short-honey-badger

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 10

Part 1

Beau gets you to Valentine quickly, and you don’t waste any time before you begin to pack your essentials. You loved this place, even with the god-awful humidity and the funky smell of sheep just down the road from you, but you couldn’t be here anymore, not when you knew that the twins would find you here. It hurt to have to leave, to escape without a word to the two men who had been a constant in your life for so long, but you needed to get away. You needed to start your own life. A life that didn’t have two redheads hanging over your head.

Your fellow deputies were obviously upset, mostly because they knew that they would be getting some kind of backlash from Shamrock when he found out you were gone, but they were still kind enough to help you load the heavier items into a wagon when you explained your wish to leave. Amos Levi at the Ferrier was sad to see you go and gave you the wagon and a strong Shire to help Beau pull the wagon. You would probably miss him the most and everything that he had taught you about the beasts he worked with.

You decided to name the Shire Freeman, a fitting name considering you were freeing yourself from your old life.

You, Beau, and Freeman were gone by the end of the next day, traveling down the main road that would take you through Strawberry and then into West Elizabeth. You were carefully traveling through the thick forests, weary of the wild men that roamed the hills. The last thing you wanted was someone jumping you. Thankfully, you made it through without too much trouble and into Blackwater, where a certain grey-haired old man waited for you at the beginning of town.

Garling watched you approach with a surprisingly heavy heart. He had hoped that his good son would have spoken to you about the union, but it seemed as though it hadn’t gone very well. He reaches for the reins of the massive, grey Shire when you slow to a stop, head cocking as he takes you in. You look good, all things considered, but he can see the pain that lingers in your eyes.

“Stable your beasts, girl, and I’ll buy you dinner. It looks like you could use it,” Garling says, and you can’t help the weary smile that turns your lips. Garling has always been a hard ass, but he’d always had a bit of a soft spot for you.

The two of you end up in his study, you eating a hearty meal of roast carrots and pronghorn. You hadn’t realized how hungry you’d been until now, not with how quickly you’d been trying to put some distance between you and the twins. Garling sits across from you, patiently waiting for you to finish before he speaks up.

“I knew about Shamrock wanting to marry you.”

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and sit back in your chair, setting the cleared plate on the side table. “Did you know that he wanted to cart me off to Saint-Denis so that I could be a 'proper lady'?

Garling scoffs, and you watch him dig in his desk and pull out a cigar case. He cuts the tip and puffs it to life, “Of course I did, girl. And no, I didn’t try and dissuade him, if you must know. You and I both know how stubborn Shamrock is when he gets an idea in his head.”

You snort softly and then take a sip of water to wet your mouth, “I love them, but they are both idiots. Shanks couldn’t even talk to me about it. Thought that knocking me out cold and kidnapping me was the way to go.”

Garling shakes his head, eyes rolling to the ceiling, “Of course he did.”

He leans forward, then nods to the wagon parked outside his office, “Tell me, dear, what are you planning?”

You sigh heavily, “Go out west, try and start up a ranch of my own. I’d like to work with horses. It ain’t much of a plan, but it’s something.”

Garling considers you for a while. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, stubborn and free-willed. It reminded him heavily of his late wife. Decision made, Garling stands and begins to dig through a filing cabinet to the left. Once he finds what he needs, he slaps the folder on his desk and nods down at it.

“I own a ranch out in New Austin, near Tumbleweed. It’s close to the Mexican border. Good soil for crops and enough land to give you what you need,” He begins, and you reach forward, opening the folder to flip through the documents until you land on the pictures there.

It’s a quaint cottage, with a large barn that’s already been fenced in, and in your eyes, it looks perfect. You close the folder and look at Garling, eyes narrowed.

“And what do you want in return?”

The old man huffs and puffs on his cigar, smirking around it as he settles back in his chair, “I’ll give you a couple of months to settle in, get comfortable. Then I’m sending my sons your way, and you are going to give them a chance.”

You stare at Garling in disbelief, before you burst out laughing, so hard and loud that your belly begins to cramp up. Of course, he would try something like this, but you aren’t mad about it. Garling is giving you everything that his sons hadn’t, and that was time. You wipe your face and stand, placing the folder back on the desk before you round in and dip down to toss your arms around the old man’s shoulders in a hug. You snicker when you hear Garling give a long sigh before he wraps a single arm around you to hug you back.

You pull away when he drops his arm, smiling down at him, “Thank you, pops. For this, and not letting me just give up and run away. I’m sure I’d miss them eventually, anyway.”

Garling waves you away and takes up a pen, “Don’t thank me yet, girl. They’ll be your problem instead of mine, and that is punishment enough, I think.”

You snicker and nod in agreement. You feel better now, knowing that life will work itself out in the coming months.

You leave Blackwater with the deed of the ranch signed over to you and with a smile on your face. The journey to Tumbleweed would be a long one, but you couldn’t help but feel excited over it. Especially when you meet a new friend about halfway into the trip.

It’d been raining for two days when the sound of terrified meows caught your attention. You’d jumped from the wagon and found a skinny tuxedo kitten hidden between some rocks. It was a feisty thing, but once you warmed him up and gave him some milk, he calmed right down and curled into your side, hidden under your coat.

You decided to name him Alastor, and he quickly became your constant companion. A week and a half of travel later, the four of you enter Tumbleweed, stopping just long enough to resupply before moving on. The ranch was further south of the town, close to the border, just like Garling had told you.

It was overgrown with weeds and would definitely need some love and attention, but this place was yours. Your new home, ready and waiting for you to set up shop.

Several days later, as you sat on the front porch nursing a cup of coffee with Al on your lap, you couldn’t help but look back east. Shanks and Shamrock would be here in a few months, but you had time now, time to adjust to the idea that maybe, just maybe, you could love them like they loved you.

@mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @nocturnalrorobin @sanjisleggy @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar...9

Part 1

Weeks pass without a hide or hair from you. You have completely disappeared from Lemoyne to West Elizabeth, and not a trace could be found. Your tiny house on the edge of Valentine had been cleared out, and no one would tell either brother where you could have gone. It was like you’d never existed in the first place.

Weeks slowly began to turn into months, and after scouring the entire east, the Figarland Twins had ended up in Valentine’s saloon, bottles of beer and whiskey crowding around the two of them. They make a sorry state, neither having bathed in the past couple of days, and reeking of road sweat and pity. The barkeep had tried to cut them off hours ago and had a six-shooter waved in his face for his troubles, so he did the only thing he could think of to get the twins out of his bar.

He’d sent the missive two days ago, so hopefully, the Major of Blackwater would be up soon to take care of this mess.

Shanks sighs heavily, mind a sad whirlwind of memories of you and the thick mystery he has felt ever since you disappeared on them. He tips a bottle of whiskey back, throat working as he gulps it down, heedless of the way it spills down his chin to mingle with the scruff on his face. Shamrock follows his lead, beer bottle emptying with a long sigh.

“How could I have been so stupid, Shanks?” Sham laments pitifully and slumps back in his chair. He knows that this is all his fault, and the guilt of making you leave sits heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down like a ton of bricks.

“'Cause you don’t think,” Shanks slurs back and cracks his eyes open to look at his older brother, “But I don’t either. It’s on both of us.”

Sham sighs again, raising a hand to push his greasy bangs away from his face with a grimace. He misses you so much. It’s like having to live with a missing limb, and Shamrock can’t stand the thought that he was the one responsible. He was supposed to be everything you would have ever needed, ever wanted. Sham wanted to give you the world, not send you away from his.

The door to the saloon suddenly flings open, gaining everyone’s attention, but especially the Figarland twins, for it is none other than their father who waltzes through the swinging doors. The tense, heads dropping like a guilty dog as they look away from their father.

Garling stomps over to where his two, miserable, idiotic sons sit slumped in their chairs. He had come as quickly as he could to end this farce. He could expect this kind of behavior from Shanks, but not from his respectable son. He stops at their table, taking the redheads in, before he lifts a foot and shoves the table over with a soft grunt. Their legs tangle with the legs of the table, and he watches in satisfaction as they go sprawling to the floor.

“Get up,” Garling snaps hotly, “You are embarrassing yourselves and the family, acting like children who had their favorite toy stolen.”

Shamrock rolls to his feet, guilt and shame eating him alive as he stands before Garling, head bowed in contrition as he fights not to shuffle nervously in front of his father. Shanks is slower to stand, and he glares at the older Figarland.

“Why’re you here, old man?”

Shamrock elbows his brother in the ribs for his attitude, glaring at Shanks out of the corner of his eye. Shanks sneers back and sticks out his tongue childishly at his twin.

“That’s enough,” Garling snarls and reaches forward to smack both of them upside the head, making his sons flinch and groan. “I did not raise either of you to give up, so why are you acting like the loss of this girl is the end of the world?”

Garling knew exactly why, but he needed his sons to see that just because you were gone, it did not give them the right to give up. He had given those precious rings to Shamrock for a reason. He was getting old, and it was about time one of his sons gave him some grandchildren to dote on.

“She’s the most important thing in the world to us,” Shanks snaps as he rubs the side of his head. He glares at his old man, a pout on his lips, “And she’s gone, pops.”

“We sent her away,” Shamrock adds quietly, “By being stupid, irresponsible men.”

Garling nods like that was the most sensible thing that he’s heard in months. “That you did, so now you’ve got to fix it.”

His sons blinked at him like he had just admitted he liked to paint rainbows in the summertime, so Garling rolled his eyes and snatched them both by the ears, dragging them out of the saloon and to the hotel just down the road. He ignores the looks that the citizens of Valentine shoot him and the sounds of pain that come from his sons. If they wanted to act like children, then he would treat them like it.

Garling stops in front of the owner and tosses him some cash, “Baths and food for these idiots. Send them back down once they are done.”

Jack, the owner of said hotel, nods easily and ushers the twins upstairs, knowing that it would be bad business to keep Garling Figarland waiting.

Some time later, the twins appear back downstairs looking much better. Shamrock’s hair is shiny and halfway up, while the scruff Shanks had sported had been trimmed down into something respectable. Garling looks them over, nodding in satisfaction. He leads them behind the counter and to a back room that Jack had set up for them. Garling bids them to sit, and then sits across from them once they have.

“Now that neither of you smells like a brewery, I’m going to tell you how you fix this.”

@mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @nocturnalrorobin @sordidmusings @sanjisleggy @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

My wifey has a new work with a certain white-haired beauty come check it out ❤️❤️

°▪︎_Hellaciously Yours_▪︎° (p.1)

- Dante Sparda × f!Reader fic (Reader is a dominant hybrid demon hunter) (submissive Dante smut incoming..)

- Find the prologue I posted forever ago {Here}

(If this gets good traction, I'll slap it on Ao3! :3 )

《 “He's headstrong. Aren't you tired of that? It's not a unique personality trait these days?” Your armed confidant said to you while your smoke rolled away from the cab, seeping through the crack in the window of the tinted town car.

You watched Dante Sparda make contact with his contracted target from afar, needing to see him fight first hand before you delivered him any more…chores. You'd never met him personally and you didn't wish to…not just yet. The time needed to be right for you to show your face.

Arrogant demon hunters. He was right. It was getting a little too repetitive. But your gut told you something about this one would be different. You extinguished your cigarette into the ashtray and revealed the x-factor in Dante that set him apart from the rest.

“Others say they're good while being no better than dog shit. Dante says he's good…because he is. Have you not made that distinction?”

“I can see what distinction he's gonna make about you, boss. Right off the bat if I'm being honest.”

You covered your bad eye for a moment, running your fingertip down the long scar given to you by the demon that murdered your family before your eyes many years ago. His blood spilled into your wounds when finally you made means to kill him, setting your very life on a different path forever. But leaving you with a new hybrid, half-demon identity.

You didn't know the science behind it- maybe you weren't a hybrid- maybe the word to describe you now was just plain and simple: fucked up but powerful. You arose from your sorrow with new abilities that night- new senses you'd never imagined but new scars as well.

Your “bad eye” was cut open the night you were changed. You thought you'd lose sight in it forever from your cornea basically being butterflied apart in the fight for your life- but that wasn't the case. After coming into contact with that cursed essence, whether it was demon blood or something else- your eye took a demonic appearance with dark, blackened sclera while your iris was a deep burned shade of orange. One that matched the shade of the Hell dweller that took everything from you.

You looked to your gunman again, wanting to change the subject entirely but then heard one stray bullet fire from down below across the knoll of hills intended to hide your car.

He'd done it. Dante killed that lurking fire-blower with one damn shot. You expected maybe a little bit of a struggle. Maybe a hand-to-hand skirmish but there was a beat missed in that quick completion.

“Get down there-” You told your associate, knowing that Dante would make the call to ask for his money since the job was done.

“The cash is in the trunk. Hurry.”

“I think 250 for that little guy is kinda steep if it only took this joker one bullet.” Your partner replied, opening the door to begin gathering the suitcase you'd prepared for Dante's reward.

Your head turned and a smile wavered upon your mouth when you told him why you didn't mind giving high rewards,

“If his ego is as big as we think…it's incentive for them not to fuck up. And..to come back for more.”

~

“That was….way too easy.”

Dante said after putting his sword back to his sheath behind his collar, fully expecting to have to use it but…that one bullet was all it took.

He approached the demon as it lay lifeless and nudged it with his boot, looking for a gargle or maybe a twitch. Damn thing was too ugly to stare at for too long though.

This job was feeling different than the others- some of these pay pigs wanted proof that the target had been found and killed. They'd want a head back, maybe some kind of knickknack the fucker was holding onto- just something. Any kind of proof that he didn't just pop a bullet and turn around with his hand out.

He whipped out his cell, calling the number he was told to call once the demon was dead but he heard tires. He watched a vehicle come to a slow stop on the shoulder of the above highway and his eyes narrowed before the line answered. After Dante said that the job was done- the only instructions he was given was simply,

“Come up the ridge.”

Dante grimaced in confusion when the call ended so abruptly, he couldn't even ask if there was an easier goddamn way to get up there besides scaling up a foresty ditch that looks like a convenient spot to chuck a body- but whatever.

He sighed and began trudging upwards, making his own beaten path where he hiked his leg over the highway's guardrail to plant his feet to the shoulder of the road where the all black, all tinted Cadillac idled about ten yards ahead of him. After taking his first step in the vehicle's direction, he watched as a car door opened.

A tall man that he named, ‘haircut' upon the first glance, stepped away from the passenger seat, holding a briefcase as he strided in heavy steps towards Dante there on the shoulder. But who else was in the car, the man thought. He cocked his head over, trying to make out shadows through the heavy, absolutely illegal, tint.

“Everything's here-” Haircut said, expecting to turn back around but Dante cocked his gun in a flinch so nobody was thinking they'd stiff him short of cash then peel outta here.

He held the barrel to the guy's shoulder, using his knee to balance the case and have a look inside.

Two hundred and fifty fucking g's. It made Dante almost smile but he asked with his gun getting tucked back into his waistband.

“What was the story on that for it to pay so much?” Dante quipped, swinging the case down in his grip as he waited for an answer.

“I can't say.”

“Can't or won't- cause I got all night if it's a long story.” Dante replied, wondering if he'd get a sniff as to why some underground bigwig was passing out cash like some sadistic Mr. Money Bags. There was a beat of silence, almost as if there was a reply being put together carefully by the unknown man who couldn't have been the boss himself. This guy was a puppet being led around.

“They call her The Contractor.”

“Pft- that's a stupid fucking name.” Dante huffed, his lip checking up in a cringe to the sound of it.

Haircut reached in his pocket then after trying not to laugh in agreement, flipping away a card in his fingers to hand across the space between them on the road,

“We'll meet here next time. Just call us before you drop by-”

“-That mean I'm getting rehired?” Dante asked from the sounds of that loaded statement that seemed a little lacking in explanation.

Haircut turned on his heels to return back to the Cadillac that was almost silent with its engine still running. As Dante kept thinking, he remembered something he'd just heard and snapped his eyes up to ask before it was too late.

“Wait- did you say ‘her'?”

The man turned upon hearing the last minute question and hesitated once again to answer.

“Don't-” You said from the backseat, watching as your partner tried to think of a good lie and he gave one last look to Dante before ducking down into the passenger seat.

The cab inside was quiet as the driver shifted the car into gear and you watched Dante keep a stare to try and discern who was sitting in the back seat. He actually looked you straight in the eye as the car aligned with the road again and you knew by one look that there was no other demon hunter even slightly qualified. He was the one to do it- no question.

He was arrogant- but arrogance was what you needed.

“Who's next on the list?” Your partner asked from the passenger seat, turning over his shoulder to wonder about your little kill list that you had already decided had Dante's name written all over it.

“You'll know.” You assured him, not wanting to give too much away at once of your plan to knock down every party involved in the night that changed your life- or more like stole it right out from under you,

“We gotta weed ‘em out one at a time. Patience is a virtue.” 》

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 8

Part 1

Your peaceful morning sitting at the edge of the lake is shattered, not even ten minutes after sunup. You whip around, eyes going wide at the sight of Shamrock atop his black Arabian, a furious scowl on his face as he points the six-shooter at Shanks. Your heart gets stuck in your throat, a bolt of furious rage striking up your spine at the sight of the man who had planned to trick you into living a city life. However, that rage simmers down into a dull roar when you catch sight of the dark russet of the only man you would ever need.

“Hands up, Shanks,” Sham snarls and glares under the rim of his hat at his little brother. “You’ll bring me my deputy or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Shanks laughs, swaggering up with a smirk and cocking his head to the side, hands placed on his hips, “You’d kill your own brother, Lucky Charms?”

The sound of the sidearm going off cracks through the clearing, making you jump and dart forward. You might be pissed at the twins, but you didn’t want them to try and kill each other over you. You see the way Shamrock relaxes the moment he spots you over his brother, his shoulders slumping, and the tightness in his face dropping a degree. You are just happy that Shanks looks unharmed.

“_, darling,” Sham breathes, then grabs the rope tied to his saddle and tugs Beau up to his side, “I am glad to see that you are unharmed.”

You can’t help but glare at the older twin, face set in a stone mask. Shanks feels smug at the look, knowing that you wouldn’t want anything to do with Shamrock after what Shanks had told you.

“Well, she isn’t very happy to see you,” Shanks says, his voice smug and self-assured. He cuts his eyes over at you, looking at the way your red face and the way your hands are clenched into fists.

“I told her everything.”

Shamrock sees red at the words, and before anyone can intercept him, he is sliding off Cerberus and throwing himself at his twin. They go down with a loud thud, dust exploding around them as they throw punches at one another. Shanks grunts when Sham gets a good lick in, but he gives it right back by throwing his head forward and cracking his skull against his twin’s nose.

They roll again, both of them fighting to pin the other to the ground. Shamrock snarls, blood dripping down his face from his broken nose and staining his teeth red. He slings his right elbow, his snark turning into a grin when it cracks Shanks across the jaw. The outlaw goes down, but not for long.

Shanks has never been above fighting dirty, and he takes pleasure in the howl of rage that Shamrock makes when he sinks his teeth into the flesh of Sham’s bicep. He gets socked in the face for his troubles, and the pain in his temple is enough to make his jaw unlock so that his twin can slip away from him.

Beau watches the humans fight with disdain. He snorts and stamps his hooves before leaning over to the rope that connects him to the other horse and biting through the thin rope with a solid chomp. He’d seen his rider, and he wasn’t about to let anything else stand in his way of getting to her.

He lopes around the fight, nickering to get his rider’s attention. Your expression softens when you see your horse slide up to you, hands finding his soft muzzle as he walks around you to hide you away from the fighting twins.

“Only man I’ll ever need,” you murmur, then grab the reins, foot finding the stirrup before you sling yourself over his massive back. You take one long look at the brawling twins and sigh sadly. You’d thought that the three of you had a good thing going, but it had all blown up in your face with just a few words. It hurt that they wanted to take it this far, that neither of them had thought to simply come by your little house and talk to you about how they felt.

Maybe it was time you moved on anyway. You’d always wanted to go back West and settle down, far away from civilization and away from a pair of twins who you would always love dearly, just not in the way they wanted.

You don’t even have to tell Beau to get you out of here. The beast starts down the riverbank, taking you further and further away from the Figarland twins with every step. You look back one last time, heart heavy, before you steel yourself and lightly tap Beau into a fast trot. They’d be fine without you.

Benn Beckman and Yasopp watch you ride away. They knew it was for the best, especially for your sake, and didn’t say anything until the twins began to slow down, both of them having exhausted each other. They were bloody and bruised, and to Benn, pretty pathetic looking right now. He walks up to the redheads, face set in a look of severe disappointment.

“Where is she?” Shamrock rasps tiredly. Shanks rolls away from his twin and slowly gets up, his body already feeling sore from the fight with his brother.

“Gone,” Benn says easily, and the twins jerk to attention, eyes going wide as they look around the camp. You are indeed gone, and so is Beau.

“Why did you let her go?” Shanks asks tone hurt and a bit betrayed, but Benn gives him a sharp glare, but it is Yasopp who speaks up.

“Because you both were being controlling idiots. You should have known better than to think a woman like her would just go with whatever plans you made.”

His biting words seem to strike the twins hard, and both look down in shame. It was true. They had known you since the three of you were kids, and you’d always been fiercely independent, to the point you ended up leading them around instead of following behind them. Shamrock suddenly felt stupid for ever thinking that you would be happy living in the city with him, and Shanks felt even worse for simply taking you instead of speaking to you like a sane man.

“Fuck,” Shamrock sighs and falls back, dust scattering over him as he lies in defeat. Shanks follows after him, nodding as he rubs his face.

“Fuck indeed, big brother.”

@nocturnalrorobin @forever-a-night-owl @sanjisleggy @mit-suri @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 7

Part 1

It takes less time than Shamrock had thought it would to hear back from the other counties. Only three days have passed since your kidnapping, and Sham is back on the road, heading south to Rhodes. Sheriff Grey was a shit lawman, but he got results so the redhead didn’t care what the other man did in his spare time. The ride from Valentine to Rhodes takes up most of the day, so it’s late evening by the time Sham shows up in the dusty town.

Cerberus snorts under him, huffing and eyeing the unfamiliar town. Sham is in agreement. Valentine wasn’t much, but Rhondes was even less, and it made him frown seeing the old veterans lining the streets. Behind him, Beau grunts and stomps his hooves, the stubborn beast annoyed that he’d been dragged away from the stables and the mere presence of Shamrock. He wanted his rider, but she’d been missing. He is less than pleased to be tied up beside the smaller horse, and he scoots away from the black male as much as he can.

It's hotter down this way, more humid, and Shamrock finds his shirt sticking to him from the sweat that pours down his back. Sham sighs and takes his hat off, pushing his long hair away from his face before he sets it back into place. The bartender greets him with a nod, pushing a bottle of beer his way, and Shamrock accepts it with a returning nod. Sheriff Grey said he’d meet Sham at the saloon, so he sits back at a table that faces the doorway and waits.

It’s been too long since Shamrock had seen you, and his mood continues to plummet the longer her has to wait for the other sheriff to arrive. He can’t help but wonder what you are doing right now. Were you safe? Being fed properly? Shamrock has always made sure you had a decent meal throughout the day, even going so far as to make it himself if you weren’t feeling up to cooking at your house on the edge of town.

Knowing that you were at the mercy of his twin made Shamrock see red. He knew that Shanks would never hurt you, his younger brother cared too much about you to do anything like that, but you weren’t with Shamrock and that pissed him off more than anything. Shanks had always been more charismatic than him; he’d seen Shanks sweet-talk a rattlesnake before, so it made him nervous, not knowing what you were being told.

He would kill his twin if Shanks turned you against him, and Sham hated himself for getting so mad the last time he and his twin crossed paths. This never would have happened if he had just kept his mouth shut, but his little brother always knew how to press Sham’s buttons to get what he wanted.

Shamrock grits his teeth before blowing out a loud breath and taking a swig of the lukewarm booze. It was around then that the doors swung open and Sheriff Grey waltzed inside, a swagger in his steps that made Shamrock narrow his eyes. The older man plopped into the chair across from him, a smarmy grin in place as he looked under the rim of his hat to meet annoyed burgundy eyes.

“Good to see ya,” Grey drawls and Shamrock has to take a calming breath at the sound of the other man's voice. He sounded like an idiot and it'd not even been a minute.

“Where is Shanks and his crew?” Shamrock demanded. He wasn't here to make friends. He was here for information and he wasn't about to make small talk.

Grey laughs and leans back in his chair, “All about business, huh? How about a few beers, first? You've been on the road all day, right?”

Shamrock grits his teeth, eyes narrowing. His shoulders set and he has to fight the urge to not throw himself across the table at the other man, “My fiance was kidnapped. I don't have time to sit around and be friendly. So tell me what I want to know before I report you and your rather illegal side hustle to the current US Marshal.”

Grey looks taken aback, a frown on his lips, but then he nods and threads his hands together, “Alright. Fair enough, Figarland.”

Shamrock listens as Grey begins to explain the whereabouts of Shanks and his posse of Outlaws, committing everything to memory about the location and the way to get there. It wasn't far, a couple of hours' ride south. He could make it now, but it wasn't safe to travel at night. Not in unfamiliar territory.

“Thank you for the information,” Shamrock tells Grey then stands to leave the saloon, “I'll make sure your personal business stays… personal.”

@nocturnalrorobin @forever-a-night-owl @sanjisleggy @mit-suri @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

Little off the wall here but if you guys could have any dinosaur. What would it be??

Mine would be the lovely 2001 JP Spinosaurus. The big bastard has been my favorite since I was a kid. I know he's not accurate but who cares lol. He's cool as hell.

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 6

Part 1

Shanks sits around the campfire, Benn and Lucky Roux on either side of him. Bonk is strumming his guitar softly across from him, but even that does little to put the redhead in a good mood. You’ve not moved from your spot by the shore, and any attempt at communication is shot down by loud silence on your part. He wished that you‘d at least let him know if you were okay, or needed a drink, or food. Hell, anything at this point.

Benn nudges him, and when Shanks gives the older man his attention, Benn nods over to where you sit, “She okay?”

Shanks sighs and shakes his head, shrugging one shoulder before he tips up the bottle of whiskey and wets his throat, “I don’t know, man. She won’t talk to me.”

His second hums and leans back on the log they share, raising a hand to rub his face, “Bring her some food, Shanks. She’s not eaten since she woke up.”

Shanks cocks a brow, confused before realization seeps in. He grins and claps Benn on the shoulder as he stands, “Thanks, Benn.”

The older man just shakes his head at his boss. Shanks would be a lost cause without his crew.

Shanks piles a good helping of stew into a bowl and nabs a thick piece of bread before he lopes over to where you sit by the lake shore. He stands beside you, then crouches down, offering the meal, “Here, you’ve not had anything all day, hun.”

He sees you cut your eyes over at the food, and then sigh heavily as you reach out and take it from him. Shanks grins and silently cheers in victory. He settles on the bank beside you as you eat, content to just sit for now.

“...Thank you.”

Your voice is soft, a bit rough from not talking and the crying that you’d done after you’d settled on the shore. Shanks nods and takes his chance to scoot closer to you, his shoulder pressing against yours. He grins to himself when you press back against him without thinking.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Shanks murmurs and waits for you to finish up before speaking again, “How’re you feelin’?”

Shanks hears you huff, the sound rough and wet. He turns to face you fully to see wet eyes and dried tear tracks going down your face. The redhead makes a sound of concern and wraps his arm around you, tugging you against his side and pressing his lips to the side of your head with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I didn’t want to hurt you like that,” He says, and you give a half-shrug then lean into his warmth. Shanks knows that you want to be mad at him, but he can see the defeat clouding you like a miasma.

“Guess I should be thanking you,” you say and reach up to rub your face, shoulders heaving from the big breath you take, “I’m just… sad, I guess, Red. How could he do that to me?”

Shanks frowns and presses you more fully against his side, hand rubbing up and down your waist, “Shamrock gets that from our dad, hun. He always thinks he knows what’s best for the people he cares about. He wants to force things to work, and he’s so used to people just agreeing with his decisions that he doesn’t stop to think if that’s the right thing to do or not.”

You are quiet after his little speech, and as much as this is a touchy subject, Shanks can’t help but relish the time he is having with you. It’s been years since you have let him touch you like this, and he was going to take all of your attention that he could get. Maybe now you’d listen to him when he tried to tell you how he felt.

“Can I tell you something?” Shanks asks softly. He shifts in his spot, turning so that he can face you fully, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. Your eyes widen, but you give him the green light when you dip your head in a jerky nod.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since the day you shoved my dumbass off your horse when we all lived back in Blackwater. You were just so full of righteous fury, and I knew right then that no one else would ever hold my heart the way you hold it. It hurt when you didn’t run away with me, but you know me, hun. I’ve never been one to give up, especially when I find a good thing in my life.”

Shanks pauses and swallows harshly, a rough laugh leaving him as nerves suddenly begin to light him up from the inside.

“I know you probably don’t wanna hear all that right now, but I had to tell you. I needed you to know how I felt.”

He leans in close, breath ghosting across your face. Shanks takes a pause, searching your face, tone breathy and needy, “Please?”

Shanks watches you, sees the way your mind is twisting and turning at his confession. He wants to kiss you, to lay the world at your feet and let you do whatever you want with it, as long as he is there by your side. His heart thuds in his chest, and his fate is in your hands.

Only for his heart to break when your expression closes off. You wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging his hand away from your face, and his arms fall limp from around your waist. You stand, looking down at him, and he can see the pain in your eyes, see the uncertainty that weighs you down. Shanks watches you take a step back, your voice croaking.

“I-I’m sorry, Shanks,” you say, and your lip trembles, “I can’t. Not. Not now.”

Shanks is left sitting in the damp sand by himself as you stumble away, head hung low and arms wrapped tight around yourself. His chest aches as he watches you go, but he has seen the look in your eyes, and despite knowing that he would have to glue his heart back together, he is now more determined than ever to be by your side.

@nocturnalrorobin @sanjisleggy @mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 5

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4

You sit stiffly, your injured hand out and held within Hongo’s grasp. You watch him rotate your finger and then pop it back into place with a hiss through your teeth. The doctor leaves you instructions to take it easy with that hand and then lopes away, leaving you alone with Shanks. The redhead was sitting eagerly behind you, big brown eyes looking at you like a mutt who wanted a treat for being good. Well, he wasn’t getting shit from you, not after what he pulled.

You’d calmed down after telling yourself that your righteous anger wouldn’t be getting you anywhere with the outlaw, but that didn’t mean you still weren’t pissed off with him. Shanks refused to take you back to Valentine or tell you where they were, so you could only assume that he’d taken you southeast, given how humid and muggy it was around here. The lake beside the camp helped, but you weren’t about to take a dip.

“Will you at least explain to me why you did this?” you ask him just loud enough for Shanks to hear you over your shoulder.

It hurt that he’d taken you. It wasn’t like you’d ever arrest or kill him during his little crime sprees. He never took enough money or goods to even hurt the town that you loved. It was almost a game between the two of you. He’d start shit and you would show up and chase him off. Rinse and repeat. So why the change-up?

You didn’t want to even look at him right now, or else you’d probably punch that puppy dog look right off his pretty face.

Shanks shifts behind you, and you hear him stand, but you keep your face turned toward the lake so you don’t have to meet his eyes. He sighs at your stubbornness but thankfully begins to explain.

“I was trying to save you, sweetheart,” Shanks begins, but you cut him off sharply.

“Don’t call me that.”

The redhead sighs again, hands pulled up in surrender, and you can hear the frown in his voice, “Alright, Deputy.”

You frown tightly at the sarcastic tilt in his voice and try not to let it bother you too much.

“Like I was sayin’. I was trying to save you. My dearest twin wants to marry you and cart your pretty face down to Saint-Denis where you can live a happy, womanly life. Full of tight corsets and fancy dresses.”

You feel your chest grow tight. Marry you? You knew that the twins liked you, and you liked them too, even with their differences, but marriage? You were unaware that Shamrock felt like that towards you. The usually stoic redhead was polite and well-mannered with you, protective too, but you’d never imagine that his feelings ran that deeply.

“How do you know this?” you ask, and turn your head to look at Shanks. The outlaw had never learned how to lie to you, and you would always take advantage of that.

Shanks shifts uncomfortably, “Sham told me about it last time we crossed. Threatened me to stay away from you like usual, and I started pressing his buttons like normal, and it all just spilled outta him. Said that he was sure that you would get used to city life, and how he planned to make sure that I stayed well away from Saint-Denis when he became Marshall.”

He laughs, something low and rough, “Like you moving to a big city would keep me away. I’d find you, just like I always have, hun.”

You ignore the pet name, too caught up in your spiraling thoughts and the thick feeling of betrayal. Shamrock knew how much you loved Valentine, how much you loved protecting the town, and your little side hustle down the road at the ranch. You were happy where you were, and the last thing you wanted was to live in a stuffy, polluted city full of rich aristocrats. How could he do this? Trick you like this?

Shanks watches you stand and stagger away to the edge of the lake in a daze. He feels bad for doing this to you, but he knows that it was for the best. You deserved to know the truth about his big brother, and Shanks had promised long ago to never keep you in the dark. Now he just hoped that you would forgive him.

@nocturnalrorobin @sanjisleggy @mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Shamrock makes good time to Valentine, making the usual eight to ten-hour ride on horseback in six hours. Cerberus is sweaty and run ragged, but the Arabian had refused to stop even when Sham had urged him to. It was like the horse knew how important it was for his rider to get to the town, and Sham appreciated the beast for his urgency. He doesn’t even bother to tie Cerberus to the post and jumps from his back once he is in town, leaping the fence in his haste and bursting into the sheriff’s office like hell is licking at his heels.

“How long has she been gone?” Shamrock demands the moment he steps inside the building, and John, the other deputy on duty when you are off, is quick to respond.

“About a day now, give or take. We gave chase, but Shanks split off from the rest of his crew, and we got led on a wild goose chase. Sorry, sir,” John says with a quiet sigh and shuffles the wanted posters on his desk.

“We’ve got people out lookin’ though. Hopefully, we’ll hear something soon.”

Shamrock snarls and slams his hand into the wall, the old wood splintering but leaving his knuckles bloodied and full of splinters. He shakes his hand and breathes deeply to calm himself down. He needed to have a calm mind if he wanted to find you quickly.

“Put out the word to the other towns. I want every lawman out looking for her,” Shamrock demands, “Rhodes, Saint-Denis, even Annesburg. Everywhere god damn it.”

John nods and stands from his desk, “I’ll get it done, sir.”

Shamrock nods and watches John leave before sitting heavily in his chair once he is alone. The velvet box sits heavy in his pocket, and he can’t help but fish it out and crack it open to look at the rings inside.

They belonged to his father and late mother, a woman whom he and Shanks had hardly known. She had passed a few years after she had them. Tuberculosis. Her death had destroyed their father, but Garling had never stopped loving her and had never taken another woman to bed after her passing.

Sham knew that you wouldn’t be happy to live in Saint-Denis, but he was confident that you would learn to love your life there. You wouldn’t have to worry anymore or deal with dangerous outlaws who always thought they had the advantage over you just because you were a woman. He wanted you to have a safe, pampered life after all the work you’d put in, and Shamrock knew that he could give you that.

Now his brother had ruined it. Had taken the good thing in Shamrock’s life and had stolen it like a thief in the night. Just like all the other good things that had come into his life, Shanks had to ruin it for him. Garling had set them up well in their youth, but Shanks had grown bored with city life and had run off at the first chance he could. Shamrock had been so upset, so disappointed in his younger brother that he’d immediately gone into law enforcement, and to his surprise, you had followed right after him.

Shamrock had thought that you would work at the stables. You had a way with horses that few people had, and it was always a delight to watch you work with the beasts. He had sworn to himself that he would make sure you would have somewhere to rear the animals when he made you his wife, but none of that would happen if he couldn’t get you back.

The Sheriff had to wonder why Shanks had stolen you away in the first place. This wasn’t the first time that his twin had come into town, raising hell just to get your attention, but he had never pulled something like this before.

Shamrock sighs and snaps the box closed, tucking it back into his pocket to keep it safe. He would do whatever it took to get you back, but even with civilization building, the east was a wild place, and it would take time to find you again. But that wouldn’t stop him, and he would punish his twin after he found you.

He huffs to himself and glares at the wanted poster, his twin smirking right back up at him. Maybe he’d have Shanks watch Shamrock marry you. He knew how much his younger brother loved you. But Sham loved you too, and he wasn’t about to let Shanks get in the way of that. Not this time, and not ever.

@nocturnalrorobin @sanjisleggy @mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 3

Part 1 Part 2

Shanks sighs softly. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but he missed you damn it, and the only way he knew how to get your attention was to be the outlaw he knew he was. He missed the days when you would laugh at his jokes, head tossed back and hair catching in the desert wind. He had begged, dropped to his damn knees for you to come with him when Shanks decided he was tired of living a civilian life, but you had denied him. Had even gone so far as to follow in his twin’s footsteps and become part of the law.

It had hurt the first time that you’d pointed your gun at him, but he had seen the waver in your hand and the uncertainty in your eyes. Shanks had known then that you would never fire that revolver at him, not unless he did something truly evil. He might be an outlaw, but even he and his crew had morals, though he’d never thought he would have to go this far.

Hongo had looked at your head wound and assured Shanks that you’d be fine, but have one hell of a headache once you woke up. Shanks had slumped in relief at the news, glad to know that he hadn’t hurt you permanently. He felt terrible for knocking you out the way he had, but they hadn’t had much time before the other lawmen would arrive.

Shanks had tossed you across his horse, a red Roan Mustang, and Gryphon had gotten them out of there quickly. He regretted having to leave your beast behind, but Beau had never liked either of the twins, and Shanks didn’t want to risk taking any more time out of the getaway by messing with the Andalusian. He’d promised himself that he would send one of the other guys to retrieve Beau when the heat died down.

Shanks looks down at you and a small smile lights up his face. You look darling like this, face slack and hair spread across his lap. He reaches down and plucks at the soft strands, careful of the bruising on the back of your head. He had missed this closeness more than anything and it felt great to have you close again, even if you might not feel the same way.

“I'm sorry I hurt you, sweetheart,” Shanks murmurs softly as he continues to play with your hair.

He bends, one arm going under your shoulders to gently lift you as he presses his brow against your own. Shanks watches your face, looking for any sign that you might awaken.

“I don't like that I hurt you, but baby, you've been hurtin’ me for years, ya know that? I've missed you so damn much and it's like a bullet through my heart every time you look the other way. When you look at my brother.” Shanks sighs heavily, eyes closing for a moment, “I love you, darlin’, and I promise I'll show you how much now that I've got you with me.”

Shanks pauses when he feels you shift in his arms and he leans back to see the scrunch in your brow. He can't help but feel excited knowing that you would be up soon, even if you'd be pissed as hell at him. He'd tell you everything that he'd found out, and you would make the right choice. And that was to stay with him.

He waits patiently for you to rouse, and Shanks hears you make a soft sound of discomfort, squirming in his hold until you can raise a hand and rub at your brow. His grinning visage is the first thing you see when your eyes crack open, and whatever mood you are in immediately plummets into furious irritation.

“Hey, hun. Welcome back to the land of the living,” Shanks teases and dodges the punch that you throw at him. His grin widens and he catches your wrist on the next hit.

“You son of a bitch,” you snarl and jerk away from him, spilling out of his lap and to the ground below. You roll to your feet wincing at the pain in your skull. “What the fuck have you done?”

@nocturnalrorobin @sanjisleggy @mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 2

Part 1 Part 3

Figarland Shamrock, Sheriff of Valentine and next in line to be a US Marshal, sat stiff in the chair across from his father. He knew that the mayor of Blackwater wouldn’t take kindly to his choice of woman, wife his mind supplied, but you and Shamrock had history, and you were loyal to a fault. But Garling was a hard man to please, and you weren’t the kind, sweet woman that his father would like his eldest son to marry, but Sham wasn’t moving on this decision.

“You do understand that she will no longer be your deputy if you go through with this.”

It’s a statement and less of a question, but Shamrock answers his father anyway.

“Yes, Father, I do know that. She won’t be happy at first, but I’m sure she’ll like her new life in Saint Denis. She’ll be safe there, and we won’t have to worry about… my brother stepping foot in the city.”

Garling hums and leans back in his chair. He knows the young woman, you’d been friends with his sons from a young age, and he did have some respect for you. He just didn’t care for the drama that was caused between his sons because of you. He stands from his office chair and disappears without a word to the bedroom attached through the door on the left.

Shamrock sits in silence, struggling to keep his foot from jiggling in nerves. He never knew how his father was going to react when he got quiet like that. He watches the elder Figarland when he appears back in the office, eyes going wide when he is handed a small, black velvet box. Garling sits back in his chair and nods for his son to open it.

Inside are two beautiful, but simple, gold bands. They look almost identical aside from the delicate, green gemstone that sits in the middle of the thinner band. Shamrock recognizes them easily and looks at his father in shock.

“Don’t act so surprised, boy,” Garling drawls and spins in his chair so that Shamrock can’t see the smirk on his lips, “I knew you’d put them to good use, eventually.”

“I-,” Sham clears his throat, “Thank you, Father.”

The gift is a clear sign of Garling’s approval, Sham has never been affectionate with the older man, but it makes him want to actually hug his father for once. However, before he can act on those urges, the office door bursts open. They turn as one to see the secretary there, a sheet of paper in her hand.

“Sirs, you should see this,” she says and stalks over to Garling and hands it over before she disappears back downstairs. She wasn’t about to get caught in the shit storm she knew would be coming.

Shamrock watches his father read the telegram, stomach turning at the sight of that dark rage clouding Garling’s eyes. He looks up and meets the eyes of his son, fist crumpling the letter.

“Shanks.” He snarls, and Shamrock stands so fast he knocks over his chair to snatch the missive from his father’s hand. He reads over the words, and his blood ignites.

To the Mayor of Blackwater and Sheriff Figarland

The deputy has been kidnapped by Red-haired Shanks and his posse

Shamrock is gone before his father can even try to calm him down, eyes seeing nothing but red with how thick the rage is in his chest. He books it down the stairs, shoving past anyone who gets in his way, and then out the door. His horse waits for him at the post, a stout black Arabian that you’d given him for his birthday a few years ago. He swings up on the saddle and clicks his tongue, sending Cerberus into a fast trot.

First, he was going to save his wife-to-be, and then he was going to kill his little brother.

@nocturnalrorobin @sanjisleggy @mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

Shanks episode 1109 fanservice

I'm ovulating. This is the fanservice we are asking for.

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar...

Part 2 Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9

Part 10

You jump when the door to your office slams open and you look up to see a terrified local, breathing heavily and their hand clutched to their chest. You jump from your seat, hand on your pistol, ready to go before they can even tell you what's going on in the sleepy town of Valentine.

“Outlaws, Deputy! Red-Hair and his posse!” The man cries and you push past him and to the front porch of the building. The bank is just down the road and a quick sprint has you there within seconds. You recognize the two men that guard the door, Lucky Roux and Yasopp, and you slide to a stop in front of them.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing in my town?” You snarl hotly and the men in front of you throw their heads back and cackle. Your face flushes in rage and your pistol is out like a flash, hand steady as you aim it between the two. Backup would be here soon, you were sure. It was just a shame that the Sheriff was down in Blackwater for a meeting with his father.

“What does it look like we're doing, sweetheart?”

You sneer at the roguish voice that comes from within the bank. Red-Haired Shanks steps out in all his glory, white shirt tucked into a pair of old jeans, belts hanging from his waist, and a bandolier across his chest. His hat is weathered and does a poor job of hiding his shaggy red hair.

“Fucking with your brother, looks like,” you hiss right back and aim at Shanks, eyes narrowing into slits, “Got nothing better to do than get under his skin, huh, Red?”

Shanks grins and boldly steps out on the porch, uncaring about the revolver that points at his chest. He knows that you would never shoot him, the two of you had too much history for that. He rakes his eyes up and down, eyes half-lidded as he crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his hip.

“Maybe I just wanted to come see an old friend. She won't give me the time of day unless I cause trouble in her town.”

You grit your teeth at his casual tone, eyes blazing with rage. It pisses you off to have good memories of you and the twins tossed back in your face, but Shanks had been the one to fuck all that up. Not you.

“I'm not your friend, Red. So how about you drop the act and get out of here before my backup shows up? I'd hate to see you in cuffs,” There is nothing but mean sarcasm in your voice, and you smirk at the redhead when he frowns.

“Damn it, sweetheart. I wanted to do this the easy way, but I guess you're too stubborn for that, huh?” Shanks drawls lowly, and you watch him lope forward, his gait careful but uncaring.

A bad feeling curls in your stomach and you don't have time to even make a sound before Shanks is on you. He snatches the revolver from your grip, and you hiss at the feeling of your finger dislocating from its socket. The next thing you know is pain, your weapon used to wack you in the back of the head, and down you go out like a light.

Shanks sighs and hefts you up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, “Sorry, baby doll. I'll fix you up when we get back to camp, okay?”

He knows that you can't hear him right now, but the assurance makes him feel better. Shanks looks at his crew and jerks his head.

“Let's get outta here, boys. Don't wanna linger and get caught.”

@nocturnalrorobin @sanjisleggy @mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @sordidmusings @mfreedomstuff

[short-honey-badger]

Hey loves. Just wanted to put this out there but I'm pretty sure that we've got either a rage baiter or a bot in A03. So if you see this guest user out there, ignore them yeah?

For some context here. This work of mine had been up for a single day. I posted 2 chapters yesterday. I took a chance and made this work public to guests and registered users but damn the lesson you learn for trying to be nice.

@goth-mami-writer

[short-honey-badger]

The finished product! Please enjoy some smutty Tig Trager

Soft spot in a black heart

Just a little sneak peak of an upcoming One Shot that I've started. Please be gentle, for I am new to the Sons of Anarchy community. I just finished season 1 last night hehe and this stemmed from a dream I had.

Pairings: Tig Trager x Female Reader

Tig snarls wordlessly and kicks the road. He’s pissed that they were being blackmailed, but he was more furious over the fact that you had been roped into this. He’d be stuck with a woman when this was a man’s world that you lived in. It was bad enough that Stahl had shit on them, but working with you was the last straw.

It wasn’t like Tig hated you, far from it in reality. He actually found you incredibly fucking hot, and his cock still hadn’t gone down from where you’d grabbed his thigh in the diner. There was a soft spot for you deep in his black heart, and Tig didn’t want to see you hurt. Not when he knew that everyone got hurt in this line of business.

Tig would much rather see you dressed in skimpy clothes, waiting for him back at the clubhouse, that infuriating smirk on your face, and a beer in hand. Once upon a time, he'd had an old lady, and after her, Tig thought he'd never want another one. But you? Damn it all, Tig Trager wanted you to be his.

[short-honey-badger]

Soft spot in a black heart

Pairing: Tig Trager x Female Reader

Summary: Agent Stahl blackmails you and Tig into doing her dirty work and well, things get dirty after the job goes sideways.

Tags: Viginal sex, dirty talk, cunnilingus, pussy drunk Tig, Tig is his warning, possessive behavior, minor character death, and guns. SoA elements.

The two of you stare at Agent Stahl, twin looks of disbelief painting your faces. There was no way that this self-righteous cunt was blackmailing you and Tig into doing her dirty work, but here she was, staring at the both of you with that smug look on her face. She cocks her head to the side and sits back in the booth, pushing forward the manilla folder to your side of the table.

“It’s either this, or both of you face jail time. Actually, most likely the death penalty for all the shit you’ve pulled over the years,” Stahl drawls, and you want to slap the smarmy look right off her damn face.

You see Tig gritting his teeth beside you, his eyes narrowing and knuckles turning white where he grips his dark jeans. He looks seconds away from throwing himself over the table, so you reach out and grip his thigh, ignoring the way he instantly stills under your touch.

You understand his rage, you are just as pissed off. It doesn’t help that the two of you have never gotten on since you joined SAMCRO. The men you now called family weren’t too keen on having a woman out doing the dirty work, but Clay allowed you to stay, so all they could really do was bitch about it.

“We’ll do it,” you hiss lowly and snatch the folder with your free hand, pushing it inside your leather jacket, “But this makes us even.”

Stahl smirks, satisfied, and crosses her arms over her chest, “Good. Glad to see that someone in that little club of yours has some sense.”

You sneer, eyes narrowing, and slide out of the booth, flipping her the bird in response as you lope out of the cafe you and Tig had met her in.

Tig crowds you against his bike the moment the two of you are outside, lips pulled up in a snarl and eyes blazing with fury. His hands land on his seat, bracketing you in as he looms over your smaller form. You stare right back, trying your damnedest not to be intimidated by the dangerous man.

“Don’t you ever speak for me again, _. You’re at the bottom of this food chain, don’t forget that,” Tig snarls down at you, and you grit your teeth, hands coming up and shoving at his chest. Surprisingly, he allows you to push him away from you.

“You would’ve gotten us locked up and killed Tig. I did us a favor,” you hiss and shove past the sergeant-at-arms. You can feel his eyes on you as you sling a leg over the seat of your bike, then slide your helmet over your head, glaring at him from behind the visor, “I’ll see you at the clubhouse.”

Tig snarls wordlessly and kicks the road. He’s pissed that they were being blackmailed, but he was more furious over the fact that you had been roped into this. He’d be stuck with a woman when this was a man’s world that you lived in. It was bad enough that Stahl had shit on them, but working with you was the last straw.

It wasn’t like Tig hated you, far from it in reality. He actually found you incredibly fucking hot, and his cock still hadn’t gone down from where you’d grabbed his thigh in the diner. There was a soft spot for you deep in his black heart, and Tig didn’t want to see you hurt. Not when he knew that everyone got hurt in this line of business.

Tig would much rather see you dressed in skimpy clothes, waiting for him back at the clubhouse, that infuriating smirk on your face, and a beer in hand. He’d never had an old lady before, had never wanted one, but you? Damn it all, Tig Trager wanted you to be his.

He huffs at himself and slides onto his bike. There was no point in dreaming when you didn’t want anything to do with a man like him. Tig shoves those thoughts away and kicks off in the direction of the clubhouse. Clay would be waiting for him.

-----

Two days later found you and Tig cruising down the highway, the sun shining and heating the blacktop. Any other day and it would be a nice day to go for a ride, but the knowledge of being under Stahl's thumb made you a cranky bastard. It didn't help that Tig had literally dragged you out of bed this morning.

The sergeant of arms had burst into your room like he owned the place, ripping the blanket off you and sending you sprawling to the floor in all your naked glory. Your being nude must have caught Tig off guard because you'd gotten a jacket thrown in your face and got to witness a blush spread across his face as he demanded that you hurry up and get ready. You'd blinked at him, confused why your being nude had affected Tig so much before, ultimately shrugging and taking your time in getting ready.

Afterwards, you'd tried to give him back his leathers, you had your own after all, but he ignored you each time, so you'd shrugged and just kept it slung around your shoulders. It was honestly comfy, all warm and cozy-like.

Tig watches you from behind, brain replaying this morning over and over again. He'd seen thousands of naked women over the years, but seeing you had sent him spiraling. You were tan under the many layers you insisted on wearing, your body covered in scars and burn marks from the rough life that you'd lived before finding a home with SAMCRO. It made something dark and dangerous rear its head when he'd seen the marks, and if Tig didn't already know that the people who made those marks weren't already dead. Well, he would have hunted them down himself.

But seeing you in his leathers soothed that dark beast inside of him. It looked right, felt right, to see you wearing his jacket laid across your shoulders. It made it look like you belonged to him, and anyone with eyes would see that, too.

He couldn't help but wonder what you would look like all splayed out on his bed, tan skin on display and ripe for the taking. Tig wanted to leave his own marks behind, show the guys who pined after you at the shop and during club meetings who you belonged to. Tig wanted to own you, mind and body. He shifts in his seat, rolling his eyes at the hard-on straining in his pants. You had him acting like a teen.

A couple of hours later, the two of you are pulling off an exit and to the only gas station for the next hundred miles. You pull off your helmet and shake your hair from your face with a grimace, crinkling your nose when you run your hand through your helmet hair. You never did like wearing it for so long for that exact reason. Tig pulls up beside you and kicks the stand out, sliding off his bike to shadow you inside once you are ready.

Tig glares with a curl of his lips when he catches the grocer leering at you and closes the distance to cover you from view. They were in unfamiliar territory, and he wasn’t about to risk anything, especially you.

“Hydrate yourself,” you say after snagging a water bottle from the cooler. You toss it at Tig, and he catches it with a roll of his eyes.

“Yes, dear,” he draws and pauses when he notices the way your cheeks flush and how quickly you look away from him. Curious, Tig closes the distance, close enough that he can feel the heat you put off.

“What else you gettin’, sweetheart?”

You flush further, eyes going wide, and your body warming at the use of the pet names. Plenty of the men you lived around had called you all sorts of terms of endearment, but hearing it from Tig makes your stomach cramp and your thighs press tightly with arousal. You force the feelings away with a deep breath and settle on a nonchalant shrug.

“Whatever catches my eye, I guess, Tig.”

Even though the sergeant at arms could get on your nerves more easily than others, you could still be civil with the man. It wasn’t that you disliked him, either, but his erratic behavior threw you off more often than not.

You don’t see the way he bites his bottom lip, his eyes going half-lidded as he follows you through the aisles of the store. He grabs a few snacks of his own, easy things that would be able to be eaten on the road, and another couple that he sees you consider before passing over. When you seem to be done, Tig follows you to the counter where the two of you dump your goods to be scanned.

“Pretty thing like you ought not be hanging around with a guy like him, eh, girly?”

You snap your eyes up, narrowing them in disgust, but Tig speaks up before you can.

If looks could kill, the grocer would be a pile of ash on the floor. Tig steps close to you, his front pressing against your back as he raises a hand to settle it along your waist, fingers curling in a possessive hold without thinking.

“How about you mind your own fuckin’ business, Mitch?” Tig rumbles, eyes flashing down to the name tag that the other man wears.

You tense at the unexpected touch before forcing yourself to relax, making a show of leaning into Tig and allowing him to take your weight. You cock your head, giving Mtch an innocent smile.

“You should listen to him, Mitch. I’ve seen him kill men for less,” you murmur sweetly. Mitch flicks his eyes between the two of you before he sneers with a scoff and begins to scan your items. Conflict diverted, and you go to move away from Tig, only to find that your partner is keeping you still, his grip turning harsh but not painful. He doesn’t bother to let you go until it’s time to pay, and you watch with a tight chest as he tosses enough cash on the counter to cover everything and gas for both of your bikes.

“I can stand up for myself, ya know,” you comment once the two of you are outside. You grab the plastic bag from Tig and sort through it, grabbing your stuff to be packed away into the saddlebags that hang from your bike. Tig shrugs and uncaps the bottle of water you’d tossed at him earlier, draining it in one go before tossing it into the closest bin.

“Sure you can, baby girl,” He draws and watches blatantly, wanting to see that cute blush from earlier, and you don’t disappoint.

“What’s with all the pet names all of a sudden, huh?” you ask, tone coming off a bit more snappy than you had intended. You knew Tig was a flirt, all the men in the M.C. were, but this deliberateness was new.

Tig cocks his head to the side, looking at you with those wild, blue eyes that make you squirm in place. He then nods at you, and you look down to see his jacket still seated snug around your shoulders, before cutting your eyes back up to see him giving you a smug, shit-eating grin.

“Makes it look like you're my ol’ lady, don’t it, sweetheart?”

You frown, reaching up to pull his jacket off, not caring for what he is trying to insinuate, but Tig is moving before you can even get it off one shoulder. A big hand grabs your own, where you have a hold of the lapels. The hold he has on you isn’t painful, but it’s tight enough for you to really give notice.

“Keep it on,” Tig murmurs and pushes his jacket back up, warm hands smoothing over your shoulders with a surprising gentleness, “Please.”

You meet his eyes, searching them and finding a franticness that usually isn’t present, that makes you soften. You nod once, face feeling like a pit of lava.

“Okay, Tig.”

Trager feels himself relaxed, shoulders slumping, and that bolt of panic receding like it had never been there in the first place. He grins down at you, wide and wolf-like. Following his instincts, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your brow before pulling away, that grin still bright as ever, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Before you can question the sergeant at arms, Tig leaves you, sliding away to toss his leg over his bike and start it up with a loud rumble like he hadn’t just rocked your entire foundation. You watch him press his helmet down and slide his sunglasses over his face. He turns and looks at you, head cocking to the side.

“You comin’ or what, baby?”

-------

“Fucking Stahl!” you snarl and duck behind the counter, “Last time we ever fo shit for that smarmy cunt.”

This "errand" of hers had gone to shit within the first couple of minutes, and you couldn’t help but think that you and Tig were set up. All that you'd been tasked with was to grab a witness who had been taken by a gang on the outskirts of Arizona. SAMCRO didn't have any dealings with them, so apparently, to Stahl, they'd been the perfect candidates for the job. You knew that the agent wanted SAMCRO to go down, but you didn't think she wanted you guys dead. Not like this, at least.

"I knew this was a bad fuckin' idea, baby. Should have let me call the shots," Tig grouches and grabs you by the back of his cut, yanking you away from the shitty cover.

You fall into him, scrambling to righten yourself and pop up to fire your sidearm out the open window, grinning with feral glee when you hear a scream of pain on the other side. Tig wants to kiss the life out of you at the sight of your bloodlust, his cock hard and aching in his jeans. You had no idea how fucking amazing you looked right now, hair all akimbo and teeth bared like the animal Tig knew you were.

You might be a woman, but you'd proven time and time again that you could hold your own just as well as any man.

“And get dragged to prison where I'd never see any of you guys again? Hell no,” you snap back and duck back against Tig when there is returning gunfire.

“Whole fucking thing is a bust anyway. They killed the hostage before we even got here.”

The two of you had found one Ethan Wilson, a former ATF agent, dead and gone the moment Tig had kicked down the door to the supposed safe house. The former agent looked like he'd been dead for at least a day, with how bloated his body looked. Hell had broken loose moments after.

The gang that Stahl had sent the two of you after had descended on the safe house like a flock of vultures, at least seven of them and armed to the teeth. You counted yourself lucky that Tig never went anywhere without the proper equipment.

The two of you trade shots, thankfully having the advantage of better cover inside the house. The shootout feels like it lasts a lifetime, but couldn't have been longer than a couple of minutes by the time the last gang member falls to the ground, dead. You are breathing heavily, chest heaving, and gun smoking from where it dangles from your fingers.

You turn to Tig, about to demand that they get the hell out of here, when the sergeant of arms crowds you against the counter, hands gripping your hips and lifting you with ease to sit on the counter. You grip his shoulders, eyes going wide when he takes your legs and wraps them around his waist.

Tig can't help himself. He's been good, giving you ample time to turn him away, but never once have you told him to stop. You liked him, wanted him, and Trager knew it. He raises a hand, gripping you by the jaw before he leans in and seals his lips against your own in a searing kiss. His tongue darts out, forcing past your lips to curl around your own slick muscle.

Adrenaline running high, you kiss him back, fingers sliding up into curly hair to grip tightly and push him into you. His facial hair scrapes and burns against your lips, but it just makes the embrace that much sweeter. You don't care that the two of you still stink of road sweat and gunpowder; you don't care about the cooling bodies outside the safe house. All you want now is for Tig Trager to fuck you dumb.

Tig pulls away, pressing his face against yours, breath hot against your cheek. His hands slide to your waist and to the button of your pants, flicking it open with practiced ease and lifting you up enough that he can shove your jeans down around your thighs.

“Been wanting to taste that sweet pussy for ages, baby,” Tig snarls against your throat and presses sharp nips against your flesh, leaving behind little red marks that would most likely fade into bruises. He pulls back just long enough to tug your boots off and rip your jeans from your legs, tossing them to the floor without a care. He drops to his knees, spreading your thighs and burying his face in the apex of your legs.

Your cunt tastes just as delicious as Tig imagined it would, musky and hot from the ride and dripping with arousal. He slurps between your folds, catching your clit between his lips and sucking hard enough that you bow forward, brow furrowed and hands clenching painfully in his hair. Tig groans and pushes himself deeper, tongue digging deep and cream coating the lower half of his face.

You hiss through clenched teeth, whines spilling from your throat. Tig is good at eating puss, you'd know that already from walking into the club house after a wild party and finding him face deep into a club girl's cunt. It had never bothered you before, but after this? Tig was yours.

“Tig, Tiggy,” you groan, and he answers you with a loud moan of his own, lost in his own world and bringing you closer and closer to that lovely edge. Your thighs quake, eyes glassy as you twitch under him.

Tig grins against your cunt when you come, creamy slick pouring from your pussy to drench his face. He sucks down and devours every bit, tongue scooping like a fucking dog. He leans back once he is satisfied, a fucked out and drunk look on his face as he meets your wide eyes.

You look back up, meeting those fiery blue eyes with a wicked smirk, “Gonna fuck me or not, Tiggy?”

“Best fucking pussy I've ever had, sweetheart,” he murmurs and pushes himself back up to his feet, hands dropping to his belt and tugging it free. You watch his cock spring free from his boxers, and excitement shoots up your spine. Tig was big.

Tig laughs, low and mean, and shoves between your legs, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding his cock steady. He keeps eye contact, wanting to watch you break as he bullies his cock into you. Your expressions are almost enough to make him come, your pussy is tight as a vice, sucking him down and making him grit his teeth.

“Feel fucking amazing, baby,” Tig murmurs and cups your face with a surprising softness when he is fully seated inside of you. Your cunt burns in the most delightful way, the stretch of his cock exactly what you need. He leans down, pressing his lips against your own as he begins to rock back and forth, slipping that much deeper into your pussy.

You kiss him back, losing yourself in the feel of Tig. The man, his scent, his touch, surrounds you, and you feel drunk off his presence alone. You want to take your time, to feel the way his cock drags along your walls, the head pressing deeper than anyone has ever been. But you know that time is of the essence. It wouldn't be long before the law would show up from the gunshots.

“Fuck me fast, baby. Come inside me, yeah?”

Tig hisses a curse, brows furrowing as he nods and presses close, hips pistoning in and out, balls slapping against your dripping cunt, and fluid mixing in a hot mess between your bodies. He focuses on the feel of how tight and hot you are, hands dropping to grip your hips and pound into you like a freight train.

You whine at the feel of hot cum pouring into you, cunt fluttering and clenching tight around the thick cock buried deep inside of you. You pant against his shoulder, taking in deep, shuddering breaths and raising a hand to push your sweaty bangs away from your brow. Tig slumps against you, wanting to stay exactly where he is for the rest of his life.

As much as you’d like to bask, the need to get out of the safe house and back down the road is pressing. You lift your head, a soft smirk on your lips, and you tilt your head to the side, meeting Tig's eyes.

“Round two when we get back?”

[short-honey-badger]

My wifey has wipped up another delicious workkk. Come check it out

°▪︎_Hellaciously Yours_▪︎°

~Dante Sparda x f!Reader (reader is a hybrid demon hunter)

~ (I wanted to go ahead and tease this fic with a small prologue chapter to introduce the reader's character and some semblance of the plot I have imagined. Still fine-tuning some of the arcs and storyline so this might be something slow to churn out. But I wanted to share regardless.)

《 Dante was tired of being lied to- or sorry- omitted from the truth. There was no way jobs like this were being dashed out by some kind of woman. Some kind of woman with no backbone to ever show her face? Make everyone else do her dirty work? Get fucking real.

That night he wanted answers. Something he always seemed to be sold short of. Being left in the dark was a life he wanted to start leaving behind and he shoved his way past the large double doors in that acre wide mansion that might as well have been built for God but stood empty as can be. Besides of course the people inside that seemed to stand around this ominous, no face, wannabe mob leader that he was determined to meet once and for all.

One of those armed nobodies shoved him back from entering the last room in that large corridor and he shoved back in return with words barking that if this person hiding in the dark, throwing him cash for killing, was a demon, he was ending their life.

Tonight.

Something was going on. But he'd been played like this before. Lined up on jobs just to be set up in the end by some strung out hellborne fuck who thought he was some chump. That was over. The incognito meetups, cash grabs for a few spun bullets were done.

There was one more gunman in that last room, the master bedroom suite that was completely empty besides a desk and chair. The desk and chair that usually after a job he'd just come to retrieve his coin from before leaving.

Their barrel became pointed right at his temple as he got closer, as if that'd do anything- he thought before he heard a voice.

“Let him in.” You said suddenly amid the quiet, calling out from the wide balcony beyond the French doors where only sheer curtains billowed in the nighttime wind. Your small cigarette held in its long vintage filter was the only thing he could see when he turned his head, trying to follow your voice over the adrenaline in his ears.

Your voice…. that sounded feminine.

“You heard her.” Dante smirked, motioning with his eyes for your little armed wind-up monkey to lower their gun.

When their aim went to the floor, you gave another command over your shoulder which surprised him more than the fact that you were really a woman….at least from the sounds of it.

“Leave us.”

No protection? Not even a sniper across the lawn? That was ballsy. Now he felt like maybe he was punching in his own weight class in terms of strategy. But come on, what's some chick doing with enough ego to confront someone with no backup plan?

Dante narrowed his eyes to the steel brandishing clown as they moved, following their exit out the door. One thing he could admit, you must have had these goons on an obedient leash, collar choked tight. They didn't budge away from orders. He started towards the balcony until you stopped him with a firm mention that he couldn't come any closer. So now you were giving orders? Hard pass, he thought.

When you heard a gun cock, your eyes rolled to hear him get antsy.

“Turn and show me that you're not one of those hell dwelling pieces of shit.”

He put a bullet through the ceiling, emphasizing his intentions by shooting a single round that dared you to call his bluff.

You did in fact have a secret. One that kept you from showing your face. Well…the majority of it. He'd know in an instant that none of your little henchman had been entirely truthful but in hindsight- it was none of his fucking business if jobs were completed and money was passed. For a demon killer that paraded so loudly that he didn't give a fuck about how he earned money- he sure did have a lot to ask.

You turned away from the doorframe of the balcony that kept you concealed, and let him have his guess as to whether or not you were a fire-blowing blood sucker only here for one thing. Your human passing features were shown in the soft glow of the moonlight, turning your head strategically that perhaps he wouldn't see….the bad side of your face.

You needed his trust after all.

When your gaze found him, his jaw fell slack to know that for the first time in a good while he was dead wrong. It felt weird to be taken aback like this. Like a moment you had to chew on before you tried to swallow.

What the fuck was a human woman doing in demon killing?

And why…did this human woman feel so comfortable in throwing him bounties that were triple the price of his regular little chores?

He had never met you before- he was sure of it. Not that it mattered in the moment but…. He'd remember a broad with a face card like this. Your unknown identity was only half the reason he stood gawking.

But he smelled a cop- a fed at the least and his jaw tensed again, getting interested in who he was talking to and he said with his guard still up.

“Tell me your name- your real one. And not some vague alias bullshit to keep you from getting popped.”

You smiled, trying not to laugh at his very impenetrable guard coming up so fast, within the first ten seconds of your meeting. Its quickness had surprised you. You took another drag of your filtered cigarette, debating on revealing your ugly little secret now…or maybe letting him dangle for a few more weeks to really keep him invested.

You crossed your legs, something that made his gaze only harden to keep from staring at your body hugged tight in that long, slim evening gown that he….recognized from somewhere.

“Telling you my name….won't tell you who I am.”

Your eyes were dark when they found his again and you rolled the smoke away from your lips when you told him, motioning to the chair adjacent to you on the balcony,

“So, if you'd like a formal introduction…don't stand and wait.” 》