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katyawriteswhump · 4 months

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(You’re just) too good to be true

For @astrangersummer week 3 prompts, flowers and/or hugs. Thanks to bananas and yesdanger on discord for the extra prompts to get me going. I have tried to get as many in as possible.

Summary: Steve wakes up in hospital after everything is over and can’t quite believe how well everything has turned out…

Rating: T. WC: 1460 CW: None. Other tags: Steddie, platonic stobin, angst, sickfic, hurt/comfort, temporary amnesia, fix-it fic, everybody lives.

…

Steve flutters his eyes open and spies Robin sitting by his bed. Mascara streams down her face, and her hair’s a literal disaster zone.

“Steve! You’re awake!” She grabs his hand. “You’re gonna be okay. The doctor should be here any minute.”

Doctor!?! Where the heck am I?

His throat proves too dry for words. Robin garbles way too fast for him to understand and she’s wringing his fingers ever tighter.

If she’s touching me, I guess it can't be rabies.

His memory triggered, the shitshow slams back. First, the bats, the bites. Then everything that happened after, until they journeyed again into the Upside Down to try to kill Vecna.

Oh hold on, scratch that.

To fail to kill Vecna.

Staring blankly through Robin, he fixates on the terrible parts. Eddie lying bloodied and dead in Dustin’s arms. Dustin sobbing his eyes out. Max was pretty much lost too, and Vecna was alive, gone to ground, and…

What happened next? Why am I in a hospital bed? Jesus, I was fine!

There’s one of those IV thingies in his arm. He shivers though can’t tell if he’s cold or hot. The doctor arrives, jostles him, talks at him, shines lights in his eyes. He’s not in pain, but his brain is all woolly, and he’s confused and weak and lost.

He needs a hug more than ever in his life. Robin peeps at him over the doctor’s shoulder, bouncing like a spooked bunny-rabbit, then she’s gone.

It’s all too much.

He quits, sinking back into the darkness.

…

When Steve next pries an eyelid open, he spies Eddie breezing into the hospital room. Eddie joins Robin, who has moved to the window to pick at her nail polish.

Eddie is gone, which means… Oh, no, no, no, no, no! I’m dead too? Or dreaming?

His throat is achy and tight. He closes his eyes again, hot tears welling. More memories trickle back.

“Make him pay,” Eddie had said.

He recalls that last, lingering look between them. The one that slammed him like a freight train, because... Wtf? For some strange reason, that moment doesn’t feel like the end of a story anymore.

It feels like a beginning. Which is just dumb.

Eddie is no more.

He peeps again, watching a dude who is very definitely Eddie pouring bottled water into a vase of flowers on the windowsill. Robin seizes the bottle from him: “What are you doing, shit-bird? Those are silk—his mom brought them. They don’t need water.”

“Riiiight.” Eddie pulls a silly face, which Steve finds freakish levels of adorable. Suddenly, he wants to crush Eddie to him, tell him that he’s insanely happy he’s here, even if this is some crazy dreamworld, and…

… he wants to shove his tongue into Eddie’s mouth and kiss him stupid.

Huh?

Steve licks dry lips. Most bewildering of all, he somehow knows how awesome kissing Eddie is. As if they’ve done it before.

More than once.

Eddie sneezes dramatically. “If those flowers are fake, I’m allergic to WASP chintz. Which checks out, I guess.”

Robin laughs, though it’s sad and nervy. He catches a glimpse of Eddie’s bambi eyes, and they’re anxious, haunted, too. Then Lucas and Max walk in.

MAX? She’s in a coma!

Steve’s head throbs miserably from trying to make sense of this mad place.

He quits and drifts back to the darkness.

…

When he next peeps, Robin and Eleven are sitting by his bed, sharing a packet of cool ranch doritos.

Which makes less sense than ANY OF IT.

Robin’s gotten real picky lately about sharing food. At least, with anybody but him. He’s vaguely pissed, because these two hardly know each other. The way they’re huddled on the same chair, like close buddies, suggests otherwise.

Yeah, he’s vaguely pissed. And kinda jealous. He sort of hates himself for being needy... but he really wants that hug.

Then another memory flashes back. Some alien desert landscape, with Eleven blasting Vecna with everything she’s got. Eddie sprinting toward him—tailed by what looks like a medium-to-large demogorgon with at least a dozen extra flailing limbs—and Robin yelling, “Steve! El’s got this—help Eddie!”

He finally forces his eyes wide enough for them to see he’s watching. “R-Robin?” he croaks.

“Steve!” She leaps to her feet, nearly knocking El and the chair flying. “You’re really, actually awake this time? Please say yes.”

There’s noise and confusion. The doctor arrives again, checks Steve’s vitals, then bitches that there’s too many kids in the room: “It should be family only,” she says.

“We’re his family,” argues Robin. “His parents only come during official visiting hours.”

Robin is allowed to remain. She helps him sip water, and then he says, “Look, I think was dreaming earlier, or off my head on meds, because I saw you with Eddie, and I know that’s impossible, because…” He swallows hard, mumbles the hateful words: “He's gone, right?”

“Oh my God, you don’t remember?”

“Jesus, Robin! Remember what?”

“We won, Steve. Everyone lived. We even got Crissy back. Vecna’s the only one who’s history. If you hadn’t got hurt, it would’ve been the perfect revenge.”

This time, he manages to take more of her story in. He gets lost in the part where Robin and Dustin figure out time travel—some crazy shit about the proximity of alternate dimensions causing rumples in the space-time continuum. The rest of her tale unleashes a slew of badass memories that squish all the terrible ones into the dirt. Instead of Eddie being dead, he recalls…

“You and Eddie totally slayed this nasty-ass demo-squid-monster,” says Robin. “It got pretty intense, and when you survived, you had, like, an EPIC hug. Aaaand might’ve kissed. Then, later, you threw yourself at Eddie to save him from flying debris, then you rolled into a crater, and he wound up on top, and…”

Steve suddenly recalls that moment vividly. Eddie straddled his hips, and his own hands landed not entirely accidentally on Eddie’s butt. Once they’d gathered their breaths, Eddie leaned forward, swiped hair from his face, and whispered:

“About what you said to Wheeler. If you still want to win her back, that’s fine, I’ll back off, but… just so you know, six kids is cool with me, Stevie. Not like we need to adopt. When you’re around, they simply rock up.”

“So, yeah,” Robin says, ripping Steve from these mind-blowing revelations, “it took us half a dozen attempts to get things right. In the final boss-fight, it was just you, me, Eleven and Eddie. We were lost in the Upside Down for weeks, before we exploded Vecna into a billion disgusting pieces. Because you're you, you were closest, got caught in the blast. You lost a lot of blood, but all important appendages are still present and correct, including, um… any important appendages you were particularly worried about. Not that I’m saying you were, but… Ugh!” She facepalms. “This so isn’t where I meant to go with that.”

He faintly smirks. “You dug that hole, not me, Buckley.”

“No need to gloat. You’re gonna be fine. Everyone is going to be just fine.”

It’s still too much to take in. One question bugs him the most: “Eddie and me, erm… How far did we..?”

“I didn’t stand there and count the bases, Dingus! He’ll be back in five. Ask him. But, you know, there was talk of picking out rings, getting matching tats and—”

“You’re kidding?”

“A bit. Seriously, by the third week, you two seemed chill. Happy. I really hope you remember it all soon.”

He takes a beat. Warmth pools in his chest, because everything Robin says sure as heck feels true. He gives her hand a little pulse, and their fingers intertwine.

“Robin,” he says. “At the risk of sounding downbeat, it’s all a bit too perfect. I’m kinda worried I’m dead.”

“Oh! You’re really, really not. I’m all sticky and gross 'cos I was here all night, but… would a hug help?”

He nods, levers himself up a little, suppressing a wince at the effort. He wraps the arm unencumbered by the IV around her, and she awkwardly cuddles him. He rests his cheek on her bony shoulder, and breathes deeply, while she rubs juddering circles in his back.

She’s sweaty and clumsy and real.

“You’re not dead, I promise,” she whispers. “If you were, I’d be so mad with you, after all that effort to fix things. Besides, you still got hurt, and we were all out of time travel opportunities. Long story. Anyhow, it's been hell, till the doctors said you’d be okay, and even then… We’ve been so scared.”

Her trembling shakes through him. He tries not to sniffle, but he can't seem to help it. Everyone survived. Eddie’s alive. Eddie and he are…

His heart gives a crazy squeeze that says everything he needs to know.

“As soon as you’re out of here,” whispers Robin, “this summer is gonna be the best ever.”

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

#steddie #steve harrington #stobin friendship #platonic stobin #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington whump #a stranger summer #eddie munson lives

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dilfhos · 1 year

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STRAY

#!WHO : SHIGARAKI TOMURA

#!CC: puppygirl!reader, thoughts of depravity, readers kinda naive, no thots just dick, there’s no expressive consent but reader’s kinda dumb and needy, use of “doggy” and “pup”. reader does actually bark (not them arf, yips! like a husky, heady bark.) MDNI.

+bringing back this banger from my old blog. you can also read it on my ao3. im nervous lol idk how its gonna hold up 2 years later, diff audience. i can’t remember the ask specifically but it was something like Shigaraki finding a stray and he ends up using her. omg and i want to tag @bakatenshii idk if you remember my old alias but i do remembered you loved this fic!

+NETWORK(S): @angelshub @bitchcraftinc (i keep forgetting to do this mL, excuse the random @/lovelies)

“Good girl,” Shigaraki whispers and he really means it, at least for now. It makes him think having a pet like you may not be all that bad…

Shigaraki still wonders how he ever let this be, an animal-woman hybrid living in his already cramped apartment. Doesn’t know why he hadn’t bothered to kick you out either. But it could be anybody’s guess as to why you still remain.

It all started when he got into an argument with his landlord, one that required him the self control to back off and avoid killing the bastard. It was rainy but Shigaraki paid no mind to the stinging raindrops that pelted his skin and soaked his clothes. It was dark out, but not too dark as to not notice you cowering against the side of his building upon his return. Your eyes were closed as you trembled in the cold rain.

Shigaraki didn’t know why he found himself moving closer to get a better look at you but when your eyes shot open, he found himself almost curious. He’d never seen anything like you before. Especially when your ears, you very doglike ears twitched forward, erect and alert. But you didn’t seem all that afraid. You were dressed in soaked shirt that was too big for you as it sagged off your body.

He crouched down and you inched toward him reluctantly and as you moved from your previous position, his eyes sought out the tail that had been tucked in between your legs.

“Hey, there you are,” Someone cooed from behind him. Shigaraki turned to eye the man. There was nothing all that remarkable about him; he wore all black, his hood over his head save for a few dark locks that stuck to his brows. Shigaraki wasn’t the least bit intimidated. But that couldn’t be said for you as you frantically dove into his arms, letting out a frightened whimper. Your ears flattened against your head as your hands curled into Shigaraki’s coat.

He wanted to back you off and leave from the situation as it had nothing to do with him and was fixing to do so when he looked down. Your pupils were blown and eyes glossy, pleading.

He sighed before standing, pulling you up with him to stand on trembling feet.

“She yours?” Shigaraki mumbled. You moved behind him, your hands tightening on his clothes.

“Heh, yeah, ran right out through the door. Isn’t that right baby?” You growled all while cowering behind Shigaraki’s form.

“No collar,” Shigaraki noted.

“Been meaning to get her one. C’mon baby, why don’t you leave the nice man alone and come back home with me?” He cooed.

The utter confidence and trust you had in Shigaraki at this moment was appalling. He barely covered the man in terms of height and upon first glance, he looked rather average. Definitely not the type to win in a fist fight. So why were you so dependent on him to save you?

Shigaraki didn’t have time to really think too much about it because the man advanced, silver glinting under the streetlamp. You yelped and cowered back against the wall again, covering your eyes.

You heard a grunt followed by a pained cry as that then died into the sound of pelting rain. When you lowered your shaky hands, Shigaraki was standing over a pile of what looked to be ash, the knife a few feet away.

Ever since that night, he couldn’t seem to shake you.

You’re loyal and to him, it’s annoying. Showing up at his doorsteps turns into you sleeping on his ratty couch. His chasing you away turns into grumbles of tolerance. The typical sneer he wears when you come sniffing around dissolved in hidden blushes and twitched lips as your distrustful cowering eventually turn into you becoming disturbingly comfortable around him.

After another day of pressing his key into the lock does he already see you on the other side of the door, tail whipping back and forth in excitement as you await his return. Except he isn’t really in the mood. Today was particularly bad and he wanted nothing more than to possibly let off steam, maybe watch something, blow his load and sleep.

“Stupid mutt, stop doing that!” He growls when his back immediately slams against the door, eyes narrowed in the way you smile up at him.

“Welcome home sir.” You beamed.

Another thing you picked up was calling him ‘sir’. Despite the many times he tells you not to. He wasn’t your last owner, and honestly, he’d like it if you didn’t call him anything. But every one of his complaints go through one ear and out the other with you having half the intelligence of an actual dog.

He recoils when he feels your tongue graze his neck. Groans when it doesn’t just end there. You’re licking his chin, his neck, and when your tongue laps over his lips, he’s trying to buck you off. But you’re so persistent as you press further against him, your front grinding up against his groin unknowingly.

Shigaraki bites back a moan at your ignorance, his cock already hardening from your aimless shifting.

You couldn’t feel the bulge pushing against your thigh? The soft grunts he’d release when you’d lap at the rough skin of his neck? You can’t be that stupid or then maybe you are.

But would it be that bad if you are? Because then he wouldn’t feel guilty when he dreams of stuffing you full with his cock. You practically ask for it every chance you get with him. The sleeping in his bed, your excessive show of affection, the sickening devotion in your eyes.

And then, isn’t it what he deserved? He did save you that night. Do you even remember how easy it could have been for him to just walk away? To give you up to that creep? Sure it only happened a few weeks ago but he thinks of that night as if it was only the last. How when he brought you home and went to retrieve a towel to dry you up, you were on your hands and knees practically presenting yourself to him as you slumped in exhaustion. As if giving him the go ahead to do what he wanted to and by gods, it took everything with him not to.

He wasn’t a hero, not by a long shot. And maybe you didn’t have the mental capacity to accept that he was actually a villain because in your eyes, he was your savior.

But as said, today was a particularly bad day and right now he felt anything but.

So just this once he’ll give in. Whether you wanted it or not didn’t matter to him at this point, already past contemplation. After all you’re his pet now, his property and if he can’t do this then what good are you really?

You release your little whimpers and when you look up, your eyes are wide, so full of confusion when he suddenly has you on your hands and knees pressing into you from behind on the floor. Your owner wears a new look, his eyes so feral, teeth gritted. And you know that look; it was the look of your last owner among all the other men that tried to take you on the streets. Hunger. Greed. Desperation.

And you should be wary, should cower away from the carnality in his eyes because you know better than anyone that when it’s present one thing is desired. Yet, you hold your ground. You don’t struggle, in fact he could just make out the way your hips shimmy back a little bit and the whine that surfaces from your throat.

You just can’t help it, the air around you has changed. A thick cloud of hot lust is weighing down around you and so much so, you can’t help but to submit. Besides you trust him one for reasons you can’t figure out.

Shigaraki refuses to meet your eyes, instead he quickly fumbles with his belt and takes out his hard cock. A blush spreads across his face when he eyes the steady slick trailing down your thighs and upon closer inspection he can see how swollen you were and that’s what does him in.

It’s what has him surging forward, bottoming out completely inside of you. Your ears flatten against your head as you let out the neediest sounding moan, one that has a shiver licking down his spine.

“Shit. Shit,” He should feel ashamed, taking advantage of you like this. But he clings on the fact that he’s a villain, that’s his justification. A villian with his pet, that’s all this is.

It’s fueling his newfound vigor as he speeds up, the heat of your tight cunny sucking him in with every cant of his hips.

His fingers dig into the plush of your hips as his own thrust forward, his cock forcing past your tight ring of muscle. You look back again, your eyes glossy with tears, long tongue hanging out as you whine and pant. He was so thick, so heavy within your tight, hot walls. Your nails scrape helplessly against the dingy carpet as he rocks into you with so much drive.

In the midst of your panting and whining surfaces his voice, so grating and filthy as he tumbles every degrading name in the book. It should worry him and yet it has his stomach knotting up, his thighs and glutes tightening as he holds on to your hips for dear life. And in the midst of that is the loud, wet, shlicks of each sink into you.

“My needy little bitch. Taking my cock like a good doggy,” He grits, eyeing the recoil of your ass against his hips.

His hand seeks out the base of your tail as he uses it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock. And it hurts, it has the tears spilling over and yet, your cunt only tightens around him some more.

“F-Feels good sir!” You cry out at about the same time as he mumbles,

“Good doggy, such a good pup,” And at his praise, your ears bend forward, and your tail begins to switch slowly in his gasp. You feel a knot in your tummy, desperately winding down to what you’re chasing. It has you rocking back against him needy to have, so so needy. And the way your resolve has melted away, it makes all his thoughts of guilt completely vanish, leaving him with an unbearable need to fill you up.

He’s quickly pulling out and flipping you onto your back, nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he spreads you wide.

You were so wet, inhumanly so as it’s gushing down onto the carpet and the sight alone has him nearly cumming right then and there but he holds it. At least until he’s thrusting into you again, your head thrown back as you let out a broken whine. Your tits bounce with all the force he’s using as he’s putting everything into these last moments. His one track kind only focuses in the tuft of fur above your cunny, at the way your puffy lips pull part each time he's pushing forward and the slick coating his cock.

You’re yelping with each kiss he delivers to your cervix, hands desperate to hold onto to your new owner. You reach out and he grasps your wrists, using you to thrust impossibly deeper into you. Static fills his mind as his eyes roll back, his hips slamming against yours, balls smacking your ass each time.

“Fuck, fuck cumming!”

“Sir! Sir please-” You cut your own self off with a heady bark, one that startles him. It’s also what has him groaning as he twitches, his seed spilling so suddenly into you. Your pussy milks him as you gush around his dick and it has him falling over, elbows pressed into the carpet on either side of your head. Your legs wrap around his waist as your hips shimmy up against him, whining as you push past your own limits, twitching every so slightly at the overstimulation and sealing this moment of what would be the best one in your simple little head.

“Good girl,” Shigaraki whispers and he really means it, at least for now. It makes him think having a pet like you may not be all that bad.

He also thinks he should probably name you.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #bnha #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero acedamia #bnha tomura #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigraki #ik its too early to post but i want it out of my drafts before i change my mind about posting it #mha shigaraki #bnha shigaraki #boost if you can #[ output—☆ ]#tw hybrids

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lunarduty · 8 months

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𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙉 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙎𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙀

☾ 5 times simon scares you and 1 time you scare him. SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X F!READER TAGS | canon-typical violence, slight nsfw, depictions of injuries WC | 6,405 x

it felt foolish, really, to be taking cover behind a vending machine.

there were few places to stay hidden that were still within view of your door, where you prayed ghost would reappear with a thumbs up and you can leave before somebody came up to buy a soda and you would have to pretend you weren’t cowering.

and apart from all that…it felt FOOLISH to even call ghost all the way down to the dorm building. on the phone, after calming you, he swore he wasn’t far. promised that you weren’t pulling him away from anything important. though, you figured even if he was having a meeting with a general all the way across base, he would’ve come anyway.

big or small, he never let you deal with things you weren’t equipped for. but this…

“simon?” you called out, hoping your voice seemed nonchalant. your eyes darted up and down the hall in case anybody showed up. still empty. nobody but simon would know. “is it done?”

carefully, you creep out from behind the vending machine. the door to your room was left ajar, and though you could see a tiny sliver of your carpet bathed in sunlight, there was no sign of simon or the intruder. your hand anxiously wrings itself, but you fought the urge to return to your hiding spot.

but why wasn’t he responding?

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” you breathe out once reaching the door. ears strain for a noise of any kind, but there’s just SILENCE. and so, with little choice, your boot comes out to nudge the door the rest of the way open. it slowly swings with a dull squeak - one that simon has been meaning to fix but never has.

it's the squeak that tells simon that you’ve finally found the guts to come back. he’s crouched by your dresser, back to you, head twisting halfway to glance back through the corner of his eye. “called me over for this?” he questions. and you expect to find a tinge of annoyance or frustration in his voice, but there was none. he sounds more amused than anything - you would’ve preferred if he was annoyed.

“is it done?” you repeat, bravely still standing in the doorway, on your toes to try and see over simon’s broad shoulders.

he sighs lowly and stands. “yeah, it’s done. now get dressed before you miss training.”

a relieved grin spreads over your face as you step in, fully prepared to walk straight up to simon and press a kiss on his cheek. call him your hero because you know it’ll either fluster him or goad him into staying a little longer - it really all depended on what kind of mood he was in.

but as he turned, holding a cup upside down against a sheet of paper, you froze. even scrambled back to the doorway, fully prepared to slam the door shut as protection. “simon, what the fuck-”

“relax, it can’t get out. ‘m gonna throw it outside.”

“i wanted you to KILL the damn thing, not let it loose outside so it can find its way back in!” simon takes a few steps toward the door, not caring about your proximity. and in a desperate attempt to stay far away, you bolt back inside and to the opposite end of the room.

simon looks unimpressed. “stop being dramatic. it’s just a spider.”

he swings the cup in your direction. a fearful whimper comes up, and you suddenly wish you’d armed yourself before being chased out of your own room. “simon, i swear to god, you better keep that thing away from me.” and by the way he pauses, silent as a mouse, you could tell he’s contemplating whether or not to keep up the torture. to keep teasing you about the little spider trapped behind the cup - but simon isn’t a stupid man. and he’s seen how vengeful you can get after soap or gaz pulls some shit on you.

“alright, alright,” simon finally relents. a relieved breath comes out once he takes a step back toward the door. “wanna come with? to make sure he’s gone?”

“no, no, i trust you to get the job done.” as if you wanna see that freaky little fucker again. “just make sure to let him go far away from my room, okay?”

“yes, ma’am.”

the room seemed so much larger when simon left. he took up so much space that he always left a feeling of emptiness in his wake. it usually made you feel a little lonely, and yearn for the next time he would be here to fill his place again. but between him and the spider, perhaps you’ve had enough company for today.

just as he said, you quickly changed into training gear. and it wasn’t until you were laces up your shoes did you hear an URGENT knock on the door, followed by simon’s voice calling your name. “i’m almost ready!” you answer him, not bothering to come and open the door.

he opens it anyway. the squeak is barely there from how quickly it swings open. that’s enough to draw your attention away from your shoes, and you notice instantly that simon’s eyes are roaming around your room - cup and paper at the ready. the look in his eyes is eerily similar to how he looks when an op goes sideways. “don’t panic,” simon says, tone flat and steady.

it only puts you more on edge. “simon…”

“i think the fucker must’ve escaped when you came in. was the only time i didn’t have eyes on ‘im. might still be in here, but since he’s scared, you probably won’t see-”

sneaker half-tied, in the middle of simon’s sentence, you jump up and sprint out of your room. maybe tonight you can have a good laugh at the fact a spider managed to make you clear a room quicker than bullets. but for now, it’s back behind the vending machine you go.

☾

IV.

adrenaline can be a blessing and a curse, depending on the situation. most times, it’s both.

like right now - there was little pain to inhibit your movements. a DULL throb at most to prove your opponent has gotten more than a few good hits in, but not blindingly painful enough to keep you on the ground. you felt the heat of swelling and the wetness of blood without the pain that came with it.

but just because you could keep getting up, doesn’t mean you should. the adrenaline, for all its benefits, seemed to be giving you some kind of delusions of grandeur. making you think you could kill this guy, even though doesn’t seem to be nearly as hurt as you are. like a little voice in your ear, telling you it’ll keep dulling the pain long enough for you to win this fight.

the voice usually sounded like simon. right now, it seemed to be scolding you more than encouraging you.

you stood. swung a fist. he blocks it and returns one of his own. it slams into your side. the air is knocked from your lungs. your head rushes out to slam into his nose. there’s a satisfying crunch, but it’s not enough. NOTHING ever seems like it’s enough to down him. a meaty hand grips your throat and throws you against the asphalt.

and like a cloud of vapor, the adrenaline bleeds away. every cut and bruise and swelled muscle rushes to scream in pain, but the only one you can really focus on is the hand on your neck. squeezing tight enough where you’re almost afraid he might rip muscle and break bone.

your feet start to kick. arms swinging out to try and hit him off. the man grunts, but doesn’t relent. “you fucking bitch,” are the only words you manage to hear through the pulsing blood in your ears.

maybe simon was right. you need more time in the training ring.

but just as the edges of your vision start to dance, the OPPRESSIVE weight on your neck is gone. your body instantly, instinctively, suck in the air it was deprived of - happily drowning in it by the way you cough and sputter. your arms and legs, numb and throbbing, push you away in anticipation of being attacked again.

it never comes. and once your lungs stop seizing, you can see why.

you’ve never really thought twice on why simon was called ghost. it always seemed to fit him perfectly and without doubt - a specter of a man, coming and going without a sound, not even allowing others to see his face.

for so long, you’ve seen him as simon rather than ghost. humanizing him in a way very few do. but right now, it’s like you’re getting a glimpse of how others see him. not the man who sneaks into your room at night with hushed whispers, or who drops everything to help get rid of a spider in your room, even though he thinks silly. simon had pulled your attacker off so easily. pinned him to the ground with a knee on his chest and further BREAKING his nose in the time it took you to gasp for air.

and now… jesus, now he won’t stop hitting him.

as the pulsing blood in your ears died away, you heard every crack of bone and squish of flesh. the man, who had been cursing you before, groaned unintelligibly after every strike of simon’s fist. mimicking your movements of desperately swinging his arms but failing to actually hit anything important. and simon, he didn’t make a sound. didn’t swear or yell or so much as grunt as he continued his attacks. on the surface, one might think it was a cold and detached beating, but you knew him better. simon was never so obvious in his rage.

still, this version of simon chilled you. in a way he’s never done before.

“simon…”

your voice was small - whether from pain or fear, it’s unclear. it didn’t need to be a shout. simon stops immediately, fist raised up for another strike but it’s never delivered. and now that he’s stopped, it’s easier to see him. to see the rapid falling and rising of his chest, and the way his other hand grips the coat of his victim. to see how he had a knife tucked into its sheath, never used.

you blink, and he’s suddenly over you - skull mask dirty from the mission, now dotted in a fresh splattering of blood. a sharp and UNEASY contrast from his eyes, which are soft. concerned. still hot in a way a campfire is - welcomed to chase away the cold, but dangerous if you got too close. “you okay?” simon asks. his voice is gruff, but unchanged.

somehow unchanged. even after beating a man to death.

when you don’t respond, he brings a hand up to your neck, where the first blotches of bruises have begun to bloom. he uses his unbloodied hand, yet you flinch away from it. as if it’s a hot branding iron. as if simon would ever use his hand on you like he did on someone who’d just hurt you.

his hand instantly pull back. “you’re alright,” he continues, thinking you’re probably just in shock. maybe you were, but your eyes fall to his STAINED hand. “c’mon, love. gotta get you outta here.”

simon wasn’t afforded the luxury of not being able to touch you when both his hands grip your arms and pull you up to your feet. once he gets you walking, it’s a little easier to come out of the fog. easier to remember the mission, especially as you walk further and further from the detour.

he still grips your arm tight, speaking about their next plans, captain price’s orders, a new target. important things you should be listening to.

your head twists around, and you catch sight of the broken body simon left behind just before he pulls you out of sight from it.

☾

III.

the cold should’ve chased you back inside long before now. before it had a chance to sting your eyes and numb your nose and stop making your breaths come out thick and white. price came out an hour ago to smoke, cursed the weather, and insisted you keep your watch from inside. but he didn’t force you - maybe he recognized that look on your face. knew you needed the silence of snow.

the world outside of the rickety cabin the team sheltered in was dark and still, the only light coming from the way the snow reflected the moon’s light. in any other circumstance, it’d be a beautiful sight. one you’d drag simon out of bed to see - he’d grumble and scowl but stay anyway to keep you warm.

he still would, if you asked him now. after today, it was made so abundantly CLEAR what exactly he’d do for you. how far he’d go for you. such knowledge felt a little too heavy to hold. too bright to focus on clearly, like trying to stare at the sun during an eclipse.

maybe that’s why you wanted to stay out here, preferring to watch a dark treeline than face the sun.

but much like the force of nature that it is, the sun will always rise. simon will always find his way back to you.

“aren’t you cold?”

his voice was rough and grated by sleep - and came so completely by surprise that it made you gasp in a lungful of frozen air. the adrenaline from the fight had faded long ago, but a soldier is never too far from feeling it again, CRASHING like a wave on a beach.

you swung around, fingers curled into a sore fist, aiming in the general direction of the voice. it was too dark to see even the stark white of the mask he wears, but in your head, he wore the face of your attacker. it faded between before and after. between healthy and scowling and bloody and fearful. when he caught your wrist, the hard grip of his hand was too similar. he was wearing gloves - the feel of his skin not even offering its usual comfort.

“hey! relax, it’s me. calm down. it’s just us.”

fearful instinct had you wrenching your arm back, and simon thankfully released it. but your heart still thumped painfully, skin erupting in goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold. you backed away from simon, leaning against the worn wooden fence of the front porch, and dug your nails into it.

for a few moments, simon was quiet. you felt his eyes on you, but couldn’t bear to meet them. because you know what he’s thinking. what he’s about to say. you want to stall it for as long as possible, but simon was still very much a force of nature. “not gonna bother asking if you’re okay,” he says. better that he didn’t. “you should go inside. get some rest. had a long day, love.”

“i’m not tired,” is your flat response. voice hoarse with disuse, weak with the ebbing of new adrenaline. and even as you say it, your body makes a liar out of you.

simon sighs and steps closer. the tilt of his head is outlined with moonlight. it’s always shocking how beautiful he can be without even showing his face. “something’s off, i know it is. you’ve been in fights before - plenty of ‘em. why’s this one so different?”

you scoff at his words, and for the first time in a while, your breath comes out white and thick. “you’re really asking me that? after today? simon, you beat a man to death. with your hands.”

even as you say it, you know how it sounds. how he’ll respond. you have to listen to it anyway.

“i kill men all the time.”

“yeah, but this… this was different.”

your eyes drop to the ground, as if in SHAME. ashamed of what, it was hard to tell. simon wasn’t heartless, but he was an efficient killer. to him, it was just part of his job. something he avoids if he can, but does if he must. you can’t see his eyes, but you know how they must look. “it wasn’t,” he says, like a fact. “he tried to kill you. almost did it, too. if you think i’d let anybody do that, you must not know me well, sweetheart.”

this time, you’re the one who’s silent. there’s more you want to say, but it’s impossible to find the words. how to fully describe how you feel - especially to simon, of all people. so, with little else to add, you just nod. your shoulders go slack, and maybe he’s right. you should get some rest.

you can’t even say so before he closes the distance. hands on your shoulders, pausing for a moment to look at your face, and pulls you against him in a tight, grounding hug. compared to the icy air that’s been your only companion these last few hours, simon’s heat was both intrusive and welcomed. his arms wrap around you, squeezing tight, and you barely think twice before hugging him back.

“i’m not sorry for saving you. i’d do it again, if i had to. ain’t pretty, but i would.” his hand runs up and down your back - meant to be a calming action, despite barely being able to feel it through your thick coat. still, his voice was doing more than enough to calm you. “still, i’m sorry.”

it’s unclear what he was apologizing for if not for beating a man to save you. the words still give a bit of closure. help the image of bloodied hands and flailing limbs ebb from your mind, tucked away to surely REEMERGE on another dark day.

but at least you know simon will be there when it does.

☾

II.

“looks like you’ll be on the mend in no time! i’ll tell captain price we can’t have any more fun until you’re back in top shape.”

gaz, above all others, always had this special ability to lift your mood. swollen bruises hinder the smile he elicits, but it shines nonetheless. “like that’ll stop him.” your words don’t exactly match the smile you attempt to give gaz - and not just because the nurse tied your bandage just a little too tight.

he picks up on it. steps closer to the cot, so he can speak and not be overheard by the nurses of the infirmary. “what’s bugging you?” he asks. “your injuries aren’t too bad. i doubt price will keep you benched for long.”

“it’s not price i’m worried about.”

his brows knit together, and then he blinks. you have to look away when gaz offers a sympathetic smile. “you saved his life. ghost might be a little CROSS for a few days, but at least he’s alive to even be upset. this could’ve ended a lot worse.”

gaz makes sense, of course. he usually does. but even his sensible words don’t lighten the weight on your chest - a weight that seems to grow when a shadow appears in the doorway of the infirmary. simon doesn’t spend too much time here. price has gotten on his ass about not going enough. so the fact that he showed up willingly doesn’t bode well.

“lieutenant,” gaz greets with a light tone. it was nice that he even attempted to keep simon in a better mood, but one glance up from the ground was enough to read his posture. tight and RIGID like a fist. like a held breath. the moments before a storm hits the shore.

“you’re dismissed, sergeant.”

it’s hard not to flinch at simon’s order, as if were another blow to take. and for a brief moment, gaz hesitates. you watch him, half-hoping he finds an excuse to stay. but with nothing but a pitiful glance at you, he simply dips his head and makes for the door.

the stretch of silence, in reality, isn’t as long as it feels. a few seconds maybe, but it feels like minutes. buried under simon’s gaze, unable to breathe or move or speak. it makes you wonder when simon gained so much control over you - he would argue the opposite. tell you how wrapped around your finger he is and blame you for it before kissing you.

“simon-”

“tell me why.”

you blink in confusion, and finally drag your eyes up to meet his. face hidden beneath his mask, it’s always his eyes that allow you a glimpse into how he’s feeling or what he’s thinking. but strangely, it’s easy to forget just who simon is. what he is. and you don’t find a single thing hiding in his gaze. “why what?”

“i know you’re not a fucking IDIOT, so that can’t be why you acted like one today.” his words still stung, even if they weren’t exactly an insult. again, your eyes drop - this time, out of shame. a weird sort of shame. one that you feel is unwarranted but forces its way in regardless.

“you were in trouble,” you start, “so i saved you.”

“i had it under control. you were ordered to fall back. you disobeyed. that’s all there is to it.”

in spite of his words, harsh and SHARP as a knife, you look up at him. spine straight, shoulders squared, much of your sheepish shame melting away under heat of anger. “you could’ve died, simon! was i just supposed to leave you behind? save myself?”

“yes!” he barks - and like an angry dog, he stalks forward. eyes narrowed, muscles tight, ready to lash out with teeth if you’d been literally anybody else on this planet. rarely, if ever, are you the subject of simon’s temper. you know he doesn’t intend to come off as frightening. not to you - never you. still, his presence is a looming shadow and you might as well be afraid of the dark. “you always save yourself, do you understand? if it comes down to me or you, it better fucking always be you.”

“simon, you’re asking me to not even try to ever save your life.” and dammit, tears start to pool in your eyes. prompted by fear and anger and exhaustion and worry and the implications of what simon is saying. you bring up a hand to wipe them away, knowing more will follow. “i- i can’t do that. not any more than you can.”

a harsh sigh rolls out of his lungs, and he thankfully steps away from the cot to pace beside it. his boots land heavily against the ground. he says nothing, but you can practically hear him say what he wants to say. anticipate hearing it. feel it hit you like a knife in the heart.

but he’s always finding ways to surprise you - as unpredictable as a storm.

“captain price asked my opinion of whether or not you need some time out of the field after your little stunt.” this time, simon’s words aren’t as loudly obvious of his anger - they’re hard and cold like winter ice. a way to detach his feelings. it still makes you whirl your head around to face him. “i suggested you should take some time off.”

“no, you didn’t.”

“i did.”

despite the deep, SHARP ache in your muscles, you spring off the cot. hands curling into fists, a harsh and breathy version of his name spouting out like steam. “you can’t just do that! i save your life - like you saved mine - and you want to punish me for it? that’s not fair!”

“i’m your lieutenant. i can make judgment calls when i see fit. orders exist for a reason - you can’t just ignore them when they’re inconvenient for you.”

“oh, fuck the orders, simon. you’re just being overprotective by keeping me from doing my fucking job. yeah, i got hurt. that doesn’t give you the right to bench me.”

the words tumble from your mouth, more heated and angry than you probably meant but everything ached and you were exhausted and this was the worst time to hear about this. simon didn’t respond at first - it was then when you remembered you were still in the infirmary. when you glance around, the nurses quickly avert their gazes away from the scene.

your face grows warm as simon steps closer. looming over you with his brows knitted together and a gaze that FREEZES the heat of embarrassment. it takes a willpower you didn’t know you possessed not to shrink under it. “get some rest. i don’t want to see you working for a week,” he states. another order he’s daring you to disobey, it seems.

the brush of his arm as he leaves might as well have been a shoulder check. it hurt almost as much.

☾

five days had passed. a day ago, your muscles stopped aching. two days ago, soap took pity on you and snuck in some reports on their upcoming mission because you were so bored. three days ago, gaz tried to take your mind off things by taking you out to lunch, and was the only one making conversation. four days ago, price came around to see how you were doing and give some anecdotes about his own rocky experiences. five days ago was the last time you even saw simon.

which was along the lines of his orders, only you took it a step further, just so he couldn’t say you were disobeying him yet again: not seeing you at all.

usually five days would have you clawing at the walls to even catch a glance at simon across the room, but with your last conversation repeating in your head, it acted as a BALM to the ache of being away from him. a wake up call when you were alone in bed, thinking about how easily he can get you to sleep.

but simon-induced insomnia was definitely a drawback. midnight came and went without a wink of sleep for the third night in a row. so when a series of insistent knocks pounded on your door, it was almost a blessing. something to do and blame on for the lack of sleep.

stumbling through the dark, shivering slightly from the loss of a lukewarm bed, you make it to the door and swing it open. “hello?”

in your groggy mind, you’d predicted that maybe it was a drunken soap and gaz stopping by after a night of drinks. or more hopefully, price suddenly deciding to cut your leave time short under dire circumstances.

simon’s presence was itself like a ghost tonight. there and not there. he stood imposingly, and when you blinked, his body was looser. he said nothing for a few brief moments, and it made you wonder if you really were looking at him.

but the weight of his hands on your shoulders was unmistakeable. and when he backed you into your room, you caught a hint of his scent, and it suddenly reminded you of all the times he’d come here late at night. quickly tugging him inside before anyone can see. this was similar but different. just slightly off, like the very first day summer turns to autumn.

you try to say his name, but it comes out more like a FEARFUL yelp. hands coming up to grasp his wrists, unsure of his intentions and past experiences with men much bigger than you only makes things more blurry.

it’s in his grip on your shoulders, harder and more desperate. it’s in the way he kicked the door shut behind him, not caring if others in the hall may hear. it’s in the way he backs you into the wall, hand coming up to protect your head but also crushing your body with his own.

“simon,” you gasp, but your misgivings are cut off when he crashes his lips against yours.

he’s only ever kissed you like this once before. after a mission gone HORRIBLY wrong, and he was blaming himself. you went to him, knowing he’d isolate and not allowing it. wanting to be there for him, and the only way you really could was to distract him from the knowledge of his own fuck up.

he doesn’t reply with words. just a short hum that thunders in his chest - with how close he holds you, it’s impossible not to feel it vibrate your own ribs. it isn’t until your hands are on his arms, gripping tightly, do you feel the cold dampness of rain that left its mark on him. how long has he been outside? why did he walk here in the middle of the night during a storm?

his muscles are hard and taut under your fingers. the temptation to simply feel them stretch and flex, letting simon have his way with you, was undeniably strong.

but you haven’t seen him in five days.

when you push him away, simon relents. but he doesn’t go too far. you taste his toothpaste on your tongue and realize he’s wearing an old t-shirt under his wet jacket - a failed attempt to sleep, it seems. you knew the feeling too well.

“why are you here?” a bit of embarrassment rises at the sound of your own voice - it sounds too SOFT and pliable, especially against the silence of night and a distant roll of thunder. you meant it to be harder. simon deserved a bit of attitude. but… well, it’s been five days.

his thumb caress over a little spot on your shoulder. a flash of lightning reveals his expression - he wasn’t hiding. “to talk,” simon replies in a stony voice.

the sound of it makes you shiver. it was hard and rough and reminded you a little too much of your last conversation. and with him looming over you, trapped between him and the wall, it was hard not to feel small again. to try and square up against a titan like simon, even if you feel the outline of his cock slowly begin to press against your stomach.

he leans in to kiss you again - another contradiction. but you keep him away, and your hands hold him back is like a leash on a dog. “i don’t know if we have anything to talk about.”

“i’m sorry, alright? i’m sorry. i’m…” he trails off with a sigh, head lowering as if to break eye contact. with the dark of night and his silence, it’s hard to gauge what he’s thinking. how he’s feeling. but you do know that simon rarely ever apologizes. not so outright, anyway. maybe a cup of tea exactly the way you like it after a little disagreement, or a kiss on the cheek if he annoyed you. never this.

he doesn’t try to kiss you again - when he leans back in, it’s to press his head against yours. “i love you. you know that, right?”

your hands grip his arms tighter. not to keep him away, but to stop him from leaving again. “yes,” you breathe out.

“if anything ever happens to you, and i could’ve stopped it…” another sigh comes out - HARSHER this time. as if the thought itself riles simon up. “maybe i was being overprotective, yeah? shouldn’t’ve gone that far. i told price earlier today that he outta include you on the next op. he agreed.”

“simon.” his name is a whisper. a morning mist. your hands finally drop from his arms, and he wastes no time in getting close again. large arms wrapping around your body - and even in the dead of night, his lips find yours with no hesitation.

you expect the kiss to be rougher than it was. a kiss after so long apart from each other usually includes a graze of teeth or his tongue chasing yours. instead, it’s slower. gentle in a way that simon has learned to be. lips interlocking with yours as if holding your hand, and you don’t even notice you’re close to crying until he breaks it to breathe and your throat aches.

“‘m sorry.” his hands slide from your shoulders to curve around each cheek, as if he’s cradling something precious. but when lightning strikes again, it must’ve been much closer than last time - it completely lights up simon’s face for the briefest moment. and the way he’s watching you is opposite from how he talks and touches.

“i know.” tired of feeling his cold, damp coat, your hands push it aside to press against the hard, hot plane of his torso. simon lets out a shaky breath, which turns into a hitch when you greedily push the offensive old cotton of his shirt up to touch his skin - utterly untouched by the rain and it nearly BURNS you.

“‘m sorry.” he curls against you, face burying into your neck and hips grinding lightly against yours. he’s wearing jeans, but you’re wearing shorts - it’s plain as day how much he’s missed you. or more truthfully, how hard it makes him at the thought of making up for his asshole behavior with his tongue and hands and cock.

one of your legs is pushed up and out to make room for his hips - curling around his thigh and being utterly dependent on him and the wall to stay upright. “simon, please…”

“forgive me?”

beneath the rough GRATING of his voice - the way it gets when simon is so close to just ripping your clothes off and having you against the closest hard surface - you heard a tinge of amusement. teasing, as if he didn’t just apologize for the worst fight you’ve ever had and isn’t still on thin ice.

in his favor, it’s hard to be angry with someone when they’re pushing their hand down the front of your shorts. waiting on your answer before sinking a finger in and stretching you out.

there’s no hesitation. you answer at the same time your hips buck forward, forcing simon to slide his fingers against your cunt. knowing he couldn’t stop once he realized how soaked you were. how you’d forgiven him the moment he darkened your doorstep and gave you a fright in the middle of the night.

“yes.”

☾

growing up, simon always associated fear with weakness. cowardice. a flaw in his character. it’s just a thing he left behind in his childhood next to his teddy bear. in spite what his reputation may say, he still feels the inklings of fear now and again. apprehension before a big mission. concern about his comrades. maybe some trepidation in the seconds before shit really hits the fan.

but the white hot horror that hit him when a building collapsed right on top of you? a TERROR so paralyzing, simon could barely scream your name, much less run to you?

that wasn’t something he had too much experience in.

it took soap shoving him from behind to get simon to move his legs. slam his boots against the dirt, calling out your name in a hollow hope he’d hear you call his back. not that he’d even hear it with the blood pulsing in his ears, still ringing from the explosion, soap and gaz both yelling your name alongside him.

simon reached the wreckage first - the dust and dirt floating in the air was still thick, and even through his mask, he tasted it. coughed on it. ignored it to start tearing back wood and stone and steel. where were you when the building got hit? on the edge, or right in the center? fuck, simon can’t even remember. he swore he saw you by the stairs, but you were still running, so maybe you were at the door by the time the walls started falling?

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” sand gritted between his teeth as he cursed. his glove had a hole in the palm and he’s pretty sure the splintered wood cut him there but he can’t feel it. not when simon keeps expecting to shove aside a rock and find your broken, battered body.

“lieutenant!”

he nearly snarled at gaz’s voice, not bothering to look up. “look over there! call rescue services - tell ‘em we need excavation teams!” simon threw a hand in the general direction of a pile of rubble.

bloody hell, he was right. he felt so fucking GUILTY recommending you off the op and he was right. simon’s suddenly wishing he’d just grown a fucking backbone against you for once. put his foot down and just faced the brunt of your anger because then you wouldn’t be trapped under debris in some god forsaken country.

“ghost, stop a second!”

you always told him how jealous you were of him. ‘things would be so much easier for me if i was as fearless as you.’

fuck, what would you say if you knew his hands were shaking so badly, he could barely grip pieces of debris? that his terror CHOKED him more than the smoke. that he couldn’t decide which frightened him more - finding you broken or not finding you at all.

“simon.”

again, he froze. a decade of war and fighting and blood, and simon has frozen twice in one day.

“hey, you okay?”

“yeah, i think i am.”

“anything broken?”

“other than the building?”

“yer real fuckin’ funny, lass. sure price’ll like that one when he finds out you almost got caught in all ‘at.”

when simon turns, he can’t even blame the smoke or his fucked up head for seeing you standing there, completely fine. leaning on gaz for what seems like a hurt foot, and taking soap’s canteen to wash down the smoke. but alive. smiling. turning and looking at him and motioning him over.

he’s silent as he stumbles back. boot slipping on loose debris here and there, but nothing that would stopped him from getting to you.

and once he’s close, you push off of gaz. knowing simon would catch you and hold you, and that’s what he fucking does. not truly believing you were okay until he felt you breathing against him. heard your voice right against his chest. “i’m okay, si. got out just in time. calm down.”

“i am calm.”

he wasn’t lying. he’s never lied to you. the flash of fear ran hot but burned out fast, already fading into a reassured calm - still as ash.

his eyes fall shut for a moment before you speak up again. "simon, don't be mad..."

he tenses up at your words, fingers suddenly clutching a little tighter. fuck, do you ever give him a break? "what's wrong?" simon asks, pulling back to really look at you. eyes scanning every inch, thinking maybe you were hurt more than he thought and wondering why he would be UPSET about it.

"i changed my mind." his eyes dart back up at your answer. "i want to take some time off."

new bruises were forming over old bruises on your face. but when you smiled, simon thought it was just about the best thing he's ever seen.

"i was thinking the same thing."

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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jungle-angel · 11 months

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The Apples Of The Teacher's Eyes (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob have a little surprise for your students before the start of school vacation

Tagging: @bobfloydsbabe @bradleybeachbabe @sebsxphia Helena my dear, you officially have me desperate to write for Teacher!Bob and Teacher!Reader so any time you want a little short story or anything, don't hesitate to ask (lol).

"Alright my evil little henchmen, let's get down to business!" Bob announced, placing a huge, heavy old book onto his desk.

"To defeat the huns!" sang one of the students.

"Don't even start it Callum," Bob warned him. "I already had to hear it from the choir teacher and I don't need to hear it again."

Callum snickered as the students all moved the desks together while Bob fixed the chalkboard drawing he had made as well as the notes for the new lesson block.

"Alright," Bob announced. "So yesterday we wrapped up our studies on Ancient Rome and now we're starting the Vikings. How many of you guys in Mrs. Floyd's literature class started reading the Norse epics?"

Only a few had raised their hands.

"Ok so just a couple of you," Bob mused. "Well, we're gonna start right at the beginning by getting a lay of the land and the geography of the regions in this particular civilization. Then we're gonna get into key figures, battles, events and all that before we get into any kind of literature, music or mythology."

Bob's students couldn't have been more excited. Both him and you knew how to make these things come alive and jump right off the pages. The scratch of the chalk and the hushed whispers of his students were the best parts of his day, second only to coming home to you.

He knocked at the chalkboard with a free finger, his hand still holding the chalk with smears of stray dust coating his fingertips. "Here we go guys," he said. "Lay of the land.....what can you tell? Alonso?"

"Alot of ocean all around so it must've been a seafaring kind of society," Alonso Garcia answered.

"You would be right," Bob pointed out. "Anybody else? Birdy?"

"I remember from our geography main lesson that there were also rivers, fjords and lakes which made boat travel a staple part of life," Birdy O'Connor answered.

"What else? Elen?"

"I noticed too that there's lots of islands that fly off the peninsulas too," answered Elen O'Neill, the curly redheaded girl in the front row.

"All very excellent points," Bob answered. "Twenty points to Gryffindor."

The students laughed a little before Bob continued on with the lesson.

"Now if we remember too," he continued. "People were more likely to settle in and around the sea rather than further inland....."

"With a damn good reason," you joked, poking your head in the door and scaring the ever living shit out of Bob.

"MRS. FLOYD!!!!!" the students shouted.

"SHHHHH!!!" you shushed sharply, holding your finger to your lips. "Do not.....I repeat.....DO NOT wake the baby."

"Oh my Lord you brought the baby?!" Elen gasped.

All of your students clambered to see the little carseat you carried on your arm, carefully moving aside so you could set it on the desks that had been pushed together. Inside was yours and Bob's newborn son, August Robert, who was so tiny he looked like he was being swallowed up by his blanket.

"Oh my God he's so cute!"

"He looks just like Mr. Floyd."

"Look at those little cheeks!"

"Oh my God, I wanna get married so I can have one!"

Bob blushed and bit his knuckles when he heard that out of Elen and so didn't you.

Auggie started to squirm a little, a wakeful little coo making everybody fall quiet as Bob moved to unbuckle him and pick him up. "Shhhh.....shhhh......you're ok.......you're ok," Bob whispered, bringing Auggie carefully to his chest, blanket and all, the baby's whimpering quieting right down as soon as Bob began to gently pat his back.

You and the students couldn't help but take picture after picture on their phones of Bob with the baby, the besotted look on his face making you melt.

"Alright guys, let's get back into it," Bob announced.

"Aw c'mon!" groaned the students as they sat back down.

You laughed a little before Bob kissed you. "You're supposed to be at home resting Mrs. Floyd," he whispered, still gently rocking Auggie in his arms.

"And miss all of this?" you chuckled. "Hell no."

Bob smiled and kissed you again, loving the thought of you sitting in on the main lesson and the ooing and ahhing from the students as he both taught and rocked Auggie at the same time.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #teacher!bob #teacher!bob x teacher!reader

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kbs-and-fds · 4 months

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Yo, Welcome to my photography blog!

This is a photography project with a focus on older digital cameras sold before the mid 2000s. I've been working with these sorts of cameras since 2022, which grew from my interest in retro computers that I have had since 2020 or so. Here, I'll introduce you to my cameras, my computer rig, and try to convince you that this is a cool hobby.

General Q & A:

Whats in the name? - Kb refers to Kilobyte, all of the photos I take with these cameras only take up a little over 100 Kilobytes of digital storage per photo. FD refers to the physical media the photos are stored in, currently one camera uses floppy disks (FD), the other two use compact flash (CF) and smart media (SM) cards. unfortunately, their shortened forms do not rhyme and so they do not matter.

What can I expect from this blog? - amateur photography using old cameras, I guess. I'll say some nonsense below each photo but you're free to ignore it. I don't plan on reblogging anything here, so don't expect that. I am the star of this blog. me me me. I tend towards finding weird buildings/architecture, "liminal spaces", sunsets, and generally trying to see how well I can make a photo look like a blender render in a Kane pixels video. don't expect any consistency, though. the medium will remain the same but the vibes will absolutely fluctuate with my mood. I'll try and tag things correctly if it's off putting.

Are you a cool person? - I tend to be! I don't want this place to be alienating for anybody but assholes who don't deserve to see the stuff I do. being a tumblr blog, I follow a lot of the standard stuff. jerks are not welcome and I'm not gonna give you the pleasure of an argument if you do turn your head round these parts.

who are you? - trans pan girl. takes pictures. listens to Femtanyl. much unlike Peter Parker.

My Cameras

Mavica FD-7

released in 1997, this was the second of Sony's "Digital Mavica" line of cameras. it records photos of around 50Kbs in size to a standard 3 1/2" floppy disk. it has some standard features like a manual focus wheel, 10x optical zoom, and exposure control. I haven't found a strict source but I believe this camera is less than one megapixel. I actually have a few different Mavica cameras (a fd-71/75/83/85/87 and a cd-1000) but they aren't different from the fd-7 enough to justify being used often. I'll make note on individual posts if I use 'em at all.

Kodak DC220

released in 1999, with a quality of exactly one megapixel the DC 220 is a weird little thing. it has custom software, connects to a computer via com ports with a transfer speed of ~11,000 bit/s. (roughly 30-60 seconds per photo in my experience) you can add custom text to your photos in the cameras built in software, and attach custom audio to each photo. it is a pain in the butt to get working, but it's quirks make it worth the frustration.

Olympus E-10

made in 2000 with a quality of a whopping four megapixels, the Olympus E-10 is the newest addition to my collection, and possibly the nicest camera I'll ever own. it's a fixed lens DSLR camera capable of 4x zoom, you can easily adjust the aperture and exposure on the fly, it's photos tend to be a whole 100kb in size (1/10th of a megabyte!) and to be entirely honest I have no idea how to use it. but I will eventually!

My Computer

I try to use all era-appropriate tech to transfer photos and do any edits, this is the computer I do all that processing on! its a Dell Optiplex gx1- the daddy of pretty much any computer used in public schools (Chromebooks don't count) It's got a Pentium 3 CPU clocking at 500MHz, 512mb ram, running windows ME. it has all the original Kodak DC220 software installed, and I can't really access the Kodak's photos any other way. I've also got a few other weird bits attached to it -an HP sketch pro cad tablet and an external data cartridge SCSI device. both work, but I don't really bother to use them, they just look neat.

that's about it. have a good one! thanks for reading this all, if you did.

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osleeplessflowero · 4 months

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It's been long enough, time to bring back some content for this series. I hope you all enjoy! (Also yay new lily divider! Gonna start putting these around my notes from now on :] credits are in the tags!)

*Notes - Reader Soultype: Bravery🧡 - Reader Gender: Ambiguous, They/Them pronouns by default - Horror goes by Sans - Context from the first two parts is needed for this one to make sense - Words: 3,906

☕Previous Part☕ 🎃First Part 🪓Oneshot Masterpost/List 💜💙 In-Progress Fics Masterpost/List💚💛

Content Warning: Swearing, Violence, Light Blood

A while passed since your coffee meetup with Sans. You've been texting each other pretty much daily, discussing this and that and getting a good laugh out of each other from time to time. He's been really supportive of you since your emotions from your breakup had started hitting you like a truck, bringing your spirits back up when they started to spiral. You really appreciate him for that..

At the moment, you're currently sitting in your living room and replying to the last message your skeleton companion sent you. The two of you had been having a long conversation about something obscure he found, before the topic shifted to meeting his brother, like you'd asked about when you went to go get coffee. Upon being informed, Sans said he was delighted at the idea, and wanted to invite you over for dinner. You eagerly accepted, but not without saying you'd want to bring something over as well.. call it a gift exchange. Perhaps dessert would be best, since he's really looking forward to making dinner.

Thing is, you have no idea what this guy likes, so you don't know how well your decision making could be..

i mean i could just go to the store with you if you need help picking it aint like i have shit to do

You perk up at his reply, grinning. That's perfect! If anybody would know what he likes, it'd be him. And it's an excuse to hang out a little earlier than expected.

sounds awesome, where should we meet? i could just come pick you up tho idk if ur comfortable with me knowing where u live i mean its not like youd be coming over to kidnap me lmao i dont mind sent attachment sick ok i think i know where that is ill be there in a few alrrr i'll get ready then

You hop up from your seat on the couch, walking into your room and picking out some warm clothes so you're comfortable outside. The air has definitely gotten more and more chilly after Halloween, and you're not quite sure if you like that sensation or not.

Hopping a bit to pull on your shoes, you hear your doorbell ring and drop your leg to walk over and look through the peephole. Sure enough, you're met with the skeleton waiting with a bored expression before you open the door.

"Hey! Wow, I didn't think you'd get here so quick." You muse, earning a chuckle from the skeleton as you step aside to let him in out of the cold. Can skeletons feel temperatures? You assume not because of the lack of skin.

He puts his hands in his pockets as he enters, watching you close the door behind him. "i took a shortcut, didn't take long at all. nice place."

"Thanks, it's nothing big, but it's home. That's all that matters, right?" You smile, walking to your bathroom and heading inside to fix your hair how you like it (if you have any, that is.) You leave the door open, glancing over briefly when he stands in the doorway to speak with you.

"yeah, doesn't matter what size. home's a home, anyway." His eyelight drifts around as he inspects what he can see, learning a little bit more about you from observing some of your favorite things. You give him a smile before exiting the bathroom, walking over to the front door to hold it open for him. He follows you out silently, and the two of you begin your walk down the street.

"So..does he like any particular kinds of desserts? Cakes, cookies, brownies, etcetera.. throw me a bone here." You hold up your phone and open your notes app so you can get an idea of what to look for.

"well, anything made from the heart's gonna appeal to him right off the bat. but if you wanna go for something he'll really like.. he loves sugar cookies. like the kind with icing, he eats those up when i get 'em." He smiles, thinking back to a memory. You nod, saving "sugar cookies" to your phone. If you're gonna bake, then it's gotta be something he'd love! That's one way to win him over.

"Sugar cookies it is! Any specific kind of frosting flavor?"

There's a pause. You wait patiently, but when Sans' reply never comes, you look up at his face. His eyes have gone blank, almost like he'd shut down.

"Sans? Are you alright?"

"just..hang on, i..i know it's in there. i know i can remember that, i know i can." He speaks softly, and you frown, stopping in place and stopping him as well.

"Hey. Don't worry if you can't remember. I'll figure something out, don't strain yourself. It's okay, Sans." You reach your hands up, placing them on his shoulders with a reassuring smile. His eyelight slowly reforms in his eye, warbling a bit before returning to its usual large shape.

"..okay. thanks."

You nod, leading the big skeleton along until you finally reach your destination: the grocery store. A nostalgic song plays as you both hear the doors slide open, granting you both access. Thankfully not too many people are inside at the moment, which gives you more room to look and gives Sans a bit more peace.

Seeing as you probably won't need a bunch of ingredients, you settle for a basket and begin walking to look for the baking section. Sans simply walks right beside you, ignoring any stares from other people inside.

"Okay, sugar cookies..I need a box with a mix..I'm not getting the frozen ones, I just wanna make these myself. I could get some red icing maybe, like strawberry? Or cherry? Is there cherry icing? I'm sure there is." You mutter to yourself as you walk, unaware of Sans' fond smile as he watches you talk, making sure to pay attention in case you ask him something out of the blue.

"I could make cute little patterns on them- ooor I could just cover them..I dunno, we'll see how I feel when the baking starts." You smile, reaching your hand up to try and grab a box of the mix you need, but frown when you can't reach it. Gonna need a step stool..

Sans leans a little over you from behind, putting a hand on your shoulder and reaching up to grab the box for you. You smile up at him, thanking him promptly as he shrugs it off. You should ask him to shop with you more often, it'd definitely be easier than climbing the shelves. You used to do that when you were younger, and had gotten caught a few times..well, you won't get caught again!

You look through some different cookie cutters, debating cutting the cookies into shapes, and if so, what shapes in particular to use. Your peace is interrupted when you hear quiet whispering a good distance away, furrowing your brows when you overhear what some people are saying.

Sans tries to pretend not to notice, but you can tell it's really starting to bother him..

You hold out your arm. He looks at you with confusion, raising a browbone.

"Take my arm in yours." You whisper, earning even more confusion. "C'mon, just do it!"

He holds out his arm slightly, and you take that as a cue to wrap yours around it, walking with him down another aisle. When you walk beside the few whispering, you glare daggers at them before looking over some different cookie cutters that are much more to your liking, wondering why they hadn't put them where you were. Poor organization..

Sans keeps his skull turned away, a mix of a blue and red flush covering his cheekbones as he avoids looking at your face. You don't seem to notice, which he's admittedly a bit thankful for.

"Okay! I think that's all that I-"

You hear your name being called, stopping mid sentence. Your eyes quickly dart over to the source, spotting him..

Your Ex.

Your grip tightens on Sans' arm. He snaps back to reality, looking between you and them before realizing. You glare at him as he approaches.

"So. One day you just ditch me out of the blue and now you're hanging out with monster trash. Man, I didn't think you'd stoop that low."

"Shut up. Nobody cares what you have to say. You're the only one who's trash here. Just leave me alone, and get out of my life."

"Woah, easy." He holds up his hands in mock defense. "Got me shaking in my boots, babe! So scary.."

"Yeah, still scared after we spooked the shit out of you in the haunted house?" You tilt your head, a sly smile on your face. His face darkens, and his brows furrow.

"Whatever- Look, you-"

"I just want you to leave me alone. The only reason you finally want to spend time with me now is because I'm gone. You had your chance with me, and now I'm spending my time with way better people. We are through, we will always be through, so leave me be."

"You really think a monster is better than me? You're kidding yourself! Just.. look at him. He's probably an actual axe murdere-"

You move before you can think, punching him square in the nose and watching him stumble. It isn't until you see his blood on your hand and his widened eyes that you realize what you just did, quickly ushering Sans away and pulling him to the checkout section. You have what you need, time to get out of here.

It's quiet as you pay, before you both leave the store. Sans tugs a little on your hand, so you stop, facing him as you calm your breathing down.

"..you okay?" He sounds a little worried.

"Yeah. I'm..I'm alright, now. Are.. you okay?"

"you just punched a guy for me." He states, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Well, yeah. I hate him and he was being a jerk, of course I did. Nobody messes with the people I care about." You grab some napkins from the bag, wiping away your ex's blood as you both make your way across the street.

Sans bumps your hand with his, so you unclench your fingers, allowing him to hold it. ..He's..never done that before. That's new.

Heat rises to your face, and you pray to anyone above that it doesn't show. That's all you need right now.

You enter your home, turning on the lights. "Just go wherever, my house is your house and all that jazz. I'm gonna wear something for baking." You smile, walking to your room. He gives you a thumbs up before you go, sitting down on your couch and covering his face with his hands.

Stars, feelings are complicated. You just made his soul do a somersault twice in a row without even meaning to. It's not fair, why does he have to feel so- conflicted?! He moves his hands down, groaning before taking a deep breath as you walk back in.

"Okay. You wanna bake with me?" You smile innocently, completely unaware of the rollercoaster looping around in his skull. He nods, walking into the kitchen after you, simply watching as you grab an apron and set the oven up for baking.

Several seconds of ingredient hunting later, you set everything out on the counter and get to work. Crack the eggs, add some butter, throw in some oil.. mix. You move around like a robot, earning an amused chuckle from the skeleton as he sits on the same counter to watch you, sending some ingredients over when you need them using magic.

Once you have the cookie dough mixed up properly, you smack his hand away once with a spatula to make sure he doesn't try and snatch any up. Your focus then shifts to the icing, making a bit of a mess as you stir. A bit of it lands on your face that you don't seem to notice, but a certain someone with you does.

"hey, c'mere." He slides off the counter with ease, making you stop in your tracks. He holds his hand up to your cheek, resting his thumb over a small bit of icing. He pauses for a moment, the two of you staring into each other's eyes. Heat rushes to both of your faces, his cheekbones erupting in a blue and red mixed blush as he raises his thumb to his mouth, allowing his mixed tongue to lick away the icing in question.

Oh. Oh man.

You avert your eyes when he does, focusing back on the icing. That's new. A lot of things are new today.

The tension eventually fades out once the cookies have been brought out, now cut into lovely different shapes Sans is sure Papyrus will love. He shares a few stories he can remember from the past, you happily listening along and sometimes replying with witty comebacks to his jokes.

Time flies, and finally the cookies are finished, ready to eat! You almost feel kinda bad that these'll be gone soon..but it'll be worth it if he likes them! You hang up your apron, grinning slyly when you turn back to Sans. He raises a browbone in your direction, when you place a small bit of icing on his nose. He laughs, a determined glint to his eye as he tries to get some of the leftover stuff on you, the two of you chasing each other around the kitchen before you erupt into laughter.

He looks up from the floor at you, and his breath hitches. You have a really nice smile..he should tell you that some time. Not yet, though. No..it's too soon for that.

You grin, licking any leftover icing on you and walking to your room to change into the clothes you'd set out previously for when you go with Sans back to his house. Alright, first impressions are everything! Gotta look nice for the occasion.

Sans stares at the ceiling for a little bit while he waits for you, trying to remember some obscure TV show he watched once as a child with his brother he just can't seem to put a name on. You eventually walk back into the room, determined and ready to go. You walk into the kitchen and grab the lovely bowl of cookies you baked, holding it under your arm.

"So, shall we walk?" You smile as he walks up to you, but then raise a brow in confusion when he shakes his head. Maybe he'd prefer driving? You didn't see a car outside, though..

"i know a faster way to get there, if you're okay with it."

"Sure. What is it?"

"hold my arm for a sec. you might feel kinda dizzy for a little bit." He offers his arm to you, and you accept it quickly.

"OkaaAAAY-" You panic when the ground disappears from beneath your feet, holding onto him tightly and squeezing your eyes shut. It is only when you're back on the ground that you open them, glancing around. ..You appear to be in someone's driveway, someone who owns a very lovely home.

"aaaand we're here. tada." He grins, letting you regain your balance. How did he do that? When did he learn he could do that? Why did he not tell you he could do that befo- that's how he got to your house so fast. Of course. A "shortcut".

"You're really amazing, Sans." You smile up at him, chuckling a little to yourself when he looks away. He leads you up the porch steps to the front door, knocking in a rhythmic pattern and waiting for a moment before it swings abruptly open.

"AH! Brother, There You Are!" The much-taller-than-you'd-expected skeleton exclaims, pushing up his glasses a bit so he can see better. "And You've Brought The Human Along With You! Excellent! I've Just Gotten Started On Tonight's Dinner. Do Come Inside! It's Certainly Much Warmer Than It Is Out There. Sans, You Both Didn't Walk, Did You? It's Easy For Humans To Get Colds!"

You both smile at his rambling as Sans reassures him that he used a shortcut to get here. He's a total contrast to his brother, a ball of energy to counter his brother's overall tired and "lazy" demeanor.

Papyrus gestures for you to walk in, you both promptly remove your shoes at the door when you see that there are a few pairs of boots there already. You can assume literally all of them belong to Papyrus, because Sans is usually either wearing slippers or sneakers.

"Ah! Where Are My Manners." He clasps his gloved hands together, grinning down at you. "I Am The Great Papyrus! I'm Certain My Brother Has Told You About Me Already." He grins, his braces shining when the light of the ceiling fan above him hits them.

You smile, moving one of your arms to hold it out to shake his hand, watching him eagerly grab it. "It's nice to meet you in person, Papyrus." You tell him your name, and he makes sure to remember it for next time.

"Sans told me you were really looking forward to making dinner tonight, sooo I thought I'd bake some cookies! We can have them after dinner's over with, and you guys can keep them for a while until you run out. And if you like them, well..I'd be more than happy to make some more."

Papyrus gasps, putting a hand where his heart would be, as if he'd been struck right through it. "Oh, That's So Kind Of You! And Fitting For The Occasion! You Can Place Them On The Counter For Now, There Should Be An Open Space."

You do as instructed, admiring all the lovely little details in the home. They certainly tell you plenty about the two, and the things they like.. There's a ton of pretty patterns in the wood in some parts of the kitchen, presumably crafted by Paps himself. There are some red gingham curtains gently blowing with the breeze from outside before he closes the windows, and you briefly catch a glance of a clothesline with drying clothes. Huh, Papyrus must be into cosplay. That's cool!

Sans spooks you, giving you a pat on the shoulder as he walks up to his room. Ooh..this gives you an opportunity to see it..you would hate to pry, though. Maybe another time you can. You'll definitely be visiting later.

Deciding not to pester him, you focus your attention on Papyrus, who's happily humming a tune you don't recognize and cooking up something that makes your mouth water.

"So," His voice catches you off guard, making you jolt. "How'd It Happen?"

"How'd..what happen, exactly?" You smile, leaning a bit on the counter to watch him work.

"How'd You Meet, And How'd You Convince My Brother To Think So Fondly Of You?"

"We met at a- wait, he thinks fondly of me?"

"Well, Of Course He Does! Don't Tell Me You're As Blind As I Am Without Glasses." He lets out a nyeh-heh, stirring something. "He Talks About You Quite Often!"

"He does?.." Your voice is soft when you ask, heat creeping back up to your cheeks before you shake your head to try and make it go away.

"Indeed! Now, I'll Repeat The Other Part..How'd You Meet? I'm Very Curious About That."

"Well, it all started when me and my..well, he's my ex now-"

"Oh, Is This Drama? Now I've Certainly Got To Hear About This. I Love A Little Bit Of Gossip." He grins slyly, and you let out a laugh before going into detail about everything.

Papyrus is such a lovely person to talk to, even if you have to repeat what you say a few times because of his hearing problems. You can definitely understand why Sans thinks so highly of his brother.

Speaking of Sans, he finally joins you both downstairs after a while, having changed into an almost exact replica of the clothes he had been wearing before but much cleaner. Look at him, getting dressed up for the occasion..

Papyrus finishes making his masterpiece, and you all sit down at the table together. It's such a warm environment..Sans cracking jokes, Papyrus groaning but making a few of his own in return..the two sharing fond stories from the past..Papyrus talking about his work and what he loves to do..you could listen to him for hours. The food is immaculate, and you fight the urge to groan with delight at the taste.

When dinner is finished, you send your compliments to the chef, and the taste test for the cookies begins..you stare with anxious anticipation as he inspects a skull-shaped cookie, amused by your choice before biting into it. Silence fills the room before he grins in your direction, putting his hands on his hips.

"This Is Excellent! You Did Wonderfully! Stars, I May Run Out Of These Within The Week! GAH!" He puts his hands on his skull, you and Sans letting out a laugh at his expressions.

"Don't worry, Paps. I'll definitely make some more for you later."

"Wonderful! You Simply Must Show Me How You Make Them. They're Exquisite!"

"Maaybe..but good magicians never reveal their secrets, do they?" You smile slyly. He gasps in understanding, before placing his fist against his palm.

"Right. Fair Enough!"

You don't realize how fast time flies when you're having fun. You could spend eternity with these guys, without changing a thing. They're both so much fun to be around, and..it's really nice, being surrounded by such caring people.

Before you know it you're sitting on the couch, listening to Papyrus ramble about scandals in the monster celebrity world, promptly gasping when you hear something shocking. Sans simply watches the both of you with a lazy smile, chiming in from time to time before you all focus on whatever movie's playing on the TV.

One movie turns into several..

You feel your eyes slowly close as you lean against something big and warm, relaxing with a smile.

Sans freezes when he looks down at you, holding his hands in the air and unsure where to put them. Papyrus scoffs, motioning for him to put his arm around you. Sans looks at him with an expression that screams "are you crazy?!" before Papyrus shoots one back, rolling his eyes and waving him off before whispering a good night to him and heading upstairs. Fuck. What does he do? He couldn't just..could he?

His eyelight darts around until it rests on your sleeping form. He sighs for a moment, before abruptly shortcutting to your house and ensuring that the doors are locked, reappearing in the spot he had been sitting in before. You readjust your position, getting even closer this time.. His face flushes again as he lowers an arm over you, unable to look away. Oh jeez.. Ain't this complicated? Well..lots of things are, aren't they?

Hearing your soft breathing leaves him feeling calm..content. He's..alright with this. He'll embrace the moment for a little while, while it lasts. He focuses on the screen, until his eyes begin to close as well..maybe a nap wouldn't hurt.

#sleeplessflower's oneshots #horror sans #horror sans x reader #scare actor!horror #gender neutral reader #undertale x reader #horrortale x reader #utmv x reader #horrortale sans #lilies divider from saradikagraphics #leaves divider from animatedglittergraphics-n-more #reblog divider from lees-chaotic-brain

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lutawolf · 1 year

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My Personal Weatherman and the D/s element Ep 4

If you haven't read the others, they can be found here.

Ahhh, nothing gets me going like a sub wearing what their Dom picked out. That subtle ownership. Why yes, I do pick out all my husband's clothes except the dreaded work clothes. I refuse to take the blame for those tacky things.

Right off, we can easily see that this is not an M/s situation. The fact that Segasaki is asking Yoh what he wants to do, tells us exactly what we need to know. Yoh is explaining what he is going to do. That is not something a slave would ever even think to do. We can easily tell that he is a subby sub though, cause when Segasaki brings out the Dom, Yoh eases back.

OMG, that chin grab! @bl-bam-beyond pretty please gif that chin grab.

That chin grab with the "No." Ugh, how all my lovely subs doing? Are you still here? Have you been able to finish the show? Or are you stuck here on rewind?

Yoh actually questions Segasaki as to why not. Anybody still thinking Yoh a slave? Cause not to be rude, I can't fix stupid. This boy, a brat. Fuck, this whole scene is really showcasing their dynamic. "But we made a promise." "Tell her that you can't go anymore. Do it. Do you even know why you are in this house." And once again, we're back at the misunderstanding stage.

A fangirl, I see. OMG, this is adorable. Yoh is like, sure. Let's look at the tie of my Dom, bestie.

Yoh calling with Segasaki standing over him. This episode is killing me in the best possible way. Don't revive me! (No! I have not taken my ADHD meds, don't judge me!) "I was ordered to stay home." Hahahaha! Then the ahhhh, after he tells her that he will make it up to her. Letting you know he was likely just punished by Segasaki. Yes, my mind went here.

Then the reward of the head pat, "you did good."

youtube

She showed up to check on him! Woot! Haha, she is about to find out who is boyfriend is. Hahaha. I'm dying. Meanwhile, his boyfriend is like, "guess it's time for a face off." Ya'll I'm not okay. I'm laughing so hard.

And Yoho stepped over a line and got put in his place. But he is too busy having a crisis to care! 🤣🤣🤣 Her face is my favorite.

That effortless lie. He wasn't feeling well. Uh huh. I love these two dumbass friends. I need sake too!!! I'm dying. Shit, I can't breathe through the laughter.

Now it's Yoh's turn to be jealous. Ahh, he got drunk and fell asleep on the floor. The places we find comfortable when we are drunk.

Nope, he doesn't want to go to the bed. I love the outer dialogue we are getting. I really enjoy that we get Yoh's side of things and from his perspective, but this rounds it out a bit for me.

And look at that beautiful smile when Segasaki finds out she's married. "Are you in your rebellious phase." Does this sound familiar to certain people whom I will not mention by name!?! Hmmm! Brats! Stop breaking my heart! Make him stop Segasaki, make him stop!

Fuck, I love these two so much. Everything he is describing is very much a Brat Tamer. Bossy but gentle. Controlling but caring. Charming and unreasonable. Brat Tamer.

The way his squishes Yoh's face! Ahhh, these two are gonna kill me!

"It would be nice if you stayed drunk forever." Because of the honesty. Segasaki likes Yoh's quirks, but he also wants the honesty and the connection.

I need the curry story now! But apparently, I must wait. Heavy sigh.

Hope you guys enjoyed this! Let me know in the tags if you did. 💜💜💜 See you next time.

#my personal weatherman #taikan yoho #segasaki x yoh #luta talks my personal weatherman #luta talks kink #coconuts mafia #Youtube

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v1nsmoke · 4 months

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𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘 // 𝐂𝐎𝐏!𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

oneshot - cop!shanks x fem!reader

tw: age gap (both are adults though), mention of guns, smoking

summary: when your cop dad brings you to his promotion party at the police station, you don't expect to meet a red-haired coworker of your dad

fandom: one piece

a/n: remember that zoro oneshot i wrote back in 2023 october with a tiny cop shanks cameo at the end? and how i mentioned that i might make it a full length oneshot? yeah, this is it! I never wrote romance oh lawd and this feels new…

tags: stargirldelight

wc: 1.2k

notes: modern au, first person pov.

Dads with daughters - if they don’t despise them - usually threaten boyfriends or suitors with something along the lines of “if you cross my daughter or make her cry, i’ll break your jaw,” and mine was no exception. Unlike most of those dads, he actually could. His ultimate, go-to threat was that if any boy hurts me, he will take them to jail. He did once. That guy was involved in some illegal marihuana deals and owned a gun without any permission, so he went to jail for actual reasons.

With my single dad being a cop, I used to spend my free time at the police station where he worked whenever he couldn’t find anybody to babysit me. Luckily, his co-workers didn’t mind, and often took care of me while I was there. The last time I visited that station was when I was around fifteen, after that I was allowed to stay at home alone for days. Up until that, I had to be supervised at the station. It wasn’t as boring as it may sound at first, there is lots of exploring to do and many gadgets to ruin. I didn’t do the latter. Maybe once, as an accident, but it got fixed up real quick. My dad’s colleagues taught me how to shoot a gun, which my dad disapproved of. I was seven years old back then, of course he did.

It’s been almost a decade since that happened, and now, I’ve been invited to a get-together to celebrate my father’s promotion at the station. It was well-deserved, he’s done many great deeds and had been working hard, harder than anyone. I was tasked with the food. I thought that the best would be to make pizzas and something sweet for dessert, maybe some of those mini pretzels for a snack, but there was no way I’d make the latter. There are shops for that.

“How’s the progress?” My dad asks, sneaking up on me.

“Almost done,” I answer, adding the finishing touches.

“Hm, they look good,” he says, taking one of the freshly prepared cupcakes.

“You’ll get them at the station, until that, no more!”

I load the two boxes into the car, dad sitting in the driver’s seat picking the music while he waits.

“I could use a hand here,” I call out.

“Grow a third one,” he replies calmly.

I hop into the car. Dad revs up the engine, and the vehicle finally gets moving.

“Lots of things have changed since you were last there,” he starts the conversation.

“Like what?”

“I got some new coworkers, you’ll like them. We also renovated some rooms.”

“You mentioned the renovations before. I remember that you ruined most of your jeans because of it, we had to throw out like ten pairs because they all had paint on them and I couldn’t wash it out.”

“The good old times,” he sighs. “It’s been real lonely since you moved away. Feel free to move back if you feel like it.”

He parks the car in the tiny parking lot of the police station. He sits in the car, immersed in the song playing on the radio.

At the ripe age of twenty, I moved to my own tiny house. Up until that point, I didn’t even stop to think that he might feel alone. I made a mental note that I’ll make sure to visit him more often now.

“You’re not going in?” I ask.

“Do I need to? There’s gonna be lots of people,” he whines.

“I thought you were my dad, not my son.”

“Go, get the food out from the trunk, in the meantime, I’ll mentally prepare myself,” he instructs.

With a sigh, I get out of the car, and lift the trunk open.

“You need help with that?” an unknown voice asks.

I turn around to find a man leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers. Light smoke swirled around him as he stepped forward.

“I think I can handle it,” I nervously answer.

“Here, let me,” he says, taking one of the boxes from my hand with a gentle move.

My dad gets out of the car.

“Shanks, good to see you!” He greets the man next to me. “I see you already found my daughter.”

“This fine lady is your daughter? You better watch out, then,” he smiles at him mischievously.

“Don’t you dare, Red Hair!” Dad replies.

“At least he helped me with the boxes,” I intervene.

“Your pa didn’t?”

“He told me to grow a third arm.”

The red haired man chuckles, looking over to my dad.

“Not too nice of you, Hank,” he says, walking off with the box.

Inside gathered a swarm of people. Some people I knew, some I didn’t. Dad did say he got some new coworkers, and I assumed this red-haired man was one of them. Most of them wore their regular uniforms, some, who were off-duty that day, had casual clothes on.

I place the box on one of the tables, the red-haired man following suit. I take the food out of the said boxes, placing them onto separate trays and plates.

“Where can one get this food from? Looks delicious,” he speaks, picking up a slice of pizza. Luckily it was still fresh enough.

“From me,” I answer.

“Thank you, it’s nice to hear someone appreciating it,” I reply.

“You made all this? Impressive, I might just move to your house only for the food,” he says before taking a bite of the dish. “No, not might. Definitely.”

I chuckle at his statement.

“Your dad doesn't? He should, it’s amazing,” he says, his mouth still stuffed.

“Even if he does, he doesn’t say it out loud.”

“Are you a chef or something? Or is this just a hobby of yours?”

“More like a hobby. I work in an office, I hate it. I want to see the world or do some action, y’know.”

“Of course I do. I wanted action too, that’s why I’m an officer. They still give me paperwork, but when there really is some action, it’s worth it. We can teach you some things if you want.”

“You really would?” I enthusiastically inquire.

“Why not? I’ll do it in exchange for more food of yours. Deal?”

“Deal,” we shake hands.

“So first, I really want to teach you how to shoot a gun. You did that before?” He asks, walking back and forth in front of me.

“A few times, many years back.”

“You remember how to do it?”

I hold the handgun firmly, bringing it upwards. I lock my eyes on the target, an old soda can that he likely got from the trash, and I pull the trigger. The bullet was close, but flew by the can. I lower my hand in defeat.

“Mostly.”

“Here,” he says, handing me a handgun, “aim at that can right there.”

“Give it another try,” he encourages.

I lift my arms back up, aiming again. This time, the bullet made a dent into the can.

“That’s it! Off to a good start,” he speaks, patting my shoulders. “Maybe your posture is the only problem I had, though really minor.”

He comes closer, behind me. He gently places his hand on my arm and adjusts my shoulders.

“There you go,” he whispers next to my ear.

“Officer,” my dad interrupts.

“Yes sir?” The red-haired man turns to him. “Keep the posture,” he instructs me.

“Is that my daughter?”

“Yes sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old,” my dad grunts, walking closer. He comes to a halt next to me, observing me. Please don’t take the gun away, please don’t take the gun away…

“Keep up the good work. Teach her good, officer,” says my dad, walking back to where he came from.

red-haired shanks belongs to eiichiro oda.

#v1nsmoke #one piece #eiichiro oda #opla #shanks #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #shanks one piece #police officer #oneshot #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #alternative universe #op

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butch-reidentified · 2 months

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Yet another time someone has sent me a screenshot from this random woman spreading 100% baseless, very obviously made-up ('i wonder if") bs about me due to who knows what deep unfulfilled need of hers, though she's never had the spine to come for me directly in any capacity. I so do not understand why I'm coming up again now, given I've not been on tumblr much for months, but 🤷

I'm not going to tag her like I usually would bc I have less than zero desire to invite that toxicity into my life so directly atp (I've @ ed her in the past when she started doing this ages ago), but I am gonna say something ab both the accusations she makes/spreads and ab the behavior itself.

She's been spreading unhinged rumors about me being into men for literal years, including accusing me of fucking my brother, and apparently doesn't find it at all fucked up to be harassing a lesbian trafficking survivor with literally COMPLETELY baseless accusations of sex with m*n (which I have never remotely desired and as I've literally made memes about, would sooner die) just bc I didn't think her treatment of macroclit was entirely fair, as the person who had actually known macroclit for years irl before even being on radblr. I don't necessarily think I would do/say all the exact same things now that I did at that time, for deeply personal reasons I don't owe anybody an explanation of, but that doesn't justify any of the toxicity on her part.

I don't think it's acceptable or even non-lesbophobic to act like lesbians need to be a complete monolith when it comes to their experiences with bi women and views. Nothing I ever said claimed lesbians can be into men or anything of the sort, nor supported polilez, and outside of shit like that, I don't think we need to all have the exact same takes on every single issue down to the smallest nuances.

I also don't think it's acceptable or feminist to completely invent and spread rumors about other women like some wannabe Regina George, as if women don't face enough of that stereotype already. Especially if these rumors undeniably play on themes of your target's trauma history. Especially when you yourself certainly know you're completely inventing said rumors, that they're purely weird parasocial (& blatantly dishonest) speculation.

yes, macroclit is my ex, and we were friends after dating but never "fwb." we did not "meet up and have 3sums," we met up and watched movies and went clubbing, and we have not even slept together since like a couple of years before she realized she was into guys. yes i had a "poly" experimental phase in/around my college years - and I'll admit I didn't formally & vocally end said phase until long after it had materially ended - but this was with exclusively other women, as should be fucking obvious, and frankly was mostly in name only; I just never had any meaningful urge to seek out more partners, and tbqh have never had a very high sex drive. I don't fuck anyone but my wife atp & very much don't want to (nor did I want to feel like I had to air my entire sexual history on tumblr to thousands of ppl).

idk what need is being fulfilled by doing shit like this, i rly cannot fathom it & have never in my life engaged in this behavior toward any other woman. in all honesty, I thought it was just a fully fictional misogynistic stereotype that women do this at all, bc I've never known anyone who does. I've seen rumors spread ofc but usually airing ppls real dirt or exaggerating it, not just lying outright. wild.

all that said, if you want to go toe to toe regarding actual irl feminist action, lmk. otherwise, fix your own shit and drop your obsession w imagining me liking d*ck, it's super creepy and weird.

#mine #personal #(cont.)#radblr lesbophobia #radblr misogyny

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sleekervae · 18 days

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The Bride [1.0]

Masterlist

Pairing: billy the kid x fem!reader

Summary: Billy leaves the Seven Rivers Gang

Warnings: cursing, slander, violence, shooting, death

Word Count: 4,641

Tag List: @poppyflower-22 @ponyslayer

Billy stood at the edge of the gathering, his face set in a determined expression as he addressed Jesse, Bob, John, and the rest of the gang. The murmurs and laughter of the group fell silent as he spoke up.

“Where you been, Billy?” Jesse's voice cut through the quiet, tinged with suspicion.

“Around,” Billy replied evenly.

“Yeah. And where's that?” Bob asked with a hint of irritation, his gaze narrowing.

Billy took a deep breath, knowing this was a conversation he had to have. “I came to tell you something. I’m quitting Major Murphy’s payroll.”

A tense silence settled over the group, the weight of Billy's words sinking in. “I’ve accepted a job with the Englishman, Tunstall. I’m leaving today.”

John's face darkened, his eyes blazing with anger. “Well, you are a little piece of shit, ain’t you? Huh. What’d I say? Hmm?"

Jesse, struck between shock and his own fury, stepped forward, "Billy, I’m your oldest friend. We’ve ridden together a long time. We had some good times, we had some bad times, but our friendship… has always remained. I can’t believe that you’re gonna quit on me now. It don’t make any sense.”

Billy met Jesse’s gaze steadily. “I’m sorry, Jesse. This wasn’t an easy decision to make. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Yeah. That you’re a traitor and our enemy,” Bob spat out.

"This is all that girl's fault, I reckon!" another one snapped, "He took one look at her and it was game over!"

“This has nothing to do anybody else. I just came here to tell you in person.” Billy reasoned, his eyes remained resolute. “Some of us have been friends. When this is all done, we can be friends again.”

Bob's laughter was bitter and cold. “Is that what you’re hoping? That we’re gonna be friends?” He scoffed, the sound echoing harshly as his hand come over his holster, “Do you really think we’re just gonna let you leave? After what you’ve just done?”

Jesse stepped in, trying to defuse the situation, “Boys, boys. We’ve all slept, starved, fought with The Kid. See, he’s trusted himself amongst us. He didn’t sneak out. He came right out and told us. Let him go his way.”

Jesse’s eyes remained fixed on Billy, the fury in them still burning bright. “Our time will come.”

Billy nodded, acknowledging the truth in Jesse’s words. “Yeah. It will.”

As Billy turned to leave, Jesse’s gaze lingered on him, a mixture of anger and reluctant respect in his eyes. Despite the bitterness of the moment, he couldn’t deny the courage it took for Billy to face them directly. The tension in the air was thick, but Jesse’s voice softened as he muttered under his breath, “Chickenshit.”

Eleanor darted around her small room, her hands trembling as she hastily stuffed her belongings into a worn leather trunk. Clothes were half-folded, crumpled, and tossed in with barely a glance. The once neatly arranged items now lay in chaotic disarray. She grabbed a small stack of letters from her desk and scribbled furiously, the scratching of her pen almost frantic.

Billy, I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stay here. I hope you find happiness, even if I can’t be part of it. All my love, Eleanor

She folded the note and slipped it into an envelope, her hands shaking.

Quickly, she moved to another piece of paper.

Dear Mr. Tunstall, I must resign from my position effective immediately. This decision comes with great difficulty, but circumstances have forced my hand. Sincerely, Johana Delile

With a sharp exhale, she folded the resignation letter and set it on the desk. Her heart pounded in her chest, each thud resonating with the urgency of her departure. She grabbed the last few items—a photograph, a book, a small box of keepsakes—and shoved them into her bag.

Just as she was about to snap the trunk shut, a loud knock echoed through her tiny room. Eleanor froze, her breath catching in her throat. The noise was sharp, unyielding, and it made her heart skip a beat. She stood still, her hand hovering over the latch of the trunk, the last vestiges of her resolve crumbling in the face of unexpected visitors.

Her mind raced, trying to process who could be knocking at her door now, and why. She glanced at the clock, realizing she was out of time. The knocking persisted, more insistent. Panic set in as she took a deep breath, her hand trembling as she slowly reached for her switch blade, the echo of each knock reverberating in her ears...

Billy's heart raced as he approached Tunstall's store. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the street, and his mind buzzed with a mix of relief and anticipation. His encounter with Jesse and the gang had been rough—bitterness and anger had hung heavy in the air, but now, with that chapter behind him, he was eager to share his news with Eleanor.

He swung open the door to the store. The interior was dim, lit by the warm glow of lamps that cast flickering shadows on the shelves of goods. Billy's eyes searched for Eleanor, but the store was empty except for Sam, who was behind the counter, arranging a stack of papers.

“Sam!” Billy called out, trying to keep his voice steady despite the lingering tension from earlier. “I’m here to see Johana. I’ve got some good news to share.”

Sam looked up from his work, his brow furrowing in concern. “Billy. I'm sorry but -- Johana's not here,”

Billy’s heart sank. “What do you mean, she's not here? She's off?”

"No, she just... didn't show up," Same replied, his expression troubled. “She usually keeps to her schedule pretty well. I'd go check on her, but I'm the only one on today. I can't leave. I thought she might have been delayed, but it’s been a few hours now. I’m worried,”

Billy’s mind raced. The excitement of sharing his news with Eleanor had shifted to concern. He stepped further into the store, glancing around as if expecting her to appear at any moment. “Can you think of anything? Maybe she said something about her taking off in passing?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing. I haven’t heard a word. She didn’t mention anything unusual before she last left. The only thing that's happened is the army caravan riding into town,”

Billy’s heart pounded in his chest, "The US Army?"

"Is there another one?"

The mention of the army caravan immediately set off alarm bells in his mind. If the army was rolling in, then there was a good to fair chance Captain Harbinger was closing in. Maybe he's spotted her? Maybe he grabbed her?

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he looked at Sam. “When did they arrive?”

Sam’s face was indifferent as he replied, “Just last night night, I think. I saw them pull in and set up camp across the street,”

Billy’s thoughts raced. The coincidence of the caravan arriving just a day before she went missing was too significant to ignore. He couldn’t shake the feeling that her disappearance might be connected to the soldiers’ arrival.

“Did she say anything about it?” Billy asked urgently.

Sam shook his head. “I was already gone. Is she wrapped up in some kind of trouble?”

Billy’s worry deepened. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, "You could say that," He had to find Eleanor, and he had to do it quickly. He gave Sam a nod, barely registering his thanks as he turned and headed back out the door.

As he rushed toward the boarding house, every step felt like a battle against the rising tide of panic and dread surging through him. His thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of fear and urgency. Eleanor's safety was at stake, and the realization of how dire the situation had become fueled his desperation.

He pushed himself faster, weaving through the bustling streets, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. The sight of the army caravan loomed like a dark omen in his mind, each passing moment heightening the sense of impending disaster. He scanned every shadow, every alleyway, praying for a glimpse of Eleanor or a sign that she had escaped whatever threat was closing in on her.

The stakes had soared to a terrifying height, and the weight of his mission bore down on him with crushing intensity. His heart pounded furiously against his ribs, the urgency of the moment leaving no room for second-guessing. With every beat, he felt the crushing fear of arriving too late, of failing her when she needed him most. He pushed onward, driven by the desperate hope that he wasn’t too late to save her from whatever danger loomed just out of sight.

Billy burst into the dimly lit lobby of the boarding house, his eyes scanning the room for the desk clerk. The clerk looked up from behind the counter, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern at the sight of Billy’s frantic demeanor.

“Excuse me,” Billy said, his voice edged with urgency. “I’m looking for Johana Delile. Have you seen her? It’s really important.”

The clerk’s face tightened. “You just missed her. She left with her bags not ten minutes ago,”

Billy’s heart dropped. “Left? Where did she go?”

The clerk shook his head, apologetically. “I don’t know. She didn’t say where she was headed, just asked me to bring up her bill so she could pay. I’m sorry.”

A rush of frustration and fear surged through Billy. “Damn it,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “Thank you.”

He dashed back out into the street, his mind racing with possibilities. Eleanor was gone, and with the army caravan in town, he knew he had to find her before it was too late. He felt the gravity of the situation settle over him, pushing him forward with a renewed sense of urgency.

Eleanor’s hands were shaking as she finished packing the last of her belongings onto her horse. The familiar, comforting routine of preparing for travel was now tainted by a sense of imminent danger. She glanced over her shoulder, her breath hitching when she heard the unmistakable voice she dreaded most.

“Hello, Eleanor,”

The blood-curdling tone made her spine go rigid. She spun around, her heart pounding in her chest. Captain Harbinger stood there, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over her. His eyes were cold, and the cruel scowl on his face sent a chill down her spine.

"Captain," she started casually, hoping to keep things pleasant, "Been a long time. You're moustache is longer,"

“It's been a long time, indeed. Over a year I’ve been looking for you,” Harbinger said, his voice dripping with menace. “You didn’t think you could just run away from me, did you? I paid for you. You’re mine.”

Eleanor’s mind raced, her thoughts scattered as she tried to stay calm. “Harbinger, please. You don’t have to do this. I... I have money. Lots of it. I can pay you back what you paid my father!”

Harbinger’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. “Pay me back? You think you can just pay me back after everything? I won’t have it. You’re coming back with me to Rosario, and you’ll be my wife whether you like it or not.”

She glanced at her packed belongings, then at the horse. Her escape route was close, but Harbinger’s presence made it impossible to act without getting caught. “I’m not going back with you,” she said, her voice steadying despite the fear clawing at her. “I have a life here. I—”

Harbinger’s eyes flared with anger, cutting her off. “A life? You had a life before I paid your dowry. And what a waste of a life it was—slaving away in a stuffy office, hucking mud and shit out of the stables, and cleaning up after your father’s drunken stupors. He was your burden. I freed you. And now, you’ll do as you’re told.”

The venom in his words struck Eleanor like a physical blow. Her fear began to twist into searing anger, her heart racing with fury. She could feel the rage bubbling up inside her, fueled by the insult to her father—the only family she had left.

“My father was no burden!” Eleanor spat, her voice shaking with both fear and anger. “He had his problems, sure. But he was twice the man you'll ever be!”

Harbinger’s smirk grew wider, his eyes gleaming with malice. “He was nothing but a stumbling drunk. I could've offered him a bottle of whiskey and he would've handed you over to me without question.”

Eleanor’s hands trembled as she reached into her pocket, pulling out her switchblade with a swift motion. The cold metal glinted in the sunlight as she brandished it, her anger transforming into a fierce resolve. “I ain't coming back with you. I'd rather be laid out to die and have the coyotes on me then ever even consider being your wife,”

Harbinger’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face as he took in the sight of the blade. “Eleanor, put that away. You don’t know what you’re—”

“I know exactly what I’m doing!” she interrupted, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her.

Harbinger’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face as he took in the sight of the blade. He smirked, pulling out his gun with a deliberate slowness. “A knife? Really? You bring a knife to a gunfight?”

Eleanor’s resolve hardened, but her fear was palpable, “John Riley murdered his wife last night, and if you think I'm coming back with you only to end up the same way, you got another thing coming to you!”

Harbinger’s smirk twisted into a cruel grin as he leveled the gun at her. “You think you’re tough with that little thing? Come on, then! Let's see how brave you are!” he held his arms out, "I'm wide open!"

Eleanor wanted nothing more then the gouge his eyes out, to draw her knife over his neck and slit his throat from ear to ear. She would've enjoyed it to, because without certainty, she would've been free. She could bury him somewhere, he'd disappear, become a legend, and she could move on in peace.

But alas, Eleanor couldn't move. Because at the same time, Eleanor had never killed anyone. That was a line so many people in her life as crossed, she herself couldn't bring herself to move.

Before she could react, Harbinger came at her, the gun striking her hand with a brutal impact. The switchblade flew from her grasp, clattering against the ground. Harbinger seized her wrist, his grip ironclad as he wrestled her down. Her horse, spooked, took off into the desert.

Panic exploded within Eleanor as she struggled against him, but his grip was like iron, unyielding and merciless. His face was close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, the rancid stench of his breath mixing with her own desperation. “You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not,” he growled, his voice a cold, menacing promise.

The fight felt interminable, the searing sun casting harsh shadows on their tangled forms. Each second dragged on, each movement a battle against the suffocating despair. Harbinger’s grip tightened with relentless force, his strength sapping Eleanor’s resolve and hope. Her vision blurred with tears of frustration and fear, the fight slipping from her grasp as she felt her strength drain away under his brutal hold.

Just as Harbinger was about to secure her, a shout cut through the chaos. “Hey! Get your hands off her!”

Billy’s voice was a roar of anger and desperation. He charged in, tackling Harbinger with a force that sent both men sprawling to the ground. The gun skidded away as Billy grappled with him, his fury evident in every move.

Eleanor scrambled away, her breaths ragged as she looked up to see Billy wrestling Harbinger off her. She saw him pull the man from her, throwing punches with a ferocity born of deep concern.

Harbinger fought back, but Billy’s determination and strength were unmatched. With a final shove, Billy threw Harbinger to the ground, panting heavily as he stood over him.

“Stay the hell away from her,” Billy growled, his eyes locked on Harbinger with a fierce intensity.

Harbinger’s eyes flickered with sudden recognition as he looked up and saw Billy rushing towards them. The realization hit him like a jolt, and a cruel smile twisted on his lips. “Well, well, well,” he sneered, “If it isn’t the infamous Kid Antrim himself.”

He turned back to Eleanor, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. “Looks like I’ve struck gold,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “Not only do I find my runaway bride, but I also snag the outlaw they’ve been hunting.”

His gaze shifted back to Billy, a malicious glint in his eyes. “And here I thought today couldn’t get any better. You two are just making it too easy.” he staggered to his feet, spitting out blood, "Let me guess, she told you some sob story about running away from a loveless marriage and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. She’s quite the little lady, isn’t she!" He laughed, a grating sound that sent shivers down Eleanor's spine.

Billy glared at Harbinger, his fists clenched by his side. "Leave her out of this, Harbinger. You know nothing about her or me," he growled, his voice a low rumble.

Harbinger just laughed again, the sound like nails on a chalkboard to Eleanor's ears. "Oh, but I know more than you think, Kid. And I'm going to enjoy killing you in front of her," he said, his eyes taking on a dark, maniacal gleam.

Billy barely had time to react before Harbinger's fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. The impact echoed through the dusty clearing.

Billy’s head spun, but he quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He lunged at Harbinger, landing a solid punch to his ribs. The two men clashed with a ferocity that was almost primal, exchanging blows with a violence that sent dust and debris flying into the air.

Harbinger grunted as he took a punch to the stomach but retaliated with a brutal swing of his fist that caught Billy square in the face. Billy stumbled, his vision blurring momentarily. Harbinger seized the opportunity, grabbing Billy by the collar and throwing him to the ground.

Eleanor’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the brutal struggle between Billy and Harbinger. With her switchblade clutched tightly in her trembling hand, she knew it was too small to make a real impact in this deadly confrontation. Desperation fueled her actions as she launched herself at Harbinger, trying to wrestle him away from Billy.

Harbinger’s powerful shove sent her crashing to the ground. Eleanor hit the dirt hard, her skin scraping against the rough surface. Pain flared as she felt the sting of cuts and scrapes, and her lip split open, blood mingling with the dirt. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to push herself up, her mind racing for a way to help Billy despite the agony of her injuries.

Billy scrambled to his feet, wiping blood from his nose. His fury only heightened when he saw Eleanor in the dirt, and he charged back at Harbinger with a renewed determination, landing a series of quick, powerful punches. Harbinger, despite his size and strength, was momentarily overwhelmed by Billy’s relentless assault.

Eleanor’s mind raced, desperately searching for a solution. She scanned the surroundings for anything that might help. Her eyes fell on a nearby pile of wooden crates and a small barrel of oil. An idea sparked, and she rushed over to the barrels, struggling to lift them.

The fight between Billy and Harbinger continued, the two men locked in a deadly struggle. Billy’s blows were becoming more desperate, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Harbinger, though bruised and battered, was relentless, driven by a dark, twisted satisfaction.

Eleanor finally managed to tip over the barrel of oil, spilling its contents onto the ground. She grabbed a nearby crate, her heart pounding as she carried it over to the edge of the clearing. With a deep breath, she struck a match and tossed it onto the oil-soaked ground, creating a fiery barrier between herself and Harbinger.

The flames erupted with a fierce crackle, sending a wall of fire shooting up between Eleanor and Harbinger. Harbinger’s eyes widened in shock as the fire cut through the air, the heat pushing him back. He stumbled, momentarily distracted from his fight with Billy.

Billy seized the opportunity, launching himself at Harbinger with a final, desperate attack. The two men tumbled to the ground, the fire roaring around them as Eleanor watched with bated breath. She knew this was her chance to escape, to finally break free from the nightmare she’d been trapped in.

The blaze crackled fiercely, casting an ominous glow over the struggling figures. Harbinger’s face was a mask of pure rage as he tightened his grip around Billy’s throat, his fingers like iron bands cutting off Billy’s breath. Billy's struggles grew weaker, his face turning red as he fought to break free.

Just as Harbinger’s grip threatened to crush the life out of Billy, a chilling click echoed through the chaos. Harbinger’s eyes shot open wide, his expression shifting from fury to confusion. He released Billy momentarily, glancing around to locate the source of the sound.

The firelight flickered across Eleanor’s face, her eyes fierce and resolute. In her trembling hand, she held Harbinger’s revolver, the barrel pointed directly at him. Her heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the gun heavy but grounding.

"Get away from him," Eleanor’s voice rang out, steady despite the tremor in her hands, "Or I'll kill you."

Harbinger’s gaze snapped back to Eleanor, his face contorting into a mask of sheer anger. He lunged towards her, but the gun was now firmly in her grasp. The realization of his missing weapon sent a wave of panic through him, even as he tried to mask it with bravado.

“You don't have the nerve!” Harbinger growled, but the sound was cut off by the sharp crack of the revolver as Eleanor fired a warning shot into the air. The bullet whizzed past his ear, a clear and resounding declaration of her resolve.

The shot caused Harbinger to freeze, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. He took a cautious step back, his hands raised in a gesture of reluctant surrender.

Eleanor stood her ground, her voice unwavering despite the danger. “I don’t care what you do with me, but you don’t hurt him. He’s an outlaw, sure. But he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

Harbinger’s rage flared at her words. “I’m going to enjoy making an example out of both of you. You think your little threats scare me?” He moved closer, his posture menacing as he reached for the revolver Eleanor was holding.

Billy, still gasping for breath, struggled to his feet, his eyes locked on Eleanor with a look of desperation. “Eleanor, wait…”

Eleanor’s heart raced as she held the gun steady, her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle. “Stay back!” she hollered, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “The town's people are gonna show up any minute and see what you've done!”

Harbinger’s laugh was low and dangerous. “You think I'm worried about these simpletons? You started the fire, after all. Who do you think they're gonna' believe? A decorated army captain, or a hysterical woman with a gun?”

Eleanor’s resolve hardened. With a steady hand, she took a deep breath and fired the revolver. The shot rang out, echoing through the night, and Harbinger’s expression transformed from one of arrogance to shock as the bullet struck him squarely. He staggered backward, clutching at his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He fell to the ground, his body convulsing in a final, desperate spasm. Eleanor kept the gun trained on him, her hand shaking but her aim steady. Harbinger’s eyes, once full of menace, were now clouded with the realization of his own mortality.

Billy staggered to his feet, equally shocked at what he'd just witnessed. Eleanor killed a man. Five-foot-nothing, big-mouthed Eleanor Aubert, killed a man right in front of him.

As Harbinger lay on the ground, his strength waning, he glared at Eleanor with a mix of hatred and disbelief. “You… you’ll never be safe,” he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll make sure… you pay for this…”

Eleanor’s gaze remained firm, her heart pounding in her chest. “You’re done,” she said quietly, her voice a mixture of relief and sorrow. “Consider our wedding officially off,”

Harbinger’s eyes closed, his body going still. The night was silent once more, the echoes of the confrontation fading into the darkness. Eleanor lowered the revolver, her hands trembling as she stared at the lifeless form of the man who had brought so much pain and fear into her life.

Billy moved to her side, his expression one of concern and gratitude. “Eleanor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with worry.

Eleanor nodded, her gaze still fixed on Harbinger, “We need to get rid of him,” was all she replied.

Billy's eyes followed her gaze to Harbinger's lifeless body, a grim understanding settling over him. “Alright,” he said, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. “Let’s take care of this.”

Together, they dragged Harbinger’s body away from the scene, their movements deliberate and somber. The darkened landscape stretched before them, a stark reminder of the harsh world they inhabited. The road to Lincoln was long, but they were determined to see this through.

As they made their way to a secluded spot far outside of town, the silence between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts and shared relief. The task of burying Harbinger was both a necessity and a final act of defiance against the man who had tried to control their lives.

When they reached a desolate area, far from prying eyes, they began to dig a grave. The earth was dry and resistant, but their determination made quick work of it. Billy’s movements were methodical, while Eleanor’s hands shook slightly with the lingering tension of their confrontation.

Finally, they laid Harbinger’s body to rest, covering it with dirt and stones to ensure that it would remain hidden from any who might seek to find it. The act was a quiet, solemn ceremony, a way to put an end to the nightmare that had plagued them.

As they finished, Billy placed a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, offering a supportive squeeze. “It’s over,” he said softly. “You're free now.”

Eleanor took a deep breath, her gaze lingering on the freshly disturbed earth. “Yes,” she replied, her voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “It’s all over.”

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