to it. I still don’t know if he will. If Simon Snow is anything, it’s stubborn.

I miraculously find a parking spot near his building again. That in itself says more about the dodginess of this neighbourhood than the boarded-up buildings or piles of rubbish by the bins.

Simon’s already on his way to the front door when he realizes I’m not following. I’ve flipped the boot open and I’m hauling out the two large cases I retrieved from storage earlier today.

“What’re you doing? Moving in?” He looks amused but puzzled.

Here we go.

“Moving you out.”

“What?”

“I’m moving you out of here.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“Can we discuss this upstairs please, Simon? Preferably while we pack?”

“You can’t be serious, Baz.”

I slam the boot of the car shut and extend the handles of the suitcases, bumping them along the cracked sidewalk past him. He trails after me, hands in his coat pockets and that mutinous expression I know so well on his face.

He unlocks the front door and stomps up the steps, leaving me alone to navigate the cramped staircase with the two unwieldy bags thumping and knocking along behind me.

I’m panting by the time I reach his floor, sweat rolling off my forehead. And the bags are empty at the moment, not as heavy as they’ll surely be once they’re filled with his belongings.

If they’re filled with his belongings, my brain reminds me. He’s not agreed to anything yet.

I drag myself in and set the cases aside. Simon shuts the door behind me and then leans against it, arms crossed, brow creased. He looks at me expectantly. “Care to clarify this for me?”

I close my eyes. My well-thought-out midnight speeches have abandoned me. All that comes out is “I think you should stay at my place.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” He looks genuinely perplexed.

“Because you can’t stay here.”

“I jolly well can stay here. I’ve lived here for six months, Baz. It’s fine.”

“It most certainly is not fine. I can’t stand the thought of you living here, Simon.” His expression darkens and I know I need to choose my words wisely. Now is not the time to use the word ‘squalid’ even if it is the most appropriate one to come to mind. I shove my hands in my pockets so he can’t see me clench my fists. I need to try a different approach.

“My flat is empty. There’s no one there.”

“I can’t stay at your flat, Baz!”

“And why not?

Simon splutters and blusters. “I just . . . I can’t do that.” His face flushes. “I’ve got a lease here. I can’t afford to leave this place.”

“It’s not about the money.”

Error, my brain shouts at me. Way to fuck it up, Basilton.

Simon pushes off the wall, eyes flashing. “It most certainly is about the money.” His eyes narrow. “I know this might be hard for you to understand, considering your background and all, but I’ve got finite resources. A limited budget. This fits my needs and I can’t just go buggering off to live in Chelsea on a fucking whim, Baz. I can’t do that.” Simon’s chin juts out and he looks away, his voice dropping. “I can’t afford that.”

“I don’t expect you to have to afford it. I told you—it’s sitting empty.”

He’s drawing himself up now, as tall and straight as he can, fists clenched at his sides. His chin juts out even more, and fuck it all, I know this expression. Why is he being so bloody stubborn?

“I’m not taking charity from you, Baz. I’ll not do that.” That’s why he’s being so fucking stubborn. I predicted this, I thought this out last night and I’ve made a bollocks of the whole proceeding.

My shoulders slump. “Please, Simon. Just do it for me. If I have to be away, at least this way I’d know you were somewhere safe.”

The fire goes out of his eyes but he’s still taut and rigid in his stance.

I keep going. “You’d be doing me a favour, looking after my place.”

The skeptical look is back. “Didn’t you tell me Fiona takes care of your place?”

I curl my lip. “Poorly. You’ve met her. How good an idea do you think it is, having her be responsible?”

He shakes his head. “You’re just saying that. You wouldn’t have let her do it in the first place, if you didn’t trust her.”

He’s right and it’s bloody irritating.

This day is getting away from me and I never intended to spend it arguing with Simon. My plans had focused more on snogging than snark.

Desperation is creeping in. “I’ll tell Bunce where you live.”

He scoffs. “She already knows.”

“Has she visited you here?”

Silence.

“Has she?”

“No.”

“I’ll send her photos of the rats and the rubbish bins, shall I?”

“You wouldn’t.”

I tap a finger to my lip. “To be honest, a Google street view would likely suffice. She’ll terrify someone into flying her over to move you out of here.”

“You don’t even know how to get in touch with her, Baz. Stop bluffing.”

“All it would take is a call to Watford to request her contact information. The alumni department is quite accommodating.”

“You bloody arsehole.” His fists are tightly clenched and his face is red. I can practically feel the heat radiating off Simon from here. “Why are you doing this?”

I step across the space between us and put my hands over his fisted ones. I lower my head, just a breath between our faces now. I rub his knuckles with my thumb and then gently rest my forehead against his. “Please.” It’s just a whisper. “I’ll never survive in New York if I know you’re in this manky flat all alone.” My hands slide up his arms, to his shoulders, to his face, cupping his cheeks as I gaze into the intense blue of his eyes. “Please, Simon.”

I can feel the tension in him, the tautness of his shoulders, his posture rigid. I don’t know how to break through that. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb and tilt my head down. “Please.” I whisper that word as I bring my mouth to his, slide my lips along the chapped contours of his own, sink into the warmth of his touch, his tongue, his taste.

Simon’s arms slip around me, pulling me closer, tracing their way up my back. His mouth moves on mine, his breath catching, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He pulls back a moment later to breathe words into the space between us. “Why do you have to be so fucking persuasive, you twat?”

I bury my face in his hair, breathe in the scent of him, closing my eyes so he can’t see the depth of emotion in me. The glimmer of hope that he’s actually going to let me do this.

But, being Simon, he can’t help arguing the point. I should have known.

“I don’t want to mess up your flat, Baz.”

“You’re not going to mess up my flat.”

“You like things neat. You know I’m a disaster.”

“Ah, but now you’re my disaster, aren’t you, Simon?” His lips find mine again and my day is finally on track, as far as the snogging is concerned.

It unfortunately can’t last, as we have a flat to pack up.

Simon keeps bickering with me, even as I fold his clothes into neat piles and he sorts through the detritus on his desk and nightstand.

“You should at least let me pay you rent.”

“Why would I have you pay me rent? The whole point is having a place you can afford, that’s safe and sanitary.”

“I do clean, you know.”

I groan. “I know you do. How about we compromise on tastefully decorated and not in a dodgy neighbourhood? Is that better?”

Simon just grunts in response, but he starts placing his clothes in the empty suitcases so I know I’ve won this round.

“I’ll call Father’s solicitor Monday. It shouldn’t be problem to get you out of this lease.”

“I can’t afford a solicitor, Baz.”

“It’s just Percy. He’s Father’s cousin. He doesn’t charge for family business.”

“This isn’t family business!”

I glare at him. “If you’re moving into my flat, to house-sit for me while I’m in America, it damn well is family business.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re exasperating, Simon, not to mention exceedingly stubborn. Now come on, we’ve not got all night and I seem to remember you whinging about needing to eat.”

His stomach audibly rumbles at my words. I can’t help but laugh.

Simon shakes his head, face flushing, but he doesn’t fuss at me this time. He picks up another heap of t-shirts and tosses them into the open suitcase.

Good.

It doesn’t take us long to sort his belongings. Simon really doesn’t have much. There are a few rickety cast-offs from when he lived with Bunce. I offer to put the items in storage for him but he scoffs at the suggestion. The rest of the furniture came with the flat.

We trundle down the stairs, the suitcases banging and bumping along behind us. I get them loaded in the car and then we go up to fill some boxes—books and personal items, shampoos and soaps and such.

I take a last look around his bedroom. It’s bare and stark, all the colourful items that made it Simon’s stowed away. All that’s left is a cracked mug on the nightstand and a thick candle set by it.

Simon comes in to do one last sweep of the wardrobe and chest of drawers. His finger reaches out to touch the candle. It’s half burned down, not really worth the effort to bring it along, but he picks it up and gently wraps it and the stand it was sitting on in a bit of newspaper, before carefully tucking it in the last box.

Odd.

He shuts the door behind us and exhales. His eyes find mine. “You’re sure about this, Baz? You’re not just doing this to be kind? I mean, I know you’re doing it to be kind, but . . . you know what I mean?” He’s headed for a bluster again.

I raise my eyebrows and smirk. “Now when have I ever been known to show any signs of kindness, Simon? I’m desperately in need of a reliable house-sitter. No kindness to it at all. You’re the one doing me a favour.”

“You are such a terrible liar.” Simon knocks his shoulder into mine. “You’re going to let me pay for the utilities or the deal is off.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. But for the love of God, don’t keep the thermostat down to save money.”

“Why not? I can always just throw another jumper or hoodie on, if it gets cold.”

“You’re truly impossible.”

“You like me anyway.”

“That I do, Simon. That I do.”

I feel as if I’m leaving a weight behind me as we pull away from the kerb and Simon’s old neighbourhood fades away in the dimming light.

“So do you want to go out to eat or should we just get kebabs from the corner shop?”

“Kebabs sound brilliant. I’m famished.”

Of course he is.

Simon’s hand finds mine where it sits on the gear shift. His warm fingers rest against the back of my hand and it feels like something clicks into place.

It’s going to be an awful wrench leaving him behind.

I’ll likely be up all night thinking of ways to let myself stay, even though I know that’s wildly unrealistic. I’ll be on that flight two days from now, whether I want to be or not.

And he’ll be here.

Surrounded by my things. And somehow that brings me a spot of comfort.

Simon

I don’t know why I let him convince me. I know it’s not like I’ll be living with him but it feels more intimate than simply house-sitting.

I can’t say my heart didn’t leap when he suggested it. That the thought of moving into a place imbued with Baz didn’t hold a significant appeal.

That it would be the closest thing to being with him, when he was so far away.

But I don’t hold with charity. I’ve made my own way since I was a kid. I don’t need handouts from anyone, particularly not Baz.

Not because he’s posh or well-off or any of that. That’s part of it. But mostly because I’m strict about doing things on my own.

We’re embarking on something here and I don’t want that clouded with obligation or debt. Or a sense of duty.

One thing I can say about Baz—he’s impossible to argue with when he has his mind set on something. We wrangled about it for long enough at my flat. And he’s right. I don’t really have a good reason other than I don’t want to feel indebted and I don’t want this to make things weird with us.

Or with his family. He called Fiona from the bloody car, to tell her I’d be moving in and she wouldn’t have to come round and check on the flat for him anymore.

He had her on speaker which was excruciating.

“I’ll not have to come around?  Are you daft, Baz?  Who’s going to check on Snow?”

“I don’t need checking on,” I whisper-hiss at Baz.

“Shut up, Snow. I can hear you. Of course you need checking on, you absolute numpty. You’ll never figure out Baz’s coffee machine without me.”

“Don’t drink coffee,” I mutter.

“You will once you try this machine. Does the whole frothy cappuccino thing, it does.”

Baz interrupts her. “Fiona, would you stop nattering on about the coffeemaker, for Christ’s sake. I’m telling you Simon is going to be house-sitting. I’ll leave your number with him, in case he needs anything or something goes balls up at the flat. But other than that, you are off the hook. Freed of responsibility for the place.”

“No loud parties or orgies, Snow. The neighbours are all stodgy old blue-hairs. Leave it to Baz to move to Chelsea and find the most geriatric and bland living establishment in the whole place.”

“Shut up, you hag. Not all of us are pretentious enough to think we’re hip and trendy just by virtue of living in Notting Hill.”

“I swear I don’t know how you turned out to be such a boring twat, Baz. All my effort come to naught.” She grumbles inaudibly for a moment and then resumes. “Call me when you get back home tonight, you besotted knob-head. Ta ta, Snow. I’ll see you around. Don’t run out of coffee. You never know when I’ll show up. That’s a warning and a promise.”

“Fiona. I swear by all that’s holy . . .” Baz starts but she’s already rung off. He turns to me. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be traveling for work half the time or out at the clubs with her chavvy boyfriend and his mates. She won’t bother you.”

“You’re sure?” I think Fiona may be the most daunting thing about this move into Baz’s place.

“I’m sure. She barely went around when it was her job, she’ll be damned unlikely to do it if she knows someone’s doing the work for her. Trust me. She’ll be glad to be relieved of any latent responsibility.”

I hope he’s right.

Baz

It’s an odd paradox, having Simon in my flat, seeing his clothes hanging in the wardrobe, his shoes by the door, his toiletry bag on the bathroom counter. The feeling of having him around is so familiar, even if the surroundings have changed.

It may not be our old room at Watford but somehow, he fits here just the same.

#carry on #travel AU #can't find my way home #simon snow #baz pitch #my writing

[daddyfuckinlonglegs]

I’m catching up, I swear!

I’m behind, but I’m back on the kinktober train. Preston/Sturges for day 7′s Praise Kink. "Nice shootin', Tex!" Nate slapped Preston's shoulder, swinging his rifle to his back, crouching to stuff the raider's few useful possessions into his pack. “Right through the bastard. You're not just a pretty face after all.” Preston rolled his eyes, but he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks. “No sir, not at all. I leave that to those better equipped for the job.” “Nonsense, Garvey. That last place, Tenpines? Gal there at the gate was more than interested. Shame that you're a... confirmed bachelor, and all. She was pretty.” “A what now?” Nate stood up, grinning. “Confirmed bachelor. A man who's not, uh, interested in getting married. For his own reasons. Usually another man.” “Oh.” Preston sighed. “I guess that's...” “Between you and me,” Nate leaned in towards him, “I don't think she was looking to marry you.” Preston laughed, blushing. “Well, with all due respect, sir, one of us has got to keep his pants on.” Nate laughed, and set off down the trail. “You ever let yourself live a little Garvey, you come my way, okay?” Preston shook his head muttering. “I don't think I could keep up with you, even if I was as, uh, motivated, as you are.” Nate shrugged and called over his shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

* The road back to sanctuary was shorter with company, for sure, and with Concord almost picked clean, it wouldn't belong before the town was up and running to rival Diamond City. Sturges was hard at work, slaving over a refrigerator out back of Mama Murphy's place, and he dropped his tools, wiping his hands on his overalls as the two men approached. “Well if it ain't the boys in blue. Brought me anything good?” Preston dropped a duffel bag to the floor, it clanged and rolled to one side, and Nate tossed his pack to Sturges. “Fill your boots, buddy, quite a haul today. Not much left except the roof tiles. Definitely enough to get that water pump up and running again. With power this time.” Nate rolled his shoulders, stretching them out now he was free of his pack. “Your man here sure knows his way around that musket.” Sturges caught Preston's eye, and smiled. “He sure does. Few other things to boot.” Preston looked at the floor, ignoring the comment. Sturges winked, and Nate chuckled and nodded his head towards the rest of the town. “You seen Piper around anywhere? Not to be crude, but I could use a little R&R, and, well, we got some catching up to do.” Sturges smiled broadly and nodded. “Yeah, last I saw her she was hovering around that Vault-Tec guy, mouth going a mile a minute. You'd be doing him a favour if you found her something else to do.” Nate smiled wickedly. “With her mouth? I'm sure I can think of something.” They laughed, and he saluted the two men vigorously, and sauntered away to find Piper. Sturges looked at Preston, raising an eyebrow. “He sure is in a good mood, huh? Almost feel bad for that girl.” Preston nodded, almost rolling his eyes. “He's... he thinks... he's got it into his head that I'm some sort of prude, all because there was a woman in Tenpines Bluff giving me the eye. And I wasn't interested.” Sturges leaned against the wall, close to Preston, dusting off the man's shoulder with one hand. “A prude, huh? And am I to take it you didn't tell him otherwise? You ashamed'a me or somethin'?” Preston shook his head, laying his hand on Sturges' broad waist. “Not at all, babe. It just didn't seem right to... lay it all bare like that, just to get him off my case. He's only teasing.” “Of course he is. I don't think you got anything to worry about with him, Preston. Saw him out back of the bar with that mercenary not two weeks past, and unless “hired gun” meant somethin' else pre-war, they were gettin' a lot closer than what I'd call professional.” Preston hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, you're probably right.” “No probably about it, sugar; he was on his knees in the mud, and that gunner boy ain't exactly quiet.” Preston blushed. “Oh. Well.” Sturges leaned close to his face, sweeping the lieutenant's hat back and drawing his thumb across Preston's cheek. “Can I get a little kiss now, or is that too much to ask?” Preston leaned forward, offering a chaste little peck on the corner of Sturges' mouth. He sighed, looking at Preston through raised eyebrows. Preston smiled and leaned in again, pressing their mouths together firmly, Sturges running a calloused hand around the back of Preston's neck and holding him tight. They pulled apart, and Sturges untucked a rag from his back pocket, wiped a smear of grease from Preston's chin. “See? Once you get past the oil, I ain't that bad.” “No, babe,” Preston shook his head, smiling softly, “you ain't.” * The night rolled in thick and fast, and Sturges curled next to Garvey's warmth, on the sofa inside their little room in the bunkhouse. The town was quiet, the lights out in most houses and the soft puttering of generators and turrets chirped through the air like stiff nocturnal birds. Sturges pushed a hand into the folds of his pocket, pulled out a little scrap of paper, examining it in the lamp light. He tugged a pencil out of the front of his overall and licked the tip, scribbling little check marks against a scrawled list, and Preston leaned his head against the mechanic's shoulder. “You just never rest, do you babe?” Sturges smiled, squeezing Preston close. “Can't, can I? Not when you work so damned hard all the time.” “Not much I can do about that, there's always someone who needs help.” Sturges shifted to face him. “It don't always have to be you that saves 'em, y'know. You ain't hardly around here anymore,” He feigned a little sob, “I been getting real lonely without you. “

Preston chuckled, kissing Sturges on the cheek. “I miss you too, y'know, but we've gotta keep going. The commonwealth isn't gonna fix itself.” Sturges sighed. “You're too damn good for this world.” He settled his hand on Preston's thigh, and let his own knees fall wide apart. “Maybe you could spend a little time fixin' me? I'm getting' kinda tired of being the...” he paused, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “...the handyman around here. Could use a second pair of hands.” “I can go one better, babe.” Preston laughed, sliding from the sofa, kneeling between Sturges' feet. * Sturges pressed his feet to the cold floor, wrapping his hands behind Preston's head and stroking the back of his neck, as the man pulled his mouth slowly up the length of Sturges' dick, sucking softly around the head and letting it slide from his mouth. Sturges shuddered, and Preston smiled, planting a little kiss on the inside of his thigh, climbing carefully onto his lap. Sturges whispered against his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Goddamn it sugar, I'm a lucky man.” He pushed his hips forward, teasing with the head of his dick pressed up against Preston's ass. “And you're the most beautiful thing I ever saw.” Preston blushed, Sturges continued. “Beautiful, and talented, and brave to boot. Where'd I get off, hitting the jackpot huh?” He buried his face in Preston's neck, bright warmth against his lips as Preston blushed harder. “Tell me how pretty you are, sugar, and I'll give it to you.” “Babe, don't make-” “C'mon, I'm asking nicely. Be good for me huh? Tell me how pretty you are.” Preston laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, you think I'm pretty. There, let me have it.” He ground down on Sturges' dick, and the mechanic pulled his hips back. “N'aw, that doesn't count, come on,” he squeezed Preston's hips, “you gotta tell me like you mean it.” Preston rolled his eyes, and shuffled nervously, wrapping his arms around Sturges' neck. “Babe, this isn't fair.” Sturges shook his head. “Just tell me, and it's all yours.” Sturges pushed his hips forward to emphasise the point; Preston leaned his face on Sturges' shoulder, groaning, rocking his hips slowly. “Mmm, okay...” he whispered, “I'm... pretty.” “That's right sugar, now say it again.” His dick was hard against Preston's ass, and his hand stroked slowly along Preston's dick. “I'm... pretty.” he mouthed breathlessly, Sturges' hand rough and tight around his sensitive skin. “Keep goin', baby...” Sturges pushed up into him in a slow, fluid movement, arching his hips off the sofa and closing his eyes for a second. Preston was tight, and Sturges moved slowly. “...you're pretty on top of me.” Preston gasped – this wasn't gonna take long, the hard length of Sturges' cock pushing deep into his ass, the hand wrapped in his hair, the hot flush of embarrassment across his face and chest. “I'm.... pretty, on top of you.” he mumbled. “And you're pretty around my dick.” Preston blushed harder, Sturges found his rhythm, pleasure rolling through them both in a warm wave. “I'm pretty around your dick...” “And you're pretty with it in your mouth.” “I'm pretty with it in my mouth...” “And you're pretty with it in your ass.” “I'm pretty... unh- pretty with it... in... oh go...in my ass.” Sturges hand moved faster around Preston's dick, wet and warm and tugging him firmly, rough fingers tight below the head, and it felt good, oh, so good. His face was warm, and Sturges kissed the redness of his cheeks. “Oh, baby, does it feel good?” Preston nodded, quietly. "You're so pretty when you're blushing.” Preston laughed “Babe, c'mon, give me a break...” “Say it sugar. I wanna hear you say it.” Preston grit his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. “...I'm pretty when I'm blushing.” Sturges kissed him, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and pulling gently, sending nerves sparkling through Preston's body, then pressed his face back to Preston's neck, concentrating on his hips, bucking and thrusting into him, eager and close to the edge. “You're so pretty when you're getting fucked, darlin'.” “I'm pretty when I'm gett- unh, yeah – when I'm getting fucked. Oh, babe, right there!” His hands clasped hard on Sturges shoulders, Preston's guts clenched, the rolling, twitching pleasure in him building to a climax, his ass full and Sturges deep inside him,and his hand felt so, so good, wrapped so tight, and- and- “You gonna come, sugar? You know I like to watch you come for me.” His hips thrust up hard, Preston melting against his hot skin, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Sturges whispered. “You know you're just... so... pretty... when you...” Preston cried out, his orgasm breaking over him, Sturges voice in his ear, warm, white cum spilling across the mechanic's tight, rough hand, and he curled up, knees pressed under Sturges' shoulders. Sturges held him tight, cooing in his ear what a pretty, pretty sight he was, but didn't stop; steady, measure thrusts giving way to hitching, bucking curls of his hips, and Preston's soft, muffled, sounds in his ear, and the sticky, warm wetness of Preston's cum running slowly down onto his dick, and that was it, he slammed up into Preston and came undone, gritting his teeth, eyes closed, holding his breath, letting a little puff of air escape his mouth, holding Preston silently as he filled his ass with cum. He shuddered, and looked at Preston, their eyes meeting, soft and satisfied, still wrapped together. “Dammit, sugar, we don't gotta leave it so long next time.”

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fanfic #preston garvey #sturges #kinktober #Smut Season #I wrote this

[fandomsforyourthots]

Low Honor Arthur Morgan X F!Reader: I Still Get Jealous

Nobody asked for this, but BOOM! Also be nice pllzzzzz, it's my first time posting like this 😭😭

Rating: explicit | Warnings: none | Characters: Arthur Morgan, F!reader | Summary: Arthur notices a member of camp getting a little too friendly with his woman, so he decides to correct that. ---------------------------------------------------------- “An' how’re you doing this evening, Princesa?”

The sound of the deep slurring pulled you from the words on the pages of your book. Before you could look up at the man standing above you he plopped down next to you on the log by the fire you had decided to perch on.

“I'm feeling fine Javier, just fine, and yourself?”

You could smell the alcohol pouring off of him, though the grin he gave you would have given away his current state anyways. His hair wasn't in a ponytail like usual, instead his dark tresses were resting on his shoulder and plastered to his mildly sweaty forehead. He was a drunken mess, like most members of the camp tonight on account of the celebration they were having. A toast, or twenty, to a well pulled off string of coach robberies.

“I'm Feelin' good, happy we’re all okay.”

“And happy we’re all paid no doubt.” You retorted, your eyes back on your pages. “Shame I couldn't have ridden with y’all, but young Jack needed looking after, can't let that cold he's got get any worse than it already is.”

“Sure, but we really all missed you out there, some of us more than others.”

That last part of his sentence was said in just above a whisper as he grabbed your hand and planted a soft kiss to the back of it.

‘Bold.’ You thought to yourself as your eyes finally left your book and scanned the camp, an action Javier caught.

“Looking for something Hermosa? Or someone perhaps?”

You smirked at him and gently pulled your hand back to your lap, closing your book and sighing. It was obvious that with all the commotion and celebrating that was going on that you weren't going to get very far.

“How about you have a drink with me huh?” He Asked, slinging his arm around your shoulder. “You need to loosen up a bit, all that doctoring you do all day keeps you all tense.”

“As fun as that sounds Javier, I don't think-“

“Ah ah ah! No backtalk, I'll go get some whiskey.”

Before you could even think to protest, he was gone. Off on a mission to find a bottle of booze that hadn’t already been claimed yet.

“Good luck.” You muttered.

A breeze tickled the pages of your book and you crinkled your nose. The swampy air wasn’t pleasant to take in, but it beat swinging in it at the end of a rope in Saint Denis. That seemed like such a long time ago now, when you had found yourself scared and on the run from the law for murder, but being with your new family made it all worth it. Though you reckoned you were just lucky they were in need of a real doctor.

You looked around and when you saw no sign of Javier you decided to make a break for your tent. No one noticed you slip away and you sighed contently as you lowered the flap and lit your lantern.

Ahhh, your personal tent, a luxury usually only afforded to the top brass, but Dutch figured that a real doctor would need their own private workspace.

Another lucky draw, as was the view of the lake in the morning. You couldn't complain, hell, you weren't. Life wasn’t too bad as far as you we concerned.

"I bet you thought that was real cute didn't you?”

The sound of that all too familiar gruff voice stopped your fingers right in their tracks, the pads resting on the buttons of your top. You had been in the middle of undressing and hadn’t heard the footsteps, or the drawing back of your tent flap, and you damn near jumped out of your skin.

“You Bet I thought what was cute Mr. Morgan?” You asked sarcastically as you kept unbuttoning your shirt.

“Don't get smart with me woman, you know damn well what I'm talkin' about.”

You laughed as you untucked your open shirt from your skirt and let it slide off your arms, knowing damn well the laughter was gonna piss him off even more. The man you had become involved with had a jealous streak, that was for certain, and at times you found it funny, others just downright annoying.

Tonight it was definitely the latter. Caring for Jack while he was sick on top of treating any injuries the others sustained had drained you, and all you wanted was a decent night of sleep. Something your partner didn't seem too keen on letting you have.

“If You’re talking about Javier then I suggest you stop right there. You know how he gets when he drinks. When he's like that I tend to take his flirting as seriously as I take Micah's, and I don't take anything Micah does seriously.”

Yeah, but you sure seemed to be enjoyin' the attention, laughin' like a shy little schoolgirl.” He bit back, a step or two closer now.

“Arthur I wasn't-“

A gloved hand cupping your chin cut your words short. His grip tight enough to assert himself, but not tight enough to be anything more than uncomfortable. He had been gone with the others on the coach jobs and you figured that not seeing you for a couple days has gotten him all pent up.

Yeah you was.” He growled. “I leave for a couple days and you just latch onto the first little bit of attention you can get, that it?”

You tried to shake your head in his grasp, but his fingers tightened and he began backing you up towards your cot. There was no pulling him out of one of these mood, especially when he had been drinking, and if the smell on his breath was anything to go by, he had been.

“So what you think your punishment should be doll? Hmm? Couple smacks to this perfect ass of yours? Or should I just fuck this pretty mouth and go on about my merry way?”

Both would work for you if you were being honest with yourself. What had started as an inconvenience was quickly turning into something you looked forward to ending your night with. You tasted the leather of his gloves as he ran his thumb over your lips and the tip of your tongue, and your eyes slid closed as the back of your knees hit the cot.

He had you trapped, his other hand gripping your waist. The look in his eyes was smoldering, like there might have been the slightest bit of actual anger there at what had just happened.

“You gon’ answer me woman, or are you waitin' for me to give your mouth somethin' to do?”

You finally plopped down onto the cot and he wasted no time pushing you onto your back. He dimmed the lamp until the two of you were just visible enough, and the look in his eyes was enough to set you ablaze. He wasn’t playing around and he wanted to make sure you knew that.

“Oh now you wanna be all quiet and mouse like .” He said as he unbuckled his belt and popped the buttons of his pants open.

From your spot on your back on the cot you let your eyes wander over his impressive length. The way the dark leather of his gloves contrasted against the slightly pink flush it was sporting. He was aroused, and whether that was from what he knew was about to transpire or from being a little rough with you was up for debate. Not that you really had the time to try and figure it out.

“How bout you raise that skirt up for me darlin', nice and slow so I don't miss anything.”

He spat into the palm of his still covered hand and began stroking himself slowly while the blush on your face no doubt got deeper. You could hear the squelch of the gloves against his skin, and the little puffs of breath he let fall past his lips were enough to shake the embarrassment of exposing yourself to him for just long enough.

It wasn’t as if the two of you had never been intimate before. Hell, he practically jumped your bones whenever the opportunity arose, but being as exposed and vulnerable as you were about to be for him, well that was a whole different story.

Your hands were shaking as you pulled the bottom of your skirt over your knees. Your back was still flat on the cot and your still booted feet were now propped up on the edge, knees spread so when you finally pulled your skirt all the way to your waist you were open and bare for him.

“Nothin' under? Really?”

He almost sounded amused.

“Was gonna surprise you when y’all got back. Been wanting you since you left.” You Whispered Softly.

“That right?” He asked as he stepped closer, his cock still in hand.

“Yessir.”

He looked down at your spread legs and darted his tongue against his cracked lips. The tip of his cock was leaking, a drop of precum beading at the tip from what you could see through your half lidded eyes. The air seemed to have somehow gotten thicker and even more stifling in the dimness of your tent, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take him staring at you.

Time seemed like it was going as slow as molasses. How long had you been laying there? Minutes? Hours? You didn't know, but what you did know was that Arthur Morgan could be the cruelest of men when it came to torturing you like this. Slowly picking you apart until you were left with nothing but carnal desire, and only then would he MAYBE consider having his way with you.

The thought of him getting you this aroused and leaving made you squirm slightly, your head turned away from him to stare at all of your belongings and tools. You couldn't take much more of this, and he knew it.

“Needy little thing, ain'tcha?” He asked as he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a sitting position, your face now inches from the tip of his length. “You know what to do with it girl.”

Without hesitation you leaned forward and took as much of him as you could into your open mouth. Your hands rested on his thighs, giving you the leverage you needed to pull back and engulf him again.

“That's it darlin'.”

The deep rumble of his gritted out praises were enough to make you moan softly around him. You were in this now, bobbing gently up and down his manhood, only pulling away to give the head a lick or two before swallowing him whole again. His thighs were tensing under your fingers, a good sign.

The other good sign was the still gloved hand he decided to thread tightly into your hair so he could push himself to the back of your throat. His grip was deathly tight on your locks and the look in his eyes was ravenous.

‘There You Are.’ You thought to yourself as he took the initiative to start thrusting himself into your mouth.

The curly brown hair at the base of his cock tickled your nose as he pulled your head damn near flush with his hips with every thrust. Drool pooled in the corners of your mouth and dribbled down your chin and your eyes were welling up with tears, a sight you knew he loved. He loved using you like this, and you loved being used.

“Bein' good for me now ain't gonna save ya' beautiful.” He said softly as he used his other hand to wipe away the glob of drool that was threatening to fall from your chin. “Shoulda thought about that before you started gettin' all friendly.”

Your eyes were all teared up, but you still looked up at him as he continued to use your mouth. One of his hands still held your head while the other was busy gathering your spit on its leather clad thumb and smearing it on your chin and around your lips. He was clearly highly aroused by the scene, his cock hard and heavy in your mouth as he looked down into your eyes.

“My God, you are filthy.”

He removed both of his hands from their positions so he could grip both sides of your head. By now you were beyond aroused as you watched him take his pleasure. His teeth were bared and he was breathing through his nose, his head hung back on his shoulders. You were certain he was going to cum, but instead he decided to pull out of your mouth completely, much to your dismay.

The air began to cool the drool, tears, and sweat that matted your hair to your face. You looked up at him in your disheveled state and the hunger in his eyes only grew as he reached for you.

Your legs wobbled like a new fawn when he stood you up to turn you away from him. His eyes scanned over your backside, one of his hands holding up the back of your skirt from falling so he could get a full view, and you could feel him staring while he stroked himself.

You stood like that for a few minutes, the sound of wet leather sliding over skin being the only sound your mind could focus on. He knew you had a love/hate relationship with this; him looking at you and enjoying the sight of your body free from clothing. It was as embarrassing As it was arousing and the two of those emotions were locked in a constant battle.

All was quiet between you two and it was almost calming; until a hard smack landed on your left ass cheek. The jolt made you take a step forward and a loud yelp, one that certainly echoed through camp, tumbled from your throat. Your cheeks were completely flushed now, you Just knew they were, and the sting on your ass was throbbing lightly.

The plan in your mind was to turn around and scold him, to give him an earful, but before you could even begin to turn he decided to enter you. One swift push and he was bottomed out, his hips flush with your ass and his hands grabbing any inch of flesh he could get to.

Your own hands were fisted in the various pelts and blankets that lined your cot, fingers grasping desperately as he ground against you. The feeling of being so full of him had your breathing running ragged, your pupils dilating, and your teeth grinding as he removed his left hand from your hip and replaced it on your neck, forcing your face down into the blankets.

He was using all of his willpower to not cum on the spot and you decided, against your better judgment, to try and make that feat even more impossible. With one leg planted on the ground and the other bent on the cot, you pushed back against him with what little leeway you had.

A big mistake on your part.

“Shit!”

He pressed down on your neck a bit harder and leaned forward so he could see the sideways glance you were giving him through your half lidded eyes.

“Thought that was real funny, did ya?"

Why you opened your mouth to answer him you couldn't figure out, but you did. The corners of your mouth turned up slightly and your eyes were glossed over with mischief; not a good combination for him to see while he was supposed to be punishing you.

“Thought It was god damn hilarious.” You bit back. Mistake.

“That So?”

You didn't get the chance to answer him. You opened your mouth, but before the words could get out they were shoved back by two leathery fingers. The action caught you off guard, so by pure reflex you bit down with just enough pressure for Arthur to notice. An unintentional mistake.

“You tryna bite me now woman?”

You shook your head but he wasn't trying to hear it. He let the leather of the gloves slide over your tongue and across the fleshy insides of your cheeks and you would be lying through your teeth if you were to say you weren't beyond turned on. Especially since he chose that moment to start rutting into you at a merciless pace.

The fingers in your mouth continued to dance with your tongue while his other hand had a vice like grip on your hip, pulling you back into his hips to meet him thrust for thrust. It was almost animalistic the way he was taking you. Hard, sharp snaps of his hips combined with the hand toying with your mouth had you seeing triple.

His breathing was uneven and ragged over you, drowning out any ambient noise. No more camp chatter, no more cicadas singing to the heavens, just the soft whimpers from your lips that were being muffled by his fingers and his own heavy breaths that sent warm puffs of air down your back.

He was relentless in chasing his release. You could see it in his eyes as you looked at him from your peripheral as best as you could. His focus was on the joining of your hips, the blue-green of his eyes nearly blacked out by his pupils as he watched his length slip in and out of your body.

You loved seeing him this way. Seeing him allow himself to feel more than anger, pain, and sadness. It made you clench around him, the arousal from watching him take his pleasure from you making your body light up like the best fireworks money could buy.

You tried to sigh his name, hoping he would be able to make out the word amidst his fingers playing with your mouth still. Trails of drool slid down onto the soft pelts beneath your cheeks and you whined as he slowly pulled them out past your lips only to open his mouth and close his own lips around them, his other hand gripping your hip harder as he did.

“Oh fuck Arthur.”

He pulled his fingers from his mouth and placed his other hand on your hip as well, pulling you back into him even harder. “You enjoyin' this princess?”

You nodded, feeling unable to speak amidst the moans and sighs he was pulling from you. Normally you would have been keeping as quiet as possible, but with the way Arthur was rutting into you it was never going to work.

He let another smack crack off of your right cheek this time and like the last spank it made you cry out. You couldn't see it, but you knew he was smiling, smirking cheekily at the very least, because there was nothing more that he loved than letting the camp know he was taking Care of you.

“You like them hearin' us?”

You didn't answer. Words weren’t possible to conceive in your mind at the moment, especially when Arthur decided that now was the perfect time to slide his right hand down to your clit. His index and middle finger circled the swollen bud and between the friction of the leather and the slide of his cock between your legs you were done for.

Sweat ran down your forehead and onto the blankets and pelts. Arthur could tell you were almost finished, his eyes now locked with yours as he continued the full on pleasurable assault on your body. The movement of his hips were quick and uneasy, and the grip he had on you had only tightened as he groaned deep in his chest.

“I want em' to hear you come undone darlin'.” He barked enthusiastically. “Bet they’ll all think twice about lookin' your way.”

You averted your stare from his but he was having none of it. He stilled his hips just long enough for him to place your other knee on the cot and pull you upright, his left hand now encircled around the front of your throat. His movement resumed again immediately and within seconds you could feel that fire igniting in your body.

You were beyond caring who heard the two of you at this point; the near screams you were emitting floating off into the night. He had you right where he wanted you and he damn well knew it. You turned your head so you could look at him and when his eyes looked down at you you lost it.

“Arthur…Arthur I.…I’m…”

“Yeah? You gonna make a mess for me sweetheart?”

Slack jawed and wide eyed, you nodded your head at him. Your body was wound like a coil and ready to spring at any moment, as was Arthur's. He was looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars just for him, and in that moment you found that your tongue had acquired a mind of it’s own.

“Oh Arthur, I…I love you….i love you.”

His eyelids shut tight and he cursed harshly under his breath before pulling out of you mid stroke, his right hand shooting down quickly to grab his length as he spilled onto the elk pelt on the ground. Your own release was taking you as well, your body shaking as Arthur at least had the decency to replace his cock with the fingers of his other hand, pumping them furiously in time with the hand on his cock until you were both spent.

Heavy breathing was all you could hear as you fixed yourself to lay on the cot properly after Arthur had finally relented and pulled his fingers out of you.

"Ain’t nobody in camp gonna wanna even spit in my direction after that.” You half muttered half whispered, sleep threatening to take you soon.

"Good.” Arthur said through a deep chuckle as he laid himself next to you. “Ain’t no reason anybody other than me should be spittin’ at you anyways.”

"Stop that. You know half the people in this camp could outdrink a fish. Javier was just drunk and bein’ friendly.”

"Yeah, I know. You’re just so Damn beautiful, can’t imagine a woman like you stickin’ round me when there’s much better people you could have.”

You sat up and flicked his forehead as hard as you could. The way he talked about himself always upset you, but the fact that he thought you would mess around with anyone else infuriated you.

“You shut your mouth with that kinda talk Arthur Morgan. There ain’t A man alive who could hold a candle to you.”

“I don’t know about that but mmmmfff“

You covered his mouth with your hand until he stopped trying to talk and shook your head.

“But nothing. I ain’t goin nowhere, so shut up with that talk before I kick you out on your ass to go sleep alone.”

“Yes ma’am.”

"As I thought.” You said As you put the lamp out and settled down next to him, your head on his chest. “Now Shut up so I can sleep. I’m gonna need all the rest I can get if I have any hopes of walking properly in the morning.”

“If you’re walking properly in the morning that means I get to have another go, on account of me not doin’ my job right.”

"Jesus Christ, good night Arthur.”

He laughed softly and closed his eyes.

"Night princess.”

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur #rdr #rdr2 #smut #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader