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euniexenoblade · 10 days

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"I'm not a girl!" - a transfem forcefem story

Hi hi hi hi, note that the premise of this is essentially an egg being cracked by an older woman, so there's a lot of he/him and "boy" useage. But stick with it please, I assure you the end is worth getting to :) also don't be mean about any weird grammar I literally wrote this in a couple of hours for free. Be nice.

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The boy stood there against the wall holding a red solo cup, looking down at the floor, overwhelmed from alcohol and loud booming music of the party. He had watched his drunken roommate drive off with a date – his ride home was gone. He didn't know any of these people, his roommate insisted he come to this party to meet new people, and now he was all alone. Panic and anxiety swarmed his thoughts. He was drunk, he'd never been drunk before. He was fairly far from home, could he walk home like this? He doesn't know any of these people, would any help him if he asked for a ride home? He doesn't ask, though, he just stands against the wall, looking down at the floor, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone there, trying his best not to panic.

A moment of bravery, the boy looks up from the floor to scan the party to see if there was anyone that looked like they'd be approachable. To his dismay it all looked like drunken college kids talking, dancing, being obnoxious, people he felt too scared to talk to. His eyes flow from one side of the room to the other, noting nothing interesting. That is, until he sees a tall woman standing with a group of girls. Long legs under a short skirt being the first thing to catch his attention, but before long he noticed her wearing a band tee that was so tight it was straining against her chest, causing him to stare at her chest from afar. For a brief moment, he is distracted from his anxiety with drunken horniness. That is until he finally notices, she's staring back at him.

The boy freaks out. He doesn't want to offend anyone, especially drunken party goers. He decides it's finally time to head for the door across the room, but as soon as he moves towards it, he collides with some other drunken guy. His drink spills all down his clothes, the other guy getting none of the splash back. They apologize to each other, and the guy walks away leaving the boy alone in the party again. He looks down at what was once his favorite shirt, now potentially stained and ruined. He's angry he let his roommate talk him into this, he just looked like a dork and felt more out of place than he usually did.

“Are you going to clean up or are you just going to be a mess for everyone to see?” a voice whispers in his ear from behind.

He jumps around and finds the lady he had been staring at so intently greeting him with a smile. “Um, I, uh,-”

The woman grabs him by the wrist, “Bathroom's this way, silly.” She drags him to the hallway and opens a door, pushing him in before coming in herself and locking the door. He stands there in the middle of the bathroom, staring at this woman in shock, unsure of what to say. She looks at him blankly, “What are you doing? Take your shirt off so we can try to save it.”

He gets nervous again, “I...uh...I don't really like being shirtless.”

The woman scoffs, “Such a child. You were about to cry in the middle of a party when you noticed your shirt was stained, take the damn thing off.”

Nerves or not, it's hard to say no when an older woman tells you to do something. "I wasn't going to cry," he mumbles as he pulls his shirt off. Before he can do anything with it, she snatches it from him, fills the sink with water, pulls a small cleaner bottle out from the bag she had been carrying under her arm, and starts working it into the shirt. “I know the guy that lives here. He's always throwing these stupid parties to feel cooler than he is. There's never anything interesting happening at these parties. Just drunken college losers.” He sits down on the side of the tub, letting the random woman do the work he didn't really know how to do. “That is, until I saw some pathetic perv about to cry in the middle of one.”

“Hey!” He yells without thinking, “I am not a perv!”

“Oh? Then why were you staring at my tits?”

“I, uh, um, I don't think that's, uh very pervy. I mean, Isn't it kind of normal?”

She turns around, a big smirk on her face. “Aw, someone's embarrassed about her perviness.”

He notices the pronoun she used, but decides to ignore it. “So, uh, can I have my shirt back? I don't feel well and I want to go home.”

“Sorry sweetie, it needs to go through the wash and dry. You can just go like that. This is basically a frat boy party, no one's gonna think a shirtless guy is weird.”

He considers it. “I'd rather not, even if my shirt is wet.”

She stares at him as if he said something incredibly stupid. “Ok, fine.” She grabs the bottom of her shirt with both hands and somehow pulls it free from her body, her breasts only concealed by a black lacy bra. She tosses the shirt at him, “There you go, a fresh shirt to go home in.”

“I c-can't wear this, it's a g-girl's shirt. They'll make fun of me...”

“Huh? Nothing about it is inherently girly. It's a concert shirt. And these dorks are so drunk they won't notice a thing.”

“I. Uh.” He's overheating. Overwhelmed again from the alcohol, the booming music, and a situation with a girl he's never been in before. But, above all else he's struggling with the realization that he's fully erect at the idea of wearing her clothes. “I. I. I can't. If peo-if people see-”

“Oh I see, wearing girl clothes turns you on, huh?”

His whole face turns red. Embarrassed is an understatement. He doesn't know how to respond. He's frozen.

“Aw, how cute. Strip.”

“WH-WHAT?!”

“I said strip. Take your pants and underwear off now.”

“N-N-NO! WHY WOULD I??”

“You're going to do what I tell you or I'm going to push you back into the hallway shirtless, and you can navigate what ever feelings that makes you feel.”

The boy's confused. That's not really a punishment. Anyone not wanting this situation would easily accept that. Even with being uncomfortable shirtless around people, he could deal with it to get out of a weird situation with a woman like this. But, despite that, he found himself standing up straight, unbuttoning his jeans, and pulling them and his boxers down. His body on full display for her, his cock fully erect, which he tries to hide with his hands as his face getting incredibly red again.

“Good girl.”

“I'm not a girl!” he yells back.

“Not yet, maybe.” She reaches up her skirt, and loops her fingers around the ends of her panties and slowly pulls them down. He watches her, confused and excited, and for a split second he can see from under the skirt that she has a dick. The boy looks away, pretending not to have seen.

“Aw, adorable. I'll make a girl out of you for sure.”

“I'm not a girl!”

She sticks her hand out, her black lacy panties hanging from one finger.

“Put them on.” She says.

“WH-WHAT?? NO, I can't, absolutely not!”

Her demeanor doesn't change. She just keeps looking at him with an intense stare. “Put them on, now. I will not repeat myself again.”

Once again, it's an easy situation to walk away from. He doesn't have to listen. He can grab his clothes and go. As she said, everyone's drunk, no one will likely noticed he came out of the bathroom naked. But, as before, he does as he's told. He takes the panties from her hand, and slowly slides them up his legs, his fully erect cock making the most noticeable bulge.

“Now you won't be so concerned about wearing my shirt, will you?” He doesn't reply. He's standing there in this woman's panties, feeling emasculated.

“How are you getting home?” the woman finally asks.

“I, uh, I guess I was going to walk.”

“Oh sweetheart, not in this state you aren't. I'll drive you.” Once again, he doesn't argue, he's already so embarrassed and overwhelmed he just avoids making eye contact and nods. "Now put on your clothes.”

He pulls his jeans on over the panties and puts her shirt on, noticing that it fits him remarkably well. “She was definitely wearing this to show off her boobs” he thinks to himself. Once he's dressed, she grabs his boxers and wraps the wet, cleaned shirt in them and places them in her bag. She unlocks the door and once again, grabs him by the wrist and pulls him with her. He doesn't resist, his will is beaten down too much, and a ride home sounds ideal. Just as she said, none of the drunk people even notice that he's wearing her shirt, all they notice is that she's topless now. “Haha yeah I spilled a drink!” she says, which is enough to make these people nod and ignore her. No one even notices him, or the fact he's wearing her panties. A fact that's getting his cock even harder.

The woman pulls him outside and guides him until they finally reach her car. She only finally let's go of him so he can get in the passenger seat, making him feel like a little kid with the way he's being lead around. He's finally free to just sit down, something he's longed for all night, he collapses into the seat, finding such comfort in her car. She gets in the driver's seat. “So, where do you live.” He mumbles the address to her, so drunk and so comfortable that he's having a hard time staying awake. She plugs the address into her phone and seems ready to go. She turns on the car, loud music comes on as she does, overwhelming the boy again. The car doesn't move. He doesn't care though, he's barely still awake. The comfortable seats feel like a new home for him to melt into. And, as he's starting to drift away to his dreamland, he jolts awake, she's rubbing his cock through his jeans.

“WH-WH-WHA”

“Aw, my sweet girl, you got so excited wearing my cute panties through that crowd of people didn't you.”

“St-stop, w-what if someone sees?!”

“Then they'll see me playing with a pervy girl.”

“I'M NOT A GI-” he couldn't finish, instead erupting into a moan as her hand went beneath his jeans and stroked him through the lacy panties. The softness of the panties felt so good on him.

“That's a good girl, quiet down and let me reward you.”

Once again, he was red. He couldn't argue with her, she knew exactly what to say to shut his brain down. She's stroking at a decent pace, he can see people going in and out of the house, but none seem to turn their gaze to the car. And even if they did look, he didn't care anymore. He was so very close to popping. He needed this. He needed to cum right here, right now. But, then the feeling stopped. He looked at her pulling her hand back, “No please I really want to cum”

She ignores him and as he tries to ask again she pushes her fingers into his mouth. “Clean my fingers, and maybe you'll earn the right to cum.” This time he wasn't embarrassed, he was frustrated. Horribly frustrated. He needed to cum and now instead he was sucking his own precum off of this woman's fingers. But, he accepted it. He wanted to cum, and she promised he might get to. So he was willing to do as he was told.

“Good girl.” He doesn't argue this time. He knew she would just embarrass him again if he tried. Plus he wanted to cum. His silence brings a bigger smirk to her face. “Now let's get you home.”

The drive home was uneventful. She was taking her time making sure she didn't get into an accident. Eventually they arrived at his apartment complex, and he lead her to the apartment itself. He unlocked the door and walked him, she followed him in. The living room was dark, but he could tell his roommate hadn't come home yet. “Take me to your room.” And he does as told.

His room isn't very interesting. No posters or anything, not much furniture, just the bed, a dresser and a tv with some video games spread around. He could tell she was disappointed by what she found, but she didn't say anything about it. He tried to think of what to say, but he didn't know what the next move was.

“Strip down to your panties.”

But, clearly the older woman here knew what the next move was. He did as told, he took her shirt off, he took his jeans off, and he stood there in the middle of his bedroom in this woman's panties, made wet by his precum. She walks over and runs one hand through the hair on the side of his head, and with her other grabs his ass, and then starts to kiss and bite him along the neck, slowly moving up his neck. Each kiss followed by a sharp bite, each one making him grow all the more restless. He lets out soft moans, surprising himself that he can sound that way.

“Such a good girl~” she whispers.

“I'm not a girl.” The boy moans.

“Oh? You're embarrassed to show your chest to a bunch of drunken men like a girl, you've got your panties incredibly wet like a girl, and right now you're moaning like a girl.”

He blushes. “N-none of those things make someone a girl.”

The woman slips her hand under the panties, grabbing his bare ass as she responds, “That's true. But doesn't it sound more fun to be a girl? What do you have to lose by embracing this part of yourself? Why not try something new?” He moans as she starts to bite him again. He has no retort. Just desire. His cock throbbing, yet tears forming in his eyes. “Please make me uh....please make me your girl.” the girl finally says.

A big smile forms on the woman's face. “Of course, sweetie.” She pushes the girl backwards onto the bed. The woman looks down on her with such a big smile as the the girl adjusts herself so she'll be more comfortable on the bed, but all her movement stops as the woman gets on top of her. The woman starts by kissing her upper chest, slowly working her way to her nipples. The girl grabs her sheets and squeezes her hands into fists as the woman sucks and bites, making her moan from pleasures she never knew she could feel. The woman takes her time, sucking and biting, eventually kissing her way to the other nipple and repeating the process. Slow, biting, sucking, kissing, pleasure.

The woman starts to move on, kissing slowly down her chest, slowly down her stomach, slowly down her crotch. The woman starts to pull the panties down, just enough for her cock to pop out, and the woman takes it into her hand and puts the head into her mouth. The girl moans at the feeling of the warm mouth on her cock. With her hand, the woman starts to jerk the girl off, while lightly sucking on her and her move her mouth back and forth. The girl's eyes roll into the back of her head and she moans the biggest moan of the night. She's never felt such ecstasy before. It's intense. So intense. She needs it. She needs to finish. She needs to cum now. “Please, please, please” she moans. “I want to cum please.” She can feel it close. She knows it's soon.

And the woman pulls the girl out of her mouth. The girl is once again frustrated, “no, p-please, don't stop please...”

“Do you think you've been a good girl tonight? Why should I let you cum?”

“Please please please I'm sorry I'll be your good girl please let me cum.” She's desperate. She'll do anything. She has never felt this good before, she doesn't want it to end like this. “Please I'll do anything you want please, I'll be a good girl for you I swear.”

The woman smiles again. She pulls off her bra, revealing her giant tits for the girl to see. She pulls the girl head into her chest, face between her tits. “How do you like the tits you were so obsessed with?” The girl doesn't know what to say. They're lovely, but the pressure in her is too intense, “please, please, please” she cries while her eyes start to form tears.

The woman let's her go and stands up next to the bed. “I don't want to hear you beg. I want you to earn your right to cum. Put your mouth to good use.” The girl never considered she might be expected to do something back. This is all so new to her, she was just riding along with what the woman did. But, she didn't feel resistant to it, she just wasn't sure what to do. Sitting on her knees, the girl was easily crotch height with the woman now. The girl slowly lifted the woman's skirt, revealing the woman's semi erect cock. The smell of the woman's sweat and cock flooded the girl's senses. And she loves it. It made her even hornier. She takes the woman into her mouth, trying to copy what the woman has done before.

The woman puts both her hands on the top of her head, “Don't overthink it, just relax.” The girl listens and tries to slow down and relax, and then the woman thrusts, her cock hitting the back of the girl's throat. She pulls back and thrusts again. The girl understands now and tries to relax, but this is completely new. But that doesn't stop her from being a good girl. “Oh babygirl, your throat is just like a fleshlight, it feels like you're made for my cock.” The girl barely hears the words, she just lets the woman have her way. The seconds become minutes, the minutes drift by as the girl loses all sense of time. She is not a boy tonight, she is this woman's toy.

The woman eventually stops thrusting, exhausted she pulls her cock from the girl's mouth. The girl can see strings of saliva and precum connecting them still. “Lay down.” the woman commands. Having learned her place, the girl does as told, laying her head on her pillow, preparing for what's to come. “You've been such a good girl, I think it's time I helped you cum.” Excitement wells up in the girl. She's waited all night for this.

The woman crawls onto the bed and stands on her knees, pushing herself between the girl's legs. She puts her cock on the girl's cock, and thrusts. The girl lets out a loud moan. And again, the woman thrusts. And, again. And again until she's developed a rhythm. The girl realizes she can see the woman's face like this. She can see her face strain and hear her moan with each thrust. This turns the girl on even more. The woman notices the girl staring, and slows her rhythm as she pushes herself forward to shove her tongue into the girl's mouth. The girl doesn't know what to do and just let's her do it. The pleasure is slower, but the pleasure is there. The woman lifts her head back up, resuming her previous posture and previous rhythm, causing the girl to let out long, deep moans. The pressure is coming back, the intensity in her cock is building, “I'm g-going to c-cum” she moans out.

“Mmm, cum for me sweet girl,” the woman replies. Finally with the permission, the girl finally feels herself explode. Her cum shooting out of her and covering them both. The girl breathes heavy, nearly in tears, “th-thank you thank you.” The girl can't tell if the woman replied, her senses fade, the world around her fades, and she melts into the bed, deep into sleep.

The sounds of chirping birds wake the girl up. She's in bed, covered in cum, in a girl's lacy panties. The woman she met at the party before is putting her top on when she notices the girl woke up. “Oh hi sweetheart, I need to go, stuff to do. You should go back to sleep if you don't need to get up early.”

The girl shakes her head, she has no where to be. “But..I don't want you to go...”

“Awww,” she coos at the girl, “but I have to my sweet girl.” The woman picks up her bag and pulls a pen out of it. She looks around the room for something to write on, finally deciding to just write it on the girl's arm. “This is my number. Text me sometime.” The girl nods, excited. The party worked, she got a friend!

She escorts the woman to the living room, but before the woman leaves, she reaches into her bag again and pulls out two pill bottles and puts them in the girl's hand. "Take two of these a day.”

“What do they do?” The girl asks.

The woman motions at her body, “they do this. It'll make you the girl you've wanted to be.”

“I'm not a girl.” It was automatic. She didn't even intend to say it.

“Ok, ok, girl adjacent. You can be whatever you want, but take those pills and it'll do it for you. I have extras so I might as well give them to you.”

The woman opens the door and as she exits the apartment, she turns around, “Also, you're going to clean those panties and give them back. It's a matching set, damn it, I can't just lose them” The girl, realizing finally that she's still covered in cum and in panties, goes red and finally closes the door in a panic.

The girl goes to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water before going back to her room. She stares at the pill bottles given to her. She opens the one bottle and takes a small blue pill out. She stares at it, trying to figure out what to do with it.

“I'm not a girl.” she says to herself, just before washing the blue pill down her throat.

#forcefem #transfem smut #my writing #the kids are asleep #long post #if yall like the this i'll probably name the characters and continue the story

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n0phis · 2 years

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my finger hurts so bad i have a blister now BUT

FULL L’MANBURG LINEUP BAY BEEEEEEE

worm curseworm helped immeasurably with the headcanons and details! they r responsible for most of the wicked sick stuff here!!!! worm curseworm supremacy

buckle in. this is gonna b a long one

wilbur: does his best to keep his meticulous but he kept wiping his fucking hands on his pants while brewing and got Ingredience(tm) on them that wont come out. he wanted to add that kinda like… hierarchy shit to the sleeves but also was going off a vague memory of what he thought ranks look like and kinda bullshitted it all (why are the pips and chevrons combined man)

tommy: the one who sewed all this shit, he had a coat like wilburs but being Tommy (see; pants) absolutely wrecked it through roughhousing and Existing and finally pitched it. he made a replacement that was a little less fancy and more like tubbos but with SO much more red because it’s ‘sick as fuck wilbur shut the fuck up’.

eret: looks the most similar to wilbur’s (due to his maturity compared to tubbo/tommy/fundy and the amount of trust wilbur placed in him) save for a few things like the boots, collar, and length of the undercoat. INCREDIBLY pristine save for a slightly damaged lapel and concrete dust on the sleeves from working on the wall (since they were able to avoid a lot of the fighting). up until their betrayal, their ability to stay as regal and clean as they did was almost taken as a threat to everyone’s perception of wilbur as the leader of the revolution

tubbo: dirty as fuck, torn as fuck from various escapades in caves and while gardening; he never wore other clothes for menial labour and shit hes goofy. loose on him with a very crumpled collar and lots of stitches for minor tears in the fabric.

fundy: he has little boy shoes he has little boy shoes his outfit is somewhat infantilizing canonically so thats a fun little nod to it! he is just as Rambunctious as tubbo and tommy but makes a much stronger effort to clean his clothes because he is very afraid of his father’s judgement. there are *very* slight dirt stains as a result that just will not come out. while his uniform was being made, he asked if he could get his more similar to his father rather than tubbo/tommy, hence the short tail while everything else looks like wilbur’s. ALSO loose on him, moreso at the start to give him room to grow into it

niki & jack: they joined after the l’manburg war and so theirs are very fresh, with a slightly altered design (red underside vs gold, inverted colours on the sash and pants/shirt/collar) compared to the prior default and marginally more saturated colours as a sign of how crisp and new they are. straight lines to keep the sleeves visually interesting without signifying a wartime rank. both are fairly well fitted as tommy has honed his skills and has tubbo and niki to help

WHOOF. there we go!

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cozymoko · 1 year

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Wait you write for Kamisama kiss??? OMG Tomoe's been my crush for years 😭 omg if it's okay with you then can I have general yandere headcannons about everyone's favourite fox boy?? 🌕 Anon

YANDERE TOMOE HEADCANONS

Note: I also love Tomoe. Btw this might suck because I'm bad at general anything.

Pronouns used: feminine, she/her (for convenience)

WARNING(S): yandere themes, slightly suggestive

YOKAI

Possessive, Manipulative, Violent (to others)

AS A ROUGUE YOKAI, pledging his loyalty to others never truly appealed to him; to a woman nonetheless. Being a formidable demon never called for such requirements.

You were feisty, pointing the round end of your broom in his direction. You knew not of who was there, yokai or human but you feigned confidence. The trembling of your hands gave it away, you were scared as one would be. “Who's there?”

The pale moonlight peeked through the few windows lining the walls, carefully calling attention to your features. You were easy on the eyes and yet so hard to look at. Your eyes were glassy and narrowed into thin slits. Your legs shook violently in anticipation for him to reveal himself as you hugged the broom flush against your chest. Such a look didn't suit you.

Having mercy on you, he decided to cut his fun a little short.

As one does, Tomoe made his way to a brothel which he was fairly acquainted with. All in a pitiful attempt to find solace amongst the predatory gazes of the women occupying it. But alas, he could not. With every look upon their faces twisted into one that mimicked your own. Captivating and seemingly kind, tempting him to reach out and touch it.

Tomoe is no fool. His emotions are evident, terribly so. He longs for a human woman and there's no need to deny it. Your image has been engraved in his memory down to every last detail. Women who were not you could no longer soothe his mind as they appeared lackluster in comparison.

Thus, he sought after you. In the middle of the night, he was whisked away by the chilly wind in search of the woman. Your scent was heavy on his mind, leading him back to the small cabin you resided in. His footsteps were night, almost silent as he entered your home, searching for you.

To his luck, there you were. Rolled up in a cotton futon, lulled by the chirps of noisy crickets. Yes, he's decided; You are his and no one else's. Tomoe isn't one for sharing and he'll make sure you're aware.

Akura-ou was quick to find out about your existence, which was a pain within itself. He would toy with you just to get under Tomoe's skin. It's not every day you get to see your moody "counterpart" fall so hard for someone, let alone a human. Anyhow, those who've tormented you weren't as fortunate as Akura-ou, serving a far more unpleasant demise for their actions.

If not for you, Tomoe wouldn't hesitate to massacre every man who looks your way. Having good-looking women by his side is nothing he isn't used to, yet, you are different. As his woman, he wouldn't want someone to so much as breathe the same air as you. The mere thought renders him ill.

Although, if you ask him not to he'll try his best to listen to your wishes. Keyword: try. He would never want to upset you, oh not at all! However he's only "human", even he has his limits.

No matter how he may terrify you, running is NOT an option. You will never be too far from his grasp. As long as his heart is beating, no one will ever have his heart. The fox demon is a bit too eager to show how he got his reputation in the Yokai world. As his other half, why don't you sit down and watch for a while?

“Foolish girl, when will you finally understand that your efforts are futile? Your cries may pain me but if I must tie you down to keep you. Then I shall.”

FAMILIAR

Loyal, Overprotective, Posessive

BEFORE HE MET YOU HE WAS A YOKAI, drowning in a pit of endless grief. Though not a powerful God, you held enough power to help the lost kitsune. You, determined to save him, kissed him and made Tomoe you familiar. For that, he was forever grateful.

Sure his bloodlust has been soothed over the decades, but it doesn't cease to exist. However, betrayal has never crossed his mind. His loyalty to you runs deeper than the blood that courses through veins. He is bound to you for life and he will serve you until greeted by death's embrace

He still finds you to be a subpar God in nearly every aspect. You were so uncool and lame as you lacked elegance, lazy in comparison to many, and awfully forgetful. But it made you even more charming. Tomoe found himself growing fond of your minor habits, though still trying to push healthier ones upon you, they were sweet, or even cute dare he say.

If you so choose, you can touch his ears. What can I say, the thought has plagued his mind more times than he cares to admit. Intimacy with you is not exactly scarce, you dot on the fox quite a bit, however, he yearns for more of your attention, your time. Being your familiar for some years has honestly built up his confidence. (There was no way in hell he'd ask you that and earlier than now.)

You cannot have another familiar, not a chance. Tomoe will burn them to the ground if they even try to kiss you. If you've had familiars before him, fuck them. They can die for all he cares. All you have to do is ask and he will gladly do the honors. (He knows you won't, unfortunately)

No male familiars are permitted to sleep by your side, except him of course. He must retain his superiority somehow. Allowing them to see you so vulnerable is not an option.

For you, he'd do an ything if it's within his power. As long as it doesn't put you or your reputation in danger that is.

“You reek of that wretched Tengu, must you always converse with such lowlives, mistress? If my company is not to your liking please allow me to fix myself. I am your loyal familiar and you should know I'm also the best.”

#—🍁#x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere x y/n #yandere hedacanons #yandere tomoe #yandere tomoe x reader #tomoe x reader #kamisama hajimemashita headcanons #kamisama hajimemashita #kamisama kiss headcanons #kamisama kiss #yancore #yandere male #yanderecore

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as-is-above-so-below · 1 year

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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Hey, Jealousy

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: NSFW, SMUT HEAVY CHAPTER, MDNI. Canon typical violence mentioned. Note: HELLO ALL! It's been a minute! This fic isn't going anywhere by any means, just had a bit of writer's block and lack of motivation to write for a bite lol. A special thank you to @lethalchiralium for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

“This is your target. Memorize it.” John paused as the surveillance photo of their target, a dark-haired woman with almond-shaped eyes, made its way between the trio. He placed a black cell phone in the center of the table while Soap regarded the image. “Freyja, you’re the best pickpocket out of all of us. Your task is to lift her phone and swap it out with the duplicate. Rumor has it there’s a major weapon’s deal rearing up, and I want to know when and where.”

Taking a moment to examine the photo now pinched between her thumb and forefinger, Freyja raised a brow. While she wasn’t one to judge solely based on appearances (a tactic she relied upon herself many times), the woman pictured looked far from an arms dealer. She seemed fairly young. “She has the details?”

Price nodded and partially sat on the table, arms crossed over his chair. “She’s the buyer. Rather unassuming, I know, but our intel is good.”

“Bloody hell,” Ghost mumbled, leaning into her space to sneak a peek. “They just keep gettin’ younger and younger…”

“Ah dinnae mean to be rude, but Ghost’s no’ exactly inconspicuous. A bit hard nae tae notice a giant with headgear at a social event.”

A fair point. Ghost was the tallest member of the team outside of König.

“Which is why you will be partnered with the Captain.” Freyja didn’t miss how her husband’s watchful gaze flickered between her and her co-captain. “You’ll have to couple it up to blend in; a single woman at an event like this would draw suspicion. Ghost will be going undercover as security detail and watch your six.”

“Me? Are ye sure, Captain?”

“Affirmative, Sergeant. I’d rather not have another incident like last time.”

“Last time?” Johnny looked between them. “What happened last time?”

THEN

It should’ve been a simple task, really. A pretty young woman lures a gullible, unsuspecting new hire to a roped-off room with certain expectations, only to be met with the cold steel of a knife to their throat.

As expected, the information burst from the young man’s lips like water through a broken dam, hoping to save his own skin. The quick execution Ghost offered was a mercy compared to what would happen if his boss found out he had snitched.

He could be merciful when he wanted to be.

The Simon she married was not a jealous man. A younger Ghost, at the beginning of their… “situationship”, however…

After the body was stuffed in the room’s closet, hopefully not to be found until at least the next day, he wasted no time hoisting Freyja up against a wall with ease and fucking her senseless. Her legs tightened around his waist immediately, her Venetian mask coming loose at the sudden movement and falling to the floor.

“Yes, right there. Hah, hah, nngh-”

“See what you do to me?” he growled against her cheek, hips snapping against her shaking thighs. “Can’t even get through a fucking mission without my cock gettin’ hard, and you’re over there, actin’ like a slag. Touchin’ that bastard like that-”

“I was just - doing - my job-”

Ghost’s brutal pace stopped and pinned her to the wall. One hand no longer supporting her weight, jumped from her ass to her throat, the bare, calloused skin squeezing the sides.

“You took it too far. I should leave you high and dry for the show you put on.”

Her fingers scratched at the short hair near the base of his neck, earning a warning sound from the man. Freyja wriggled her hips to find some kind of friction, a release. “Fuck fuck fuck – please, Ghost, don’t stop. Make me come, please–”

“Yeah? Y’want me to make you come?”

“Yes, yes, please! Please, I need to come–”

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, so sorry! Fuck me!”

“You’re fuckin’ lucky I’m feelin’ forgiving.”

“Oh shit, thank you, thank you, I’m sorry–”

“You’d better be.”

NOW

The sergeant looked between Price and the couple, studying Price’s lifted brow and Freyja’s pressed lips and flushed skin. Ghost snorted beside her, which got him a sharp jab from his wife’s elbow.

“Bunch o’ rabbits, you two!” he snickered, laughing into his fist. Just how they managed to bone in the field so often, he’d never know. “It’s a miracle ye don’t have a thousand wee bairns by now.”

“Could’ve had them discharged for the mess I had to listen to.”

“We said we’re sorry!”

“No, you said you were sorry. I won’t apologize if I don’t mean it.”

“I’m going to kill you–”

John cut them off, standing again and collecting his paperwork. “The target rarely comes out of hiding, so we can’t risk spooking her. Freyja, Soap, you’d better sell it.”

“Oh, I’ll make it believable, a’right.”

“And if somehow you find a way around this arrangement – please, for the love of God, no shagging on the job,” Price stressed, pointing at each of them for emphasis. “Got it?”

Johnny raised his hand. “Ah would just like tae point out that, for once, I’m the good egg here,” he pointed out with a wide grin.

Multiple sets of eyes rolled. “Right then. Dapper up. I’ll see you all tonight.”

Ecstatic about their upcoming mission, the Scot jumped up from his seat, still beaming. He was already bubbling with ideas for their strategy, the backstory of the characters they would play, what he was going to wear–

“Johnny.”

“Sir?”

Ghost leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees as he looked up at the man. “Remember what I said about flirtin’ with my wife?”

“Aye.”

“Still in effect.”

Soap made it his mission to be as handsy as humanly possible the moment they stepped out of their vehicle. Ever the gentleman, he stuck behind Freyja when taking the steps up the grandiose front stairs into the venue; once at the top, his hand slipped across her lower back from one hip to the next.

Both operators kept their attire simple yet appropriate for the dress code. They complimented each other nicely; Johnny sported a simple black suit and a white collared shirt with the top two buttons undone, while Freyja donned a rich, dark purple, satin gown with an open back dipping to her tailbone. They were meant to fit in, not draw attention to themselves.

When they entered the ballroom, crystal chandeliers twinkling above, she glanced around the perimeter at the masked guards. Only taking in their stature for a second before moving on to the next, attempting to locate their backup –

There.

Ghost blended in seamlessly, dressed exactly like the other guards stationed around the room. All black ensemble, black combat boots, and a balaclava with a window for the eyes. They met briefly with Frey’s before she shifted her gaze up to her date, placing one hand on top of his at her side, the other between his shoulder blades.

All night, Ghost’s stare could have burned a hole through her skin straight down to her soul as her partner positively manhandled her. Nothing was safe. Her ass, hips, bare shoulders, and stomach were frequently groped, pinched, and caressed; you name it, Sergeant MacTavish did it. He came up from behind with a champagne flute for her, pressing against her as his hands snaked around to cradle her belly. Kissing obviously wasn’t off the table, his warm lips frequently finding hers; he had enough decency to keep that portion of the night brief.

Finally, after an hour and a half of loving it up with her husband’s best friend, Johnny turned Freyja into a pillar, forcing her to squeak in surprise. Gentle kisses pecked from her collar up to her ear, using his body as a shield.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” she whispered, keeping up the appearance of a drunk, handsy couple by carding her fingers through the back of his mohawk.

He chuckled against her hair. “That’s the idea, Hen. Figure one o’ us should get a good fuck outta tonight.” Frey rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to shove him. “Eyes on the target. She’s had a chance tae get settled. Move in on yer mark.”

She followed his guidance, subtle pressure at the base of her skull pointing her in the direction of their target. Thankfully, a small purse dangled by the woman’s pelvis on a long chain, ripe for the picking. If all went according to plan, Soap would walk them into each other, allowing her to switch the dummy in his pocket with the real thing.

Freyja initiated their objective by stepping in that direction but allowed her companion to take the lead. Clinging to his bicep and stumbling slightly, she whined, “You are in so much trouble when we get home!”

“Aw, c’mon Bonnie! Ah just cannae help myself!” he purred, bending to nibble her ear and give her a reason to jerk away.

“Hey, stop that!” As she lunged to the left, she fell out of the Sergeant’s grasp and into the young woman, grabbing her to keep upright. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“What the fuck!” She wheeled on them, eyes wide at the sudden intrusion into her conversation. “Watch where you’re going!”

Freyja huffed angrily in Johnny’s direction, straightening herself and her dress. “I am so sorry about him. You know how men can be. Always impatient.”

“Unfortunately,” the woman mumbled, nose turned up in disgust. If Freyja could rely on anything, she could always lean on most women’s mutual distaste for men. While it always felt distasteful to manipulate while undercover, it got the job done.

With a soft huff, Freyja grabbed Soap’s hand again and departed with a soft wave, tugging him toward their exit point. Ghost was nowhere in sight.

According to plan, the Brit had dipped into the women’s bathroom when he was sure the lift was successful, and they would eventually follow. Going into the bathroom after two people clearly looking for a space to hook up would look suspicious. The real trick was leaving enough time between their entrances that nobody would notice, without waiting too long for the other guards to notice Ghost’s absence.

She used her best high-pitched, giggling squeal and ditzy movements, swatting at the wandering hands pawing at the shiny, smooth material of her outfit. It had been at least two minutes since Ghost had disappeared, and she decided that was enough leeway for them to follow without raising any alarms. But just as her palm pressed against the cool doorknob, her ally stopped behind her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Freyja felt the abdominal muscles under Soap’s shirt tense; otherwise, his composure remained unchanged. “Sorry?” he asked with a laugh, keeping his body turned toward her. She refrained from ripping the stranger’s hand off Johnny’s shoulder and ripping back his ring finger–

The man smiled, perfect white teeth nearly sparkling in the light. “Ye owe meh a drink! C’mon, one more shot fur a fellow Scotsman?”

“Shite! Ah completely forgot!” Johnny hovered over her still and bent to run his nose along the shell of her ear. “Ah’ll be right behind ye. Just give me a fiver to finish my drink, aye?”

“Sure thing.” Freyja hung her hands on the lapels of his jacket, anchoring him in place to stretch and purr in his ear, “Don’t take too long.”

She was so fucking dead when they got home. Likely won’t walk right for days.

Barely halfway through the door, a firm grip pulled her into the room, slammed the door shut with her body, then wrapped around her throat. Her heels brought her just a bit closer to her husband’s height, brown eyes practically set ablaze. Ghost had abandoned his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his button-down, exposing the black ink on one forearm.

I should put in for a day or two off.

“Did you not learn your lesson last time?” Ghost asked, low-pitched and gravelly as if he had been restraining himself for hours. He probably had been. “Must’ve been too generous. Let’s try this again.” A man on a mission, he swiftly twisted the lock on the handle and hauled her with him several steps away from the door before forcing Freyja to her knees. His touch moved to cup her jaw.

“Broke my fucking finger watching him touch you, touch what’s mine. This mouth-” His digits snatched her cheeks, making her painted lips purse with a soft whimper. “-is mine. Your cunt is mine. Your body is mine – facts you’ve apparently forgotten. Let me remind you.”

Freyja gulped helplessly when his other hand slid the leather strap of his belt out of the buckle, then looked up at him through her mascara-coated lashes.

“Soap-“

“I. Don’t. Care. Do it.”

Her cheeks were enflamed under her blush, but she still raised a brow at him. Again, Simon wasn’t known to be a jealous man; they were very secure in their relationship, trusting each other completely. Plus, Johnny was in a committed, loving relationship, after all. But still, watching his best friend all over her, purposefully egging him on and pushing boundaries…

Anyone would lose their patience.

Her nails, painted to match her color scheme for the evening, worked at undoing his slacks and dropping them and his underwear down enough to free his already hard member. Slacks which, by the way, were fitted perfectly to hug his ungodly figure. Saliva pooled in her mouth at the sight, her hole already clenching around nothing.

As if he had read her mind, Ghost seized the back of her head and snarled, “I’m beginning to lose my patience, love.”

Suddenly he was buried down her throat, to the hilt. Tears sprang to her eyes; she moved to dig into his thighs for purchase, which earned her additional pressure at the back of her head. “No touching.”

All Freyja could do was blink up at him and hold her hands behind her back, hoping he understood the message. Thankfully, he let up and slowly drew out before easing back in, fucking her throat with soft moans and the occasional curse. Ghost groaned at the sight of his precum and her spit gathering in his blond curlies, her dark lipstick smudging on his cock, tear streaks running lines in her makeup…

She flattened her tongue, bobbing her head with a steady rhythm while breathing through her nose and intermittently taking him until her nose was enshrouded in coarse hair. Even if she wasn’t getting off, and Ghost’s pretty face was hidden by his mask, the expressions in his eyes as she edged him toward his release were almost as satisfying.

“Fuck, you like that?” he questioned, hoarse and needy. “Almost like you were – hngh, shit – hoping I’d p-punish you.”

Even submissive, vulnerable on her knees before him and choking on his cock, Freyja still made him stutter and whimper. How many hours had he spent uncomfortably hard, keeping his dutiful post as their backup? Observing the near obscene show Soap had put on?

Ghost leaned his torso forward, supporting his weight against the wall with his free hand. He didn’t have to tell her he was close; even with his controlled breathing, his eyes threatening to flutter shut was a dead giveaway. Still, the head of his cock popped out of her mouth, garnering her attention again.

“How much of me can you take?”

“All of it.”

“Bloody hell…” He presented himself again, the hooded tip resting against her lips. “Lick.”

She immediately ducked under him and laid her tongue against the vein on the underside of his dick, applying soft, slow pressure to the tip again before taking him back in her mouth. Freyja picked up the speed and hummed around him, pushing (or rather, pulling) him closer and closer…

“Fucking shit – take it, take it, take it–”

His warm cum spilled down her throat, but she continued slowly guiding Ghost through his orgasm as he pulsated and huffed quietly above her. Freyja basked in the way he flinched, eyes closed as her touch bordered on overstimulating and torturous.

Satisfied and out of breath, Ghost jerked his hips away to avoid any more of her touch and offered his wife his hands. She immediately took them and was pulled to her feet effortlessly with a moment to find her balance. When he was finished tucking himself back into his trousers and fastening his belt again, Ghost slid the delicate strap of her dress that had slipped off her shoulder back into place, his gentle touch dragging across her skin.

Freyja was about to speak when the door rattled, someone trying to open it before they both heard a familiar accent on the other side. “Bonnie? ‘S me, open up.”

She gestured for him to stand out of sight for a moment while she unlocked the door and opened it just enough to let Soap in, careful not to expose her current state to others who may be watching from the party. When it was closed and secured again, Johnny took in their appearances; Freyja, clearly dazed with her hair tousled and makeup smudged, and Ghost, with his fly down, shirt untucked, and blazer tossed carelessly onto the sink.

Then, with the absolute, most shit-eating grin, said, “Ye’r welcome, Hen.”

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal, @beakami, @addictedtothefictionalworld, @kaghost, @witchy-writing, @67-angelofthelordme-67

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her-devils-advocate · 6 months

Text

Everyone I've cared about has either died or left me. Except for you.

pairings: Levi Ackerman x (GN!) reader

genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff

summary: Based on the prompt from the list found here. You and Levi have a moment amidst the final battle

Warning for the final chapter spoilers. This is just a small drabble I wrote after getting inspired by one of the sentence starters!

word count: 1,106

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54683590

The hot air rushing past you causes your hair to uncomfortably stick to your forehead. You, Levi and Gabi soar across the sea of wall titans, somewhat safe atop Falco's back. How the kid had managed this, you would never know. Honestly, you are more than happy to try and not focus on anything now. Too much is happening. Too much has been happening in such a short amount of time and you can feel yourself hitting your limit. You want to praise yourself for having such a fairly sturdy limit, all things considered, but the overwhelming amount of nerves squash that thought before it can take root. Too much has happened, too much has been lost, too much can still be lost.

Your head throbs as you attempt to ignore the onslaught of thoughts rushing through it. Your eyesight grows hazy as you try to focus on the view below you, it's all too much.

Your hands shake as they cling onto the harness attached to Falco's titan, tears pooling in your eyes as you try to blink them away. Levi is next to you, struggling to hold on tight with his newly missing fingers, which had yet to start their healing process properly. His solid presence helps to quell your rising anxiety as you reach over to hold onto his arm tightly, doing your best to help keep him secure. If he were to fall now, a piece of your heart would fall with him, never to be reclaimed.

You smile to yourself when you hear his thankful grunt, his eyes not once leaving the skeletal horror, as if his glare could lure Eren out. Once upon a time, it just might have been possible. The sight of his towering titan still causes your heart to break. The Eren you once knew has slipped between everyone’s fingers, the young cadet is now a beacon of destruction. Where had things gone wrong? How had you not seen him drifting?

For the first time in your life as a scout, a part of you is glad for the head injury you had sustained during the first assault on the founder. The events are a blur, you remember flying through the air while dodging all the rocks thrown by a beast titan. You remember a sharp pain shooting through your skull as the feeling of something sticky begins to slowly run down your temple. You remember the shout of your name from several voices before the world faded to black.

Now you are on the sidelines, simply watching rather than having to bear the pain of helping to end the kid you once helped train.

You feel some guilt for inadvertently forcing the burden onto your scouts, his friends. But the nagging tug at your heart, paired with what is most likely a nasty concussion, would only get in your way. This way, you can also keep an eye on the captain, who is more than happy to keep throwing himself into the fray despite his injuries, something you will never get used to. Your heart plummets each time he doesn't hesitate to throw himself around with his ODM gear.

You look towards Levi with a small frown, his injuries are only a few days old and yet he still fights. How much of himself is he willing to give to save humanity? How much of him are you willing to lose? You knew becoming involved with anyone in the Survey Corps was a recipe for trouble and heartbreak, but at the time, you weren’t expecting a threat bigger than the titans you had been facing. You don’t regret a single moment and while you are both still alive and fighting, you don’t need to regret anything.

You repeat his mantra of ‘no regrets’ until it slowly begins to sink in through the rising haze of panic, the two of you are still alive, yet your mind races faster than the scouts below fighting for their lives.

“Pull it together, now isn’t the time to falter…” You risk bringing a hand to rub your eyes, smudging the dirt and blood further around your face, groaning as the dull pain worsens.

Your stomach drops as Falco dips through the air, dodging stray attacks while circling the battleground below. Bile rises in your throat and you’re unsure if it's due to the head injury or the harsh movements.

“Those kids are fighting to save the world and here I am, worrying over losing him when we’ve already lost too many. How can I be so self-centered?”

“Oi,” Levi says, his voice cutting through the near-deafening wind surrounding you. He’s looking directly at you now, seeing past the mask of professionalism you like to wear when on duty. He looks through and sees the swirling anxieties, the shaking of your hands, the tense shoulders and the way you bite at your lip in worry.

“Everyone I've cared about has either died or left me. Except for you.” Your heart breaks at his words, the tears you had fought back now happily run down your cheeks, parting through streaks of mud. You try to hide your face from him, refusing to show weakness in such a moment, but he continues, capturing your attention once more.

“So you better survive, understood? Get out of your head and back in the moment, we need you alert.”

His eyes soften as he stares you down, letting you see a glimpse of the worries he keeps shackled deep down. He has managed to shuffle closer towards you while you were lost in your thoughts, now subtly pressing himself against you for support. He hooks his arm around yours, giving you a gentle squeeze as he averts his gaze to the horror below.

He can feel your eyes lock onto him, the smile on your face widening despite the tears. “Don’t get all smug, it’s hard to grab onto this rope with eight fingers.”

He always did have a way of dissolving your worries and bringing you out of your head, even when staring down hell. Wall’s know you both need to keep your eyes forward and your minds focused, no matter what.

“Whatever you say, captain. That goes for you as well, you know. If you die on me, I’m breaking into the paths and giving you such an earful.”

The small scoff you get in response is almost lost to the winds, but you don’t miss the way he places more of his weight against you.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Guess we’re both making it out of this one alive then.”

#♥. writing #♥. prompt #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #aot x reader #levi ackerman x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk

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tuliptired · 3 months

Note

hello! I don’t want to bother you but could you possibly right about old man Egon Spengler x fem reader?

Empty Pocket Waltz

Pairing: Old man!Egon Spengler/Fem!Reader

Not a bother at all! Firm believer that some pussy would've saved him

Better formatting on Ao3!!

You’ve been living in Summerville, Oklahoma for at least the last handful of decades. It was a cold and windy night when you loaded Callie into the backseat, before you and Egon left your lives in New York to save the world, supposedly. After starting from scratch in a gilded age farmhouse, sending a child off to college, meeting her children- it felt like more of a family dinner. Nevertheless, you were happy. And, despite the threat of constant doomsday for years on end, Egon seemed at a weird sort of peace. Every morning you wake up, you wonder what your future would’ve been like, if your daughter didn’t cry out in the middle of that argument. If he had never gone to hold her, and realize that this was a matter of your little family, as well as the planet.

That was then, in the confines of your miniscule apartment, paint peeling off the walls and water endlessly dripping out your taps. You took a long breath in, grateful for the abundance of fragrant house flora you had managed to keep alive. It was just you and the rolling farmland this morning, a silent little symphony as the sun beat down on your face. Not even the pan below you dared to make any noise.

Your moment alone was cut short by the gentle running of water, and later the creak of the floorboards that made up the steps. Egon had become a better sleeper in time. He used to insist on going in late, getting up early, taking care of Callie before you’d managed to open your eyes. But his old habits came crashing down after a while of falling asleep to gentle wind chimes, chirping crickets, pittering rain. And you found it adorable- his messy hair and soft pajamas seeing you off to your job in town every morning.

You felt a warm body at your side as you finished making breakfast. “Did you sleep well?” you asked, the question as familiar as he was. Egon didn’t answer, leaning his head on your shoulder while you carefully poured him coffee, one cream and four artificial sugars. Time may have altered his disposition, but never his tastes.

“Well,” you started, plating pancakes after he trudged over to the table, “I hope you eat as well as you sleep. We have a big day today.” you spoke excitedly.

Egon woke up a bit after a sip from his old and worn out mug. He puzzled over your proclamation, brow furrowed a bit. “We do?” he wondered, growing nervous in wake of your bright smile.

“Pruning day!” you announced, wrapping your arms around his neck from the back as he let out a soft groan. “And you’re gonna help out, because you promised your poor old wife with bad knees that you’d get it done. And because you love her.”

“Yes. And because I love her,” he said dryly.

You heard him sigh as you loosened your embrace around his shoulders. “The flowers aggravate my allergies and dirt gets stained into my clothes,” He paused. “Get me the shears from the mudroom, please?” A happy noise escaped you then before you buried your head into his hair. “Thank you, Egon.” Geez, did he always have this much hair? You could feel the white locks tickling your own scalp. “Ouf. Next item on the to-do list is a haircut.”

Egon had been out there for some time when you emerged with a glass of lemonade. Watching your husband do physical labor under the sun was a fairly indulgent source of entertainment- but there’s just something about a man tending to a garden on his hands and knees that made your day a bit brighter.

“Since you’re working so hard,” you offered him the cup, a painted little thing that Callie had made in school, while you sip from your glassware.

He didn’t seem to mind, shamelessly taking a drink. “Thank you.” He sat back on his haunches then, observing your mini yield. “You’ve got a lot this summer.”

“I know,” you marveled, taking a quick headcount of all your sprouts, shoots, and stalks. “It’s a pensioner’s dream.”

If your grandson were here, and not up north- he’d undoubtedly be making fun of you both for your stereotypically geriatric source of entertainment. It had taken both you and Egon, the genius, ridiculously long to notice the acres upon acres of farmland at your disposal. Of course, this was after a sizable amount of stressing over what it took to adequately feed a growing child. So, you grew what you could for dinner, garden plot now confined to the side of your house as caring for it became hard.

You took refuge on a worn chair in the shade, legs crossed while your husband bent back down to work. You couldn’t help the pleased sound you made to yourself at the sight of him, pants hitching up to the midsection of his thighs and a bit closer to his skin than other bottoms you’d seen him don outside. He’d gotten a little fuller over time, but you’d be a liar if you dared to say you minded.

“Those shorts were a good decision, then?” you mused, low eyes still on his lower half. You nearly missed the look of offense he had as he looked over his shoulder. “Glad you’re bringing them back.”

“I have nothing else. We should put laundry on the list.” Egon stated.

You rested the glass on your own thigh, condensation providing a little relief from the warmth permeating your spot in the shadows. “You have at least two pairs of sweatpants left. I checked,” you scoffed. You’d known him for so many years that you had no problem decoding his unvarnished nature, even if it was slightly annoyed. You knew he really wasn’t too upset at your ogling, or letting the chore slip your mind. And- he did wordlessly arch a bit further into the bush, a satisfied smile growing on your face.

After all his drudgery was done, you promised you’d find a way to repay him after a second shower. His hulking figure tracking soil around your hallways was enough for you to usher him into the bathroom and stay at the door until you heard the water run.

He wasn’t very long, and you met back in your now-steamed-washroom to tackle his little salon treatment. “How’d this happen?” you murmured rhetorically, examining Egon from all angles while he dwarfed a stool. He always had refused to use the toilet for anything but its intended purpose, chastising you and your daughter whenever you dared to. In the rare times Callie looked to test his patience- Terrible Twos, she knew that a lesser loved doll or picture book could stand a swim in the porcelain, if it meant getting back at Daddy.

“I thought you liked my hair long?” Egon asked, covered by the fluffy towel you dried his damp hair with.

You brushed it back into its usual place. After a long time of being styled- probably since his final graduation, his hair seemed to compromise, curls finally growing in the way he had manipulated them to. “I do, but that was then,” you worked. “College-Egon was a different guy.”

He sulked a bit. “Elon’s wife lets him wear his hair long.” His uncharacteristic petulance was endearing to you, as you grabbed a pair of hairdressing scissors. These had saved Callie on many different occasions, most notably when you had come home to find her and her father locked inside the destroyed bathroom, trying every remedy in every cupboard and cabinet to remove something viscous and sticky that ended up on her from Egon’s lab.

“Elon’s wife let him keep a family of foxes. She only put them out when they scuffed her china cabinet.” you laughed lightly, not yet removing anything from his head.

“I won’t take away too much. Just enough to not scratch me.”

He conceded. “You know best.”

“I know.”

You carefully clipped just shy of half an inch from the white that took over what once was brown. You had to admire its refusal to thin out, thick but light pieces littering the tile beneath you. Before he knew you, an old and apparently unkind barber down the street cut his hair. When the price of that looked too high for his parents, his father took up the job, and he wasn’t much of a step up. Once Egon was out on his own, people seldom touched his head, not even after his degrees were finished and he gave it a drastic cut. It always felt nice, being on the giving end of taking care of such a distinctive part of him. One he really never let anyone influence or alter, when given the choice.

A gentle snoring rumbling from him and the slight slump of his head drew you out of your focus when you took a step back to review your work. “You really are old,” you grinned, rousing him awake. You caught your reflections in the mirror. “Good?”

Egon gave you a nod of approval, sitting patiently as you brushed some of the stray white off his shoulders. “Good.”

You examined him once more, still not fully satisfied. Something was off. He still looked great- he always looked great. But you were skipping a step. Egon was nothing if not tolerant, waiting for you to finish your evaluation.

“I know,” you snapped. You didn’t give him much of a further explanation, dipping into the drawers of the sinkside cabinet and emerging with a razor. “Your beard.”

The very tall man nearly scooched off the stool. “I thought you liked it? You’ve never said anything before.”

You glanced down at the shaver in your hand. Shiny and electric- one of the first things you had ordered online, when that was a new thing. “Okay, maybe not these.” you placed them on the counter. “Come on, grandpa. Just a trim.”

You were lucky Egon trusted your judgment. So, you took the scissors and carved him back out, catching short strands with the equally as white towel.

“There you are,” you twinkled, proud of your cosmetology skills. You placed a loving kiss on his cheek, his own smile pulling at the muscle. In your little moment, he convinced you to let him paint your nails in thanks. Your husband. Egon was always handsome, before and after your pampering. But you reveled in the intimacy of routine maintenance with the one you loved.

“Darn it,” you closed the washer-dryer. Halfway through its cycle and it decided to start fussing again. “Egon?” you called, hoping he’d mess around with it again and finish drying your wet clothes.

And mess around he did. He turned knobs, moved pipes, plugged and unplugged things with increasing frustration. This didn’t show much but his stubbornness, but he really was a smart man. With a PhD. But this was one of his few intellectual weaknesses- “smart” appliances. It was one of the more newer things in the old house, an upgrade the handyman (Egon insisted he could fix the old one alone, nearly electrocuting himself before you put your foot down about it) who came from really far out of town to help you out had suggested. But, there was always something going on with it, whether that was your fault or otherwise. There was always a new fix, but not now.

Egon must’ve sensed your worry over the clothes still inside. “We can put these on the line to dry,” he reassured you, using some of his strength to push it forward and inspect whatever went on at its back.

“It’s gonna rain,” you troubled, peering outside at the graying sky. He was in his own, mechanical world, not hearing you as he assessed the faulty thing.

“Egon?” You wrapped your arms around his middle.

You could tell his ponderings didn’t stop at your touch. “Yes?”

“I know you can fix the car. And your proton pack. And my hair dryer.” He let out a noise of acknowledgment, which might have had a hint of pride.

“But maybe,” you cringed, “we should just cut our losses and take all this to the laundromat?”

He shot down your idea- because of course that was the wildest suggestion ever presented to him. “Why go all the way out there over something I can fix in an evening?” Egon reasoned.

“You know good and well it’ll take longer than an evening.” You had already started to sort soaked clothes into linen bags. “I’ll be lucky if I catch you leaving this room before the end of the week.”

“Then, by the end of the week you’ll have a working laundry room again.”

You placed one of your sodden delicates in his hands. “Everything’ll mold if we can’t get it to dry. And I won’t let you test any of it. We’re going.”

Egon grumbled, but followed suit, carrying the large bag of laundry to the car for you while you grabbed your mini bag of quarters. It was his silent compliance as he waited for you to buckle up that made you stroke his arm apologetically.

“I appreciate that you’re always trying to help. Remember what you did to Callie’s Furby?”

He nodded fondly. “The first to be able to talk back. She was terrified.”

“Well, she would fish it out the closet when she was mad. I never had to buy her a diary ever again.” you shrugged.

“Do you still like the jets I put in the bathtub?” he turned to you.

“Of course! You just never notice I have them on because you’re in there with me.”

The drive into town always took some time, bumpy dirt roads turning into proper asphalt after a while. Summerville was still a small town, so the laundromat was never as bustling as it could be. But your assumptions were proven wrong, as a dozen or so cars lined the curb. Either everyone’s washer or dryer started acting up, or the water company had a mass shut off.

Egon moved rigidly through the throng of people in the little space. These were the people, and some of their now-grown-children, who stared at him like he was an alien after moving his tiny family to a run down house all the way from Manhattan. You could somewhat understand their intrigue- the most exciting thing to happen around this place seemed to be community matters. But some of their rumors were outright laughable: you were on the run from the police (ironic if you considered how gossipy the town was), Callie was a monster he made in his lab (she played into that one when you went shopping), you were Soviet spies sent for espionage (fairly dangerous, considering the country was coming down from the Cold War and Egon was very visibly the child of two European immigrants).

But, as years passed and no nukes were dropped and no infectious diseases spread from your daughter in school, Summerville learned you were here to stay. And they started to enjoy your presence, the few times you’d gone into town to run errands and with everything you did at work. You’d even gotten close to a family or two, evident in how a teenage girl sitting on one of the stand alone machines smiled at you.

“Hi, Mr and Mrs. Spengler,” Lucky waved. Her and Trevor had become close friends, at least the few summers he and his sister had spent while visiting. You had thought it wouldn’t stick- on account of the distance and the time it’s been since their last trip down here, but they managed to stay in contact. Very close contact, you’d been told.

“Hi, Lucky,” you returned, “how’s your mom?”

“She’s okay. She sent me here- ‘cause our washer won’t start.”

“We’re in the same boat, then. Tell her: once ours works again, I’ll send Egon to check yours out, alright?”

Her grin grew, possibly at the sight of your husband's expression. He was used to you volunteering his skills in repair, though. It proved useful, in a town without any real mechanical service. Here, one just prayed they would never break down or lose power. But it was one of the ways you managed to clean up your reputation in time- Egon serving as an electrician, tow truck, or handyman whenever he wasn’t holed up in his makeshift lab. “Will do,” she nodded.

With that, her dad called her, and she was off. Not before complimenting your nails, though. You made quick work of loading your wet clothes, going through the motions. Halfway through, Egon stopped to pull something out of one of his wrinkled pockets.

It was one of your earrings, delicate and near tiny. “You fell asleep with it on.” he handed it to you.

Eventually, your laundry was done. And you didn’t even run through all your quarters. This called for a Coke from the vending machine- only a can, you both needed to watch your sugar. The drive back was noticeably more jovial, you had clean and dry laundry, Egon had a new project to consume his time. He seemed to have multiple things on his mind, as he opened the passenger door for you.

“They’re calling today,” he said, almost anxiously. Callie had been calling you periodically ever since she went off to Ohio, of all places, for college. She had stopped after you came back from a visit once she had Trevor, and it wasn’t until after his father left that 1. You learned she had a whole other child not long before their split, and 2. He was an awful husband. After that, you made her promise to always check in with you, especially in the long stretches of time when driving up to Chicago just wasn’t an option. Egon’s been on top of her calls ever since, silently eager to see his daughter and his growing grandchildren.

At some point, you found him in the living room, mulling around with the iPad you were given some time in the early 2010’s in order to actually see the people getting in contact with you. “You got it?” you asked, squeezing into your typical spot next to him.

He nodded, and soon your daughter was on the little screen. “Hey Mom, hey Dad.”

“Hi, Cal!” Egon had only waved, always a tad shy over the phone for the first few minutes. “How’s everything? How’s work?”

She seemed preoccupied with something offscreen. “Raining hard, here. Ceiling started to leak.”

You frowned. It was never fun to hear that your loved ones were struggling, even if they were small grievances like these. “Does your landlord know? It’ll only get worse as it gets warmer.”

“He won’t answer my calls,” she put her hands up, as if she was ridding herself of the problem, “we have buckets, it’s fine.”

“You know what we’re gonna tell you.”

“Do I?”

“Spend the summer here,” you urged, hearing her groan slightly over the phone. “It can’t hurt.”

“I can’t ask that of you guys. Again.”

You gestured around the large, under-occupied house. “You lived here. You know how much space we have.”

Callie was silent, deep in thought as you continued. “We miss you. The other day I started wondering if Phoebe still needed Pampers.”

She sat back wherever she was sitting. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“It feels like it! When you’re as old as we are, a day feels like a year.”

“Today has been quite a year,” Egon affirms at your side.

You sat forward on the little couch. “Even Dad agrees. He’s too shy to say, but he always wants to ask you for pictures. But he’s scared you’ll find it annoying.” Egon didn’t seem to be embarrassed, wanting to see the rest of his family as much as you did.

Callie spoke up then, eyebrows high. “I’ll send you pictures, Dad. Mom, I’ll…I’ll think about it, ok?” You’d take that, for now. Soon, Trevor appeared, waving at you both.

You left Egon to have his time with the teenager. From the other room, you got snippets about a car show, some new friends he’d been making, a cut he got from trying to shave his legs- which was a little interesting. You can remember the first time he had held Trevor. The newborn was just happy to be alive, so awake for only being a few hours old. He took interest in everything Egon had to say, eyeing the shiny buttons of his shirt, the reflective frames of his glasses. In the private of the hospital room Callie was fast asleep in, he revealed to you that he was excited to watch a little boy in his family grow up the opposite in which he did: being allowed to play, get dirty, make mistakes.

It wasn’t until Trevor wondered aloud where you were that you peeked your head around the corner. After switching out with Egon, you settled into his warm spot on the sofa, tea in hand.

“Hi, grandma!”

“Hi, Trevor. I see the leak was in your room.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. We have buckets.”

You smiled at that, chatting about more things- the show you were watching together, a recipe he was demanding you try, drama in school, before you remembered something. “We saw Lucky today. When was the last time you talked?” you gently probed.

Trevor brightened, if not reddened. “Last night. School ends later for us here so,” he swallowed. “But we’ve been able to talk every night.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Everynight’s an improvement.”

He waved you off. “It’s not that big of a deal.” His expression grew far away. “Is it that big of a deal?”

“She’s been asking when you’ll be back. Maybe you won’t miss her birthday this year.”

Trevor sat up straighter, so fast he knocked his knees against the underside of his desk. He didn’t seem to notice, while you winced on the other end of the phone. You asked if he was alright, but he was too deep in his head to notice. “Oh man, really? I got her a gift. Or a couple of gifts. I was gonna send it in the mail.”

You smiled knowingly. “More reasons to come here. Actions speak louder than words.” Trevor looked doubtful, brow creased a bit.

“What if she doesn’t like it? Like: ‘ohhh thank you Trevor, but that’s super weird. I’m getting a car but I can put the stuffed bear in the backseat’.” He must’ve gotten his anxiety from Egon- he sounded exactly like him in the days leading up to you being asked out. Or so Ray tells you.

“No chance. Every girl would like a gift from her boyfriend.” you shook your head.

Trevor looked at least a bit hopeful. “But, we’re not dating-”

“Mom said to let me on.”

You let Egon have a minute with Phoebe. They always had a special connection- there was no need for anyone to say anything because it was so clear. Trevor gave them their space, and you did too, and it was all okay because he’d been your little guy since birth, literally attached to your leg whenever he had the chance to hang out with you. And Phoebe holed up with her grandfather in his makeshift lab, learning and talking about anything they each had to offer. They really were cut from the same cloth, it was only natural. You can remember her delivery, too. The entire day was hard- feverish three year old, busy hospital, unhelpful and soon to be ex husband. Callie had to pretty much bargain for medical attention in the sterile room as her contractions got worse, let alone to get an epidural. Such an angry start in the world. But when she came, she was so peaceful, not even crying when she was brought out into the cold air. Precious is what you regarded it as, weird was the word buzzed around between NICU nurses.

For the second time, in the dark of a hospital room while Trevor slept in his shirt, Egon barely whispered that, “she’s already different.” You knew exactly what he meant- and it was nowhere near bad. She was like him.

Phoebe’s room was messy as ever, but it was an organized mess. “Hi, grandma,” she greeted.

“Hi, Phebes,” you saw something round and white in her hands, “what’s that?”

She lifted it to the camera, fairly nonchalantly. “Our ac. He switched it off so I’m trying to jailbreak it.” Ah.

“When can we come back?” she added, clearly having thought about visiting a lot more than usual.

“Any time. You just have to convince your mom. Chicago’s getting boring?”

Her eyebrows twitched once, the way Egon always does. “In the summer. And, if something happens to our house while we’re gone, the landlord’s responsible. Not us.” she explained.

That’s your granddaughter. “Smart girl.” You paused, noticing something different about her but not being able to place it. “Did you…get new frames?”

Phoebe paused in turn, pushing them up. “Are they bad?” she asked, brows knitted slightly. “I didn’t want to change them, but Mom made me.”

You smiled, “They look great. But, uh, what’s the difference?”

“These hinges are silver. The old hinges were nickel.”

That was definitely your granddaughter. Eccentric, in her own, special way.

Soon, Callie needed her phone back. As you all said your goodbyes, something popped into your mind before you reminded Phoebe that you saw Podcast and he wants her to call him back so they can play their game.

Phoebe scowled over her brother’s shoulder. “I’m banned. Tell him we have to find something else.”

Every time your family called, Egon happened to remember that the iPad had a game or two on it, and he was occupied until it was time to chorale him into bed. You waited patiently as he put it to charge, ready to be forgotten about for a while, and nuzzled into his chest when he returned to you. His sleeping clothes were always worn, but they always filled you with the familiar scent of him which you were much too happy never washed out.

“Did you have fun?” you asked into the fabric of his shirt. Sure, it was a long and hard battle to condition him out of a gown and sleeping cap in the early days of your relationship, but you’d take what he give you.

He hummed in response. “Level 2801 on Candy Crush today.”

“One higher than Winston.” you gazed in the darkness at a familiar spot by the door, cracked ajar. Callie would wait for you both, as soon as she could toddle out of her bed and needed someone with her when she used the bathroom, or to console her after a bad dream. As she got older, it’s where she brought you both coffee on special mornings, and bounced on her heels waiting for approval to take the car. Callie’s spot. Perfectly between both of your pillows, if you drew a straight line, run a little ragged by bare feet, sneakers, and slippers. “What else?”

“Peter took something from my farm, so I put him and his dogs underground.”

You shut your eyes, though still enjoying your sleepy conversation. “That’s not very good conflict resolution.” He was quiet, and you assumed he had dozed off, you in his arms, until there was a tugging at your earlobe.

“What?”

“Earrings.”

“Thank you, Egon.” Your old man. This was a much smaller life than Times Square, Central Park, Ghostbusters. But it was your small life, with your larger-than-life husband, and you really wouldn’t have it any other way.

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sunsetcougar · 4 months

Text

I figured it would be best to respond to this question

from @northwind808 in its own post since the answer is kinda long. (This is my second attempt at this post since the first one was multiple paragraphs of just post trial stuff and I realized I was going to end up with a short essay before I even answered the question so! Attempt two!)

Charlie didn’t know Vaggie was an exorcist until the trial in Heaven since the residents of Hell don’t actually know that the exorcists are part mechanical. She always assumed that Vaggie was like Vox, a sinner who’d taken on mechanical aspects in death, and Vaggie let her believe it.

As for the meeting with Carmilla, it actually happens in Cannibal Town at the same time as Charlie is meeting with Rosie since Vaggie is deeply scared of technology and can’t bring herself to enter the Carmine territory. It goes fairly well, Vaggie explaining that they need non lethal weapons (Charlie has got it into her head by then that they’re going to save the exorcists), and asking if there’s any way that Carmilla could create some sort of firewall or something for Vaggie so Adam can’t get into her head.

Carmilla is a bit wary of involving herself with this whole mess, figuring she’s already in deep enough shit and not wanting to endanger her daughters further. But then Vaggie explains the exorcist’s origins, how they’re sinners just like Carmilla and her daughters, and a few things click. Vaggie doesn’t look the same as she did when she was alive, her voice is a bit different and her human life has long since been blocked, but a mother never forgets all the little things. All it takes is one mutter of Vaggie’s old name for walls to begin crumbling and vague memories to come back.

Vaggie didn’t even remember until that moment that she had a Mamá, but suddenly her life would have a painful hole in it without Carmilla. Vaggie wasn’t aware of it for so long but oh did she miss her hugs.

Carmilla is sobbing and clinging to Vaggie like she might disappear if she loosens her grip. For decades she’d looked for her youngest, believing that the exorcists had likely gotten to her before Carmilla could find her. She hates that she was right. She should have found Vaggie first. She should have saved her from the torture she had to endure.

Carmilla promises she’ll do everything she can to help keep Vaggie free and help her save the other sinners still trapped in Heaven’s chains.

#Biotech Exorcists AU #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel carmilla

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twola · 1 year

Note

Hey don't know if this one is up your alley but I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is a sharpshooter (kinda like Black Belle) and Arthur was originally gonna take her to the sheriff's but they end up getting caught up in a fight with the O'Driscolls and she saves his life, then que the enemies to friends to lovers lmao

Later on they meet again and take down a house full of lemoyne raiders, they both lay low for a while then smut ensues lol.

I'm bad at describing but you can put your own twist on it if you want, make it however long you want, don't matter I just love your writing ❤️❤️

Hoooooo’kay. So this is probably a bit harder than the original requestor was thinking, but I’ve written too many sweet one-shots recently. It’s time to get a little nasty.

Anything You Can Do

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Arthur meets his match in one of his bounties. His infuriatingly difficult match.

Curtis Malloy rolls his eyes as the gunslinger ahead of him inquires about the bounty poster tucked on the far corner of his desk. Of course, the man would ask about that one. A picture of a woman, of all things, wanted for murder, robbery, and theft. A woman with hard eyes but a pleasing face.

Wasn’t the first one to come askin’. The sheriff took the damn poster off the wall after men started dying when they went after her. He’d hear talk of fool-hearted bounty hunters heading north into Ambarino to find this lady to bring her in, only to end with lead between their eyes, floating down the Dakota River.

But this man, well, he’s been rather successful as of late - and Malloy knew that he probably ran in the same vein of people he was picking up. No loyalty to the trade, he guesses. And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t any skin off of his nose. Would get the man out of his hair and stop begging for more folks to hunt. Give him more time to deal with this Moira situation…

“Supposed to be up campin’ by Window Rock. But she likely has the area booby-trapped. Startin’ to lose count of the men who’ve gone up there to get killed tryin’ to take in this little lady.” Malloy warns as he hands the poster to the man ahead of him. The man grunts, tucking away the poster in his brown leather jacket, nodding before exiting out to the street.

Malloy gives a look to one of his deputies across the room.

Both begin to laugh.

Arthur’s seen his fair share of women easily fend for themselves. He saw the way Black Belle could shoot - likely better than he could. He sure as hell wouldn’t want to meet Mrs. Adler in a dark alley. She’d likely stab him before he could get a hand on her.

This woman supposedly had a deadly shot - a pile of bounty hunters at her feet. He knew he wasn’t going to just walk up to the tent and threaten you. This required a bit more finesse.

But still, as he gazed through his binoculars at his prize, you certainly didn’t look like the woman people were talking about in Valentine. Fairly short in stature, long dark hair falling in waves over your back. Arthur raises an eyebrow when he notices your curves as you kneel on one knee at your campfire.

Nope, he definitely does not miss the way those trousers hug your form.

He also does not miss the revolver in the belt slung around your hips as you rise from the fire, stretching your arms above your head and yawning. He does not miss the fishing line taut along the ground, tied to a rock precariously perched on a tree branch. Obviously placed there to alert you of intruders. Several fellers likely met their end due to that fishing line.

Arthur circles the campsite at a wide angle, hidden by the shadows of the night. He takes his time hunting his prey, taking in the lay of the land around, noting your movements, and ways of egress - like stalking a deer, he has you in his sights and is damn sure of it before he makes his move.

That move being edging dangerously close, revolver drawn, and diving at you once you’re in distance to reach. Your breath is knocked from your lungs as his large form lands atop you on the hard ground, caging in your limbs beneath him. You squawk, in a rather undignified manner, as he holsters his own revolver and reaches into yours to draw it out, disarming you and tossing your revolver several feet away.

“Get your damn hands off me.” You spit, but alas, the way he has you pinned down, you’re unable to fight back. The strength of this man was frightening. If it weren’t for the damn noose you know is waiting for you at the end of this, you would be excited by how strong he is. He quickly and easily hogties you, leaving you cursing and sputtering on the ground as he whistles for his horse.

Once his mare has sidled up, he heaves you over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes, and you yelp in indignation as he tosses you over the rump of his horse.

A sack of potatoes with a very nice ass in those trousers.

Arthur blinks briefly before shaking his head, pulling himself up into the saddle. Just to cut back through Cumberland and to Valentine, then he’d get the pretty penny on this woman’s head. One of the larger bounties he’s seen, he has to admit.

“You lousy sack of shit, I wasn’t bothering anyone!” You yell from the rump of the horse.

“Ain’t me who decides your bounty, Miss-” Arthur simply replies, urging the mare into a trot, before you cut him off with a hiss.

“Say another word and I’ll geld you.” You interrupt before he can say your name.

“Sure, lady.” Arthur chuckles, knowing you wouldn’t be gelding anyone hogtied on the back of his horse, crossing the Dakota near Fort Wallace.

Blessed silence. For what seems like only a few moments.

“Since you know me so well, who the hell are you?” You ask, raising your head a bit.

“Now why would I tell you that?” Arthur chuckles, urging his horse southward on the road, deep into Cumberland Forest.

“I’d like to at least know the man’s name before I get fucked.” You retort, an even more sour tone in your voice.

“Arthur Morgan, my lady.” He replies, egging you on with the honorific, knowing you ain’t anything close to that, especially with the mouth on you. He’s about to stay something to prod you further when he hears voices up the road in the distance.

“Shit.” Arthur curses, as four green-sashed men crash through the trees. He immediately circles the horse to change direction as he hears a rider approaching on horseback, yelling at him.

Of course, O’Driscolls had taken up again at Six Point. Morgan, you idiot, you’re waltzing straight past them.

“Let me go and I can help you.” You call from behind him, trying to duck from whizzing bullets as much as your bindings would allow.

“Yeah, so you can shoot me in the back of the head too? Not a chance, lady.” Arthur retorts as he spurs his mare into a gallop, and you grunt as the wind gets knocked out of you from the jolting.

The O’Driscolls are in hot pursuit, the rider is joined by three others as Arthur pushes his horse back toward the Dakota, but with you slung over the back of her rump, he’s not able to urge his horse faster, not if he was going to get this bounty. Needed you alive.

He curses aloud as a bullet whizzes by his head on the right, and he turns the horse to the left, which was a poor decision as the mare reaches the cliffsides jutting up on either side of the Dakota, the river far below.

Pinned down along the face of the cliff, Arthur senses his horse getting skittish. Any more of this and the mare is going to buck him, and the bounty. He curses again as a bullet nearly hits his hat, sliding off the saddle and dragging you to the ground. You squeak with indignation until you hit the ground, groaning and cursing him. But to your surprise, he is unsheathing his knife and cutting the ropes at your ankle and wrists. You immediately scramble up and turn to him, smacking him hard across the face.

“Serves you right, asshole.”

“Y’done now, lady?” Arthur fumes, working his jaw as he reaches over your shoulder to grab the long guns from his horse’s saddles, before the damn thing spooks and runs away.

“If you wanna go with them, be my guest, but O’Driscolls don’t have a particularly good reputation of their handlin’ of women.” Arthur sneers at you, shoving a repeater at your chest, glaring before another bullet whizzes by and the both of you hit the ground out of sheer reflex.

You immediately open and close the lever to chamber a round, gritting your teeth. “This thing full at least?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Arthur retorts as he pulls revolvers from his belt, dual wielding as his mare screams and bolts for cover.

By the time the two of you rise, bullets fly and hit their targets, one O’Driscoll falling off his horse in a spray of blood to his chest, another gets shot in the head and his body limply clings in the saddle. Arthur runs across the open glen, knowing he’s a sitting duck in the wide open, and you dart in the other direction to the other treeline, quickly disappearing from sight.

Goddamnit. Of course you ran. Morgan, you’re even more of an idiot.

Arthur is fuming to himself so much so that he doesn’t hear the clicking of the revolver’s safety until too late, the steel of a barrel being pressed against the back of his neck.

“Drop 'em’.” The O’Driscoll threatens, and Arthur drops the revolvers in his hands, clattering to the ground as his captor pushes him forward, winding an arm around his shoulder and pressing the revolver further into his neck. They stop in the middle of the clearing.

“Think ol’ Colm misses ya, Morgan.”

Arthur scowls at the ground with the warm barrel of the gun against his neck, probably burning his skin. The O’Driscoll laughs behind him.

“You stop right there, you mick bastard.”

Your voice, high and sharp, cuts through the mountain air like a knife.

The O’Driscoll spins himself and Arthur around, forcing Arthur ahead of him to shield most of his body.

“C’mon now, you go on and leave the shootin’ to the men, dearie. I’ll even give you a head start.” The O’Driscoll laughs as you point the repeater dead at his face, twenty feet away.

You don’t move, and the O’Driscoll frowns, shoving his pistol into Arthur’s neck harder.

“Put the gun down, lady. Or Morgan gets the next round.”

Your stance never wavers. A small smirk comes across your face.

“Doin’ me a favor then?”

The O’Driscoll raises his eyebrow, but in a flash, it is all over. The crack of the repeater echoes in the glen as a body hits the ground. Arthur’s hat rolls on its lid across the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” Arthur stumbles ahead, holding his ear, absolutely covered in blood and brain matter. His eyes flit behind him, to take in the O’Driscoll, dead on the ground, half his face caved in from the bullet that hit him between the eyes.

He looks up to you in shock and bewilderment. You slowly lower the repeater and open and close the lever, chambering another round. Completely unfazed.

“I got one more round in here, Mister Morgan. I’d like very much not to use it on you.” You state with an air of superiority, dead serious as you grip the repeater tightly.

Arthur slowly raises his hands, his guns still strewn across the ground feet away after his tussle with the now-dead O’Driscoll.

“Now listen to me. I’m gonna take one of these horses and be on my way. And you ain’t gonna follow me. You’re gonna forget that bounty and get on with the next sucker you chase down.” You say, with an even, deadly tone.

“Don’t you usually shoot them men comin’ after you?” Arthur asks, his hands still outstretched.

“I do. But usually the men comin’ after me ain’t as handsome as you are. Would be a shame to blow your brains out.” You say with a smirk, starting to back away, toward where the O’Driscoll’s horse grazes in the long grass.

Arthur’s cheeks tinge pink as he remains still, but lowers his hands.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again, Mister Morgan. Maybe you can make up for me savin’ your pretty hide.”

You give an exaggerated curtsy before climbing into the saddle of the horse, the repeater still ready to fire. You grab the reins tightly and circle the horse once before galloping off, leaving Arthur Morgan standing alone in the clearing, saved but for the dead O’Driscoll.

Lemoyne was too damn hot. Sweltering. Disgusting. Even as the dusk fell. Even outside of the damn swamp, Arthur hated it. The gang had moved south after that shootout with Cornwall in Valentine. Bad business all around. Now, Dutch and Hosea have been working both angles of the local yokel families, locked in some kind of bitter generational feud.

Arthur just needed to clear his head. Dutch had him working as a lawman, of all the ridiculous things. He’s taken this free moment to do his own work, having been tipped off on a Lemoyne Raiders safe house not far from Ringneck Creek, supposed to be just a few of these idiots and a cache of items they have stored from their roadside robberies throughout the state.

Ripe for the taking.

The old barn house stood on the rise, and he could tell, as he swung down from his mare just beyond the treeline. He smacks her rump and she’s off, back down toward the Kamassa. He lets the rifle strapped across his shoulders down, aiming through its sights at the movement of men in the distance.

“Well well, if it isn’t the fastest draw in the west.” A sharp voice cuts through the quiet.

Arthur swings his rifle at the interloper that appeared several feet away from him, cursing himself for not being aware of his surroundings.

Oh. It’s you.

God damnit.

“The hell are you doing here?” Arthur harshly whispers, lowering the rifle.

You nod your head toward the barn behind him, “I was going in on a tip I got that the yokels had things stashed here.”

Arthur frowns. “Don’t tell me you got that from Alden.”

“The ticket man, in Rhodes.”

“God damnit.” He rolls his eyes. He scowls at you, standing there with your hand on your hip. Looking positively infuriating in dark trousers and a fairly tight-fitting button-down. Highlighting your curves, while your dark hair is pulled back into a long braid.

Focus, damnit. Arthur chides himself as he turns back toward the barn, looking again through the scope of this rifle at the men mulling about.

“Tell you what, Mister Morgan. You could use another gun. I could use wastin’ less bullets on these inbreds. Split what we find.”

Arthur has counted seven Raiders going in and out of the barn, which would be a fairly large number if he were alone. He sighs in exasperation.

“Fine.”

“Well, probably wasn’t the whole lot of them, I’m sure there are more of these wannabe civil war soldiers slinking about.” You muse, rifling through papers on a makeshift as Arthur picks a lockbox, pocketing the billfolds inside. Stepping over a dead body, you catch Arthur’s frame over that lockbox.

You notice what his hands are doing, and glare at him. “Hey - asshole, we’re splittin’ this.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but acquiesces, tossing one of the billfolds at you. You catch it with ease.

“After that noise we should probably lay low for a bit.” You move toward the barn door, shouldering your repeater, stopping to listen outside for a moment.

“Oh, so now there’s a we?” Arthur snaps back at you as he follows you to the door.

“Be my guest if you wanna head into the swamps at this time of night. I, on the other hand, have a cabin I cleared out on the other side of Dewberry Creek.” You glance at him, pushing through the barndoor with your hand on your gun, looking around for any kind of movement. Your horse has meandered closer, and you whistle lowly for it to come closer.

You pull yourself into the saddle and look down at him.

“You coming? Or you just gonna stand there like an idiot?”

“Ain’t this homey?” Arthur retorts, looking at the rundown state of the cabin inside. A bed, with a near-disintegrating blanket, an old table, broken cabinets, and maybe one chair that didn’t look like it was about to fall apart.

“Ain’t your momma teach you manners? Lady invites you into her abode and you just insult her.” You slide the rifle from your back and place it upright against the stone fireplace.

“You’re a lady now? Coulda fooled me.” Arthur follows, placing his repeater on the table, unwilling to have you get the last word in.

You sneer at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Last time I checked, I have two tits and a cunt - pretty sure that makes me a lady - unless you’ve encountered different.”

“Pretty sure a lady wouldn’t be speakin’ like that.” Arthur returns, glancing away from you and trying to hide the flush that he knows is burning up his cheeks - he’s trying not to look at your breasts, framed by your crossed arms. Trying not to think of your ass in those trousers, the taper of your hips, the cunt he suddenly can’t not imagine filling.

“Oh, is you a gentleman? A dashing outlaw with ladies falling in his lap from here to Armadillo?” You point at him, pressing your finger into his chest, gritting your teeth as your self-righteousness and hackles both rise.

For once, he’s silent. For once in the whole goddamn time you’ve known him, he’s given you an opening. Seize it. Take the enemy down. Merciless. Just like shootin’.

“Bet you couldn’t please a lady even if you was the one being paid.” Your voice lowers as you go in for the kill.

To his credit, Arthur resurges with sputtering indignation, pushing you several steps backward until your back slams against the cabin wall. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Christ alive, the mouth on you. How’s about I shut you up by givin’ you somethin’ to fill it?”

With his hands clamped on your shoulders and his large frame looming over yours, it’s not fear that you feel. Not that he’s going to hurt you, or turn you in. Something more profound than that. Something that shoots to your very core.

“I’d like to see you try.” You hiss at him, and see his jaw work in frustration, “Probably can’t even make a woman come.”

His thigh immediately rams forward, parting your legs as his hands fly to your hips, lifting you several inches above the ground, you yelp as he presses up against your core.

“I’m gonna make you eat them words, missy.” He hisses as he leans into your ear.

“Not if I make you come first.” You respond breathily, your hand moving to cup at the seam of his pants, grabbing at his burgeoning cock. He grunts and shoves his thigh up higher, and you mewl as it causes you to grind against the hard bone of his femur.

“You’re askin’ fer it.” He grunts as he presses his pelvis against you, his cock hard against your belly. A zing of pleasure shoots through your core in response. He’s not lacking, in any measure. His hands briefly leave your body to pull at the buckle of his gun belt, and the belt clatters to the floor at his feet.

“Yeah,” You grab his collar two-fisted and pull him to you, “I am askin’ fer it.” You parrot back in his drawl, lips inches away from his for just a moment, before you bridge the distance and take his mouth forcefully, not letting him respond as you shove your tongue inside.

He’s not surprised, nor taken off balance, matching your fevered press into his mouth with his own, battling for supremacy as his tongue wrests with yours. You barely feel one of his hands leave your hip and start to work the buttons of your trousers, it's not until he works them open enough to shove his hand down the front of your pants that you groan in surprise into his mouth. His rough, calloused fingers weave their way downwards, under the waistband of your bloomers, and straight to your moistening core, where he slides a long, meaty finger into your cunt, making you mewl.

But you cannot let him win.

Summoning all the fight you have in you, battling against the sweet sound of his hand smacking up against wet skin, your hands shoot down to cup his burgeoning erection through his pants, and he moans as his hips move to press forward into your touch.

You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you open his pants, breathing through your nose as he latches his mouth to the side of your neck, slipping his middle finger inside you, making you curse under your breath as you finally reach your goal. You nearly rip his pants open and fish his hard cock out, your fingers wrapping around it as you begin to pump his shaft, desperate to make him feel as helpless as he’s making you feel.

Arthur moans needily against your neck, rolling his hips, and losing his rhythm as he rocks his hand into you. You smile as your head tilts back, pleased at yourself that you’ve met him and matched him.

It would not be for long, though. He retracts his hands and finds your hips again, and the next thing you know, you’re lifted in the air, caught off guard, and instinctually wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you both the several steps to the table. One of his hands moves to your lower back, keeping you upright, as he lays you down and spreads you out on the flat surface.

The gunslinger leans over and captures your lips again as he starts to work your trousers and bloomers down your waist, over the swell of your ass that you raise in the air to help him. You have the wherewithal to kick your boots off as he works your pants down your thighs, standing to his full height as he peels them off you completely, leaving your lower half bare to his gaze. Your tapered hips, glistening folds, wet and ready for him.

You take advantage of his dumb-struck stare to unhook his suspenders from the front of his pants, yanking them down over his hips to let them rest above his knees.

Wasting no time, before you know he’s going to catch you, you wrap one hand around his shaft and cup his testicles with the other, squeezing both gently as he groans, his hands holding himself up as he leans above you, his hips starting to thrust forward.

It's only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before his eyes open, hands snap to your hips, and you’re yanked bodily forward, ass nearly hanging off the table, and you let go of his member as he presses forward, the head of his cock touching your wet folds and making you both moan aloud.

“Still askin’ fer it?” He pants, and all you can do is moan in response and shake your head in the affirmative, spreading your legs for him.

Arthur immediately slides his cock all the way in, until the chestnut curls at the base of his cock meet the dark hair over your cunt, and you cannot help but to mewl, watching as he slowly withdraws and presses in again. Your legs spread even wider as both of you can’t look away from the sight: his long, hard shaft glistening with your slick, disappearing into your body.

One of his hands moves from your hip to splay beneath your abdomen and presses down hard, he moans in appreciation as he can feel himself through your skin as he buries his cock in your cunt again. And again. And again. You fall back from your elbows completely onto your back, the pressure of him making you gasp and whine.

Fuck, this is where you hurtle toward that point of no return, there’s no holding back the wave of pleasure that threatens to drown you as Arthur pounds himself into your hips. There’s no winning or losing anymore, there is just the chasing of that pleasure.

You’re cresting, back beginning to arch uncontrollably as he pumps into you hard and fast. You don’t give a shit about losing, because you’re wrung so tightly you’re about to snap, needy whines escaping your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to stop tears from overstimulation from spilling down your cheeks.

The head of Arthur’s cock keeps hitting that spot in your cunt that makes you want to die in pleasure, his large hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You can barely recognize the shriek you give as your own, and the grunts in return, fucking you harder through your release. Your spasming, clenching, shaking release.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur grits out. The broken syllables of his name escape your mouth as you come, he thrusts deep inside of you and you gush warm slick around his length.

He immediately groans, loudly, clenching your hips hard as he jerks himself from you, painting your mound white with arcs of his spend landing in your dark pubic hair. Arthur pants, not letting go of your hips as you at least have the wherewithal to lean up on your elbows again.

“Think…” he rasps, voice sex-hoarse and breathless, “I win.”

A smile cracks from your lips as you tighten your legs around his hips, drawing him closer.

“Best…” you pant, “Two outta three.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead fandom #rdr2 #twolafic #tumblr prompt #red dead smut #arthur morgan x reader #voluptatem

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kitashousewife · 1 year

Text

iwaizumi hajime doesn’t consider himself a nostalgic person.

but when summer crawls to an end? he’s feeling it for sure. every good memory, every long night for the last three months floods his mind. he finds himself longing for the early summer feeling of freedom and excitement, dipping his toes into a few months of bliss.

so, to mourn the time gone by so soon, iwaizumi has spent the last few days on the beach.

his broad shoulders shine in the sun, golden brown and littered with freckles. his cheeks, littered with freckles of their own turn to face the sun. he’s rotated to his stomach, deciding to rest his eyes while he suns his back. after this, maybe he’ll run into the ocean.

he’s trying everything in his power to make time slow down.

iwaizumi pouts when he rests his forehead on his hands, face nuzzling the fuzzy towel beneath him. he knows he’s being ridiculous, he knows his last year of university will start on monday whether he wants it to or not.

the beach is fairly empty today, which he assumed. everyone has slowly entered into their post-summer routines, leaving him to his thoughts, save it be for the few other people trying to pack in as much as they can during these last few days of summer. the sound of waves seem distant as iwa attempts to filter through the nagging thoughts of productivity.

he sits up, muscles flexing as he rises to his feet. the light blue shorts hugging his legs are pulled back down to his mid thigh before he walks into the water. he allows the waves to push him and pull him lazily, enjoying the steadiness of it all.

iwa is conflicted. sure, he quite enjoys not having anything to do besides hit the gym, call his friends and family, and take care of himself. but really, you can only spend so long at the gym (despite his best efforts of course) and when your loved ones live across the world, phone calls and facetimes can be limited. at least once he’s in school he will have a routine, a little more structure, and many more things to fill his time. that can’t be all that bad, people thrive on consistency and schedules!

he so strongly wishes that wasn’t true as he trudges back to land. despite wanting to be a beach bum gym rat without responsibilities, iwa knows that isn’t him.

a sad feeling creeps into his stomach as the sun begins to fall slowly. he packs up his things and takes one long look at the ocean. i’ll be back, he thinks. i can always come here to study, he shakes his head, almost laughing at how completely untrue that is. when he begins to walk home, the end of summer blues hit hard. to soothe his hurt, he decides to order a pizza for himself tonight. an end of summer, beginning of his last year celebration.

when he shuts the door to his apartment, he’s got his phone pressed to his ear between his shoulder, both hands full of his belongings. after he sets them down, iwa swears he hears something on the other side of the wall. pulling the phone from his ear, sounds of the pizza place’s hold music becoming a little less painful as he listens for the sound. as soon as he puts it back to his ear, he hears it again.

just as he hangs up to call the building manager, he hears something fall over, followed by a very disgruntled sound, and the front door slamming shut. about three seconds later, there’s a knock at his door.

iwa’s heart beats a little too quickly for someone with his stature, answering the door alone. when he checks the peep hole he sees you, arms crossed and lips pulling into a small pout.

“hello,” he opens the door just a bit, enough to show part of his body. really he’s a little embarrassed at the state of his apartment, but realized as well that he is still in swim trunks.

only swim trunks.

you notice, eyes going a little wider at the absolutely gorgeous man in front of you. tan body, muscular biceps and messy hair. before you get too distracted, you remember why you came over here.

“h-hi, i just moved in next door. i wanted to say sorry for all of the noise,” you wince as he nods. “i wanted to ask, do you have much experience building furniture?”

iwa is sure you’re embarrassed, but he can’t help but smile just a little bit.

“i have a little,” he opens the door a bit wider. “do you need-“

“yes!” you light up, thrilled that you’re finally getting some help. “come over, whenever you’re free. i would really appreciate it.” you wave, giving iwa possibly the prettiest smile he’s ever seen before turning on your heel to walk back home.

he shuts the door, snatching up the t-shirt on the kitchen counter before slipping it on and heading out the door once more. he decides that pizza can wait. who is he to not help someone in need?

“oh wow, you’re fast,” you open the door and motion for him to come in, and iwa’s cheeks turn pink. you introduce yourself quickly, he returns the favor, and he follows behind you to the living room. spread out are different parts and instructions, and based on the photo on the box, it appears to be a coffee table.

“the website said it would be easy to set up but i’ve been trying for thirty minutes,” you sit on the floor and sigh. iwa joins you, grabbing the instructions.

“it never is,” he thinks back to the absolute nightmare it was setting up his bed frame. “did you move in today?”

“this morning,” you nod, grabbing one of the many boxes in the room. “do you mind if i unpack? would that be rude?”

“no,” he says a little too quickly. “i would do the same thing. i hate having my things in boxes.”

you laugh, and his cheeks turn pink again. he cringes, knowing if any of his friends saw him right now he wouldn’t hear the end of it. sitting here in a pretty girl’s apartment, stinking of salt and sunscreen in a pair of shorts and some random old t shirt.

“how long have you lived here?” you’re in the kitchen now, moving different cups around with a furrowed brow. iwa is beside himself, he can’t believe someone this cute is going to be right next to him every day.

“about three years,” he tightens one of the screws, making amazing time building it. he almost wants to slow down so that he can stay longer, but he won’t bother you.

“that’s good to hear,” you move the now empty box to the corner. “i don’t want to have to move again any time soon.”

i don’t want you to either, he thinks.

the two of you talk while he finishes building, getting to know each other. you learn where he’s from, what he’s studying, and vise versa. you two chat about school and before you know it, your table is complete.

“oh my gosh, thank you!” you give him a tired smile. “can i pay you?”

he snorts. “no, don’t worry about that. i’m happy to help.”

“can i at least get you dinner? you have no idea how much this helps me.”

he stands in your kitchen for a moment, before nodding.

“that would be fine,” you smile at him.

“i’ll order a pizza, does that sound okay? i haven’t been to the store yet,” he nods, and you pull out your phone to call them.

iwa forgets his summer blues for an evening. each minute he spends with you, the longing feeling in his stomach is replaced with excitement. instead of mourning the summers end, he welcomes every opportunity coming to him in the new season.

as he eats pizza with you on your living room floor, he can’t help but smile. after three years, he finally has his first real “college” experience.

and when he goes home, he thinks of any excuse he can to get you over to his place.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi hajime #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader

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klaprisun · 5 months

Text

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley) (Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 11: Back to Danny's POV

I knew today was Haley's birthday, I had it memorized from the calendar. I've been debating all morning while I tend to my crops if I should bother to bring her anything or not. From the last thing she said to me yesterday, I don't think I want to. However, Haley may not have meant it the way she said it. Her face seemed apologetic after she said it.

Haley is so unreadable. One minute she is rude and sassy, the next she is soft and friendly, but then she is right back to being mean soon after. I don't know what her problem is with me.

I've gotten a lot of money in the past few days from throwing random mushrooms and berries I find on the ground. I've also gone fishing as much as possible. I have just enough saved up to get that expansion to my house. I have to go to the mountains to Robin. I had finally met everyone at the Egg Festival yesterday, so I know who Robin is.

The trek up the mountains was a long one, thankfully this farm has been keeping me in shape. I found a lot more fruits, berries, and daffodils on the ground on my way up. Perfect to sell later. My pockets are overloading with random stuff.

I open the door to Robin's house, and Sam passes me on his way out of the house. He is disheveled, and from what I can tell, wearing one of Sebastian's black hoodies.

Catching him off guard, Sam scrambles for words, "Oh...Hey Danny...Fancy seeing you here."

"Hey Sam. On your way home? Rowdy night?" I tease knowing full well what was going on.

"Don't say a word to anyone," he points a finger at me accusingly. I hold my hands up in surrender and zip my fingers across my lips.

Sam scurries off before his mom, Jodi, notices he isn't home since it is still fairly early in the morning. Jodi is the same lady who watched me get kicked out of Haley's house and was walking with Vincent. Vincent is Sam's brother.

When I walk into Robin, Sebastian, Demetrius, and Maru's house, Robin is awaiting behind a desk with a cash register perched on it.

"I see you got to witness Sam running out from seeing Sebastian," is the first thing Robin says to me when I walk in, "They are really bad at hiding it. I knew what they were up to pretty quickly, but I didn't say anything. They know I know at this point."

"There are a lot of things happening in this small town. It's hard to hide anything here, I'm surprised people don't know." I responded.

"I think the only person who doesn't know is Abigail weirdly enough. I think she has a little crush on Seb. Poor girl. Like I said, they do a bad job at hiding it," she chuckles and motions to the short walkway on the right that leads to a bigger hallway going the other way. I see Sebastian walk upstairs from their basement and try to scuttle past the hallway. Before he makes it completely past, he notices I am standing there and freezes

"Oh hi Danny," he says. He has his shirt off, which allows me to see the hickeys he has along his chest. I stifle a laugh, and he takes off down the bigger hallway where I can't see him anymore.

"Told you they are bad at hiding it," Robin couldn't even see Sebastian from behind her desk since the wall blocked her view, but she still knew what was up. "Anyways, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could expand my house. I'm in desperate need of a kitchen. A bedroom would be cool too."

"Of course! I can absolutely build you a kitchen and bedroom," she exclaimed excitedly, "should take only a couple days."

I handed her the money I had saved up, waved goodbye, and walked out. Unsure of what to do for the rest of the day, I walk over to the town square. From the pathway to the townsquare, I can see the fountain off in the distance when I start passing the community center. Haley is sitting along the edge of it, looking miserable. I sigh and make my way over to her.

When I approach, I hold my hand out to her, not saying a word. In my hand was a daffodil I had picked on my way to Robin's. One I had stuffed into my pocket for later.

"You remembered my birthday?" She takes the daffodil from my hand, lightly brushing her hand against mine, "I'm impressed. Thanks."

"Mhm," is all I say back. Politely, I take a seat next to her on the ledge of the fountain.

"Have I mentioned I like your haircut?" She's trying to ease the tension between us. I am too busy looking at the ground.

"You have not. But thank you." I have already forgotten I cut my hair off. I decided the other night that it just gets in my way and in my mouth when I am trying to do farm work. I cut it to about shoulder length, but it looks a bit wonky and shaggy. Today I pulled some of my hair into a ponytail, but left the majority of it down in a half-up, half-down style. A few escaped pieces dance around to frame my face.

"Nice makeup. Wait... Are you even wearing any?" she asks. I look up but when I do, I'm met with her pretty close to my face. She flinches at my sudden turn and backs up. I feel my cheeks warm up and her cheeks go bright pink. We both shyly gaze at one other, staring into each other's eyes.

"I've only worn makeup 10 or 11 times in my life. It makes my skin feel weird." I wipe my cheek with my hand as I imagine the feeling.

"Your eye is looking better. Looks less...purple?" She reaches out to put her hand over my eye. She hesitates before she does, trying to judge my reaction. I don't move away or push her hand away. She takes that as an okay sign and places it gently over my bruised eye. "It's not as swollen anymore either."

"It will still take some time to go away. It still has to turn an icky yellow, green color." I pretend to gag.

"Yuck! I hate when bruises turn that color." She says. We sit there and chuckle at our lame attempts at conversing.

"What happened here?" Her voice now sounds concerned. She lightly traces the scar on my brow bone, causing me to shiver.

"Ah big childhood accident. You know, getting attacked by bears in the forest," I watch her brows furrow as she tries to process what I just said. "I'm just kidding. I didn't get attacked by a bear. I was attacked by a marble countertop when I was 11. I was running, sprinting even, next thing you know I trip over my own foot and smack my head on the way down. Resulted in 10 stitches at the hospital. Funny thing is I can't even remember what I was running for."

"Oh my Yoba! That's crazy!" she cries out as I finish my story. She goes back to trace my scar, but instead uses her full hand. She slowly brings her hand down my scar and down the side of my face. I can't help but stare into her ocean blue eyes. She is too focused on examining the rest of my face to notice me looking at her.

This is the most vulnerable I have ever felt in my life. I don't know what it is about Haley, but I just can't seem to stay mad at her. She just has such a charm to her that keeps me coming back. I can never stop thinking about her either.

"Whelp," I smack my hands on my thighs, "I still have a lot of work to do on the farm to do still," I stammer, messing up my words entirely.

"You said 'to do' and 'still' twice," she giggles.

"Did I? Ah well, I guess I was just too entranced by you," I say boldly. I get up off the ledge of the fountain and start making my way to the farm. But before I am out of Haley's sight, I call back to her, "Happy Birthday, Haley." I leave her sitting in a daze on the ledge of the fountain.

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sanderssidesthehouse · 17 days

Text

Rated T

CW: Swearing, Roman gets punched

Like with all my little one shots I'm posting this above/below the cut as well, but the formatting from AO3 will not transfer so it is a better experience for this fic if you click the link.

"Shut up!" "Make me!"

Virgil socked him in the jaw.

"What the gosh peck?! Why would you hit me?!" "You told me to shut you up!" "Yeah, well, I thought we would like, make out or something!" "W-why would we make out?!" Now he was thinking about it. Oh God, kissing Roman... "Oh.. Um you know, like just if you wanted to... or something..." And boy did he want to- "Why would I want to?! You're being dense as fuck! Get it together Princey!" "Well it's not my fault, you were kind of sending me signals and-" "God, just shut up!" "... Make me?"

Roman was fairly certain the arm that came up was going to punch him again, but he was pleasantly surprised when it simply pinned him to the wall. Wait, did that mean- Oh, ok, they were kissing... They were kissing!

"Mmph!" Virgil immediately flinched back. "What? Was that not ok? You just said-" "No!" Virgil flinched again. "I mean yes! I mean that it was ok! I just had realized what was happening and it startled me!" "... It took you that long?" "Well I didn't really expect it to happen. You did just punch me a second ago." "Oh, shit, right. Are you ok?" "Yeah, I'm ok. I can tell you were holding back, I've caught your Fight on enough occasions to know." "You'd think you would stop popping up around corners." "Maybe. I just get so excited when I hear you coming." Shit, that was cute, say something nice! "You're just like a dog." Crap. “I can’t believe I let you kiss me with that mouth.” “Aw, c’mon. My mouth is your favorite thing about me.” He could still probably save the situation. Roman let out an amused huff with a smile. “Can’t argue there.”

Ah! Virgil could feel his brain short circuiting. He was way too gay for this.

“Well, um, we could like, hang out or something if you wanted I dunno and it could be a date or whatever…”

Roman had two options here. He could tease Virgil’s shyness, or he could meet his nerves with genuine sentiment. Considering he wanted Virgil to continue speaking to him in the foreseeable future, he opted for the latter.

“I would like that very much. I’ll see you at 8?” “Um, yeah, sure that’s good, fine, cool, whatever.” Roman chuckled. “I look forward to it.”

Roman had nearly made his way all the way down the hallway they’d been standing in before he heard Virgil call out to him.

“Wait, Princey! We never settled the argument!” “You were right! I was just worried if I agreed with you we wouldn’t have anything to talk about! And then I got a little too into it!” He called back. “You’re such a dork!” “Your dork!” “Shut up!” “Make me?!”

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #siding fic

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hobiebrownismygod · 7 months

Text

INFECTION --> Part 1

made this for my Pookie @tatumis-a idk the concept reminded me of you and I think you'll like it hopefully

42!Miles x Fem!Reader --> Last of Us AU

WC: 1k

A/N: This is basically just a random little AU I wanted to write out for myself 😭 only a short beginning to what is probably gonna end up being a long series. its not gonna follow the plot of the original TLOU but its gonna be fairly similar to stay tuned 🔊 🗣🔥

____________________________________________________________

This was your chance

You lowered yourself out of the window as quietly as you could, silently praying you wouldn't alert any of the guards stationed near the dorms.

You'd been planning this day for weeks. The day you'd finally escape the prison the government called a camp. The enslavement they called schooling.

It wasn't schooling and it wasn't a camp. It was a way for them to turn scared little kids into soldiers for their useless army. So they could send more and more young people out into the fields to die from cordyceps for nothing.

Tomorrow would be the day you'd graduate. 16 years old. Ready to be another soldier. Another pawn.

But you weren't going to let that happen.

You fell to the ground with a thump, immediately dodging behind one of the many wilted bushes surrounding the bottom floor. You watched as one of the guard groups walked by, flashlights aimed towards the ground in front rather than the surrounding areas.

You took your chance to quickly move past, walking along the streets as inconspicuously as you could. You hid from any guards that walked by, hoping they wouldn't notice you in the darkness.

The strict curfew kept the streets empty while the patrol attempted to weed out the few stragglers left behind. It was well past 11pm and basically everyone was asleep by now.

It only took you a few minutes of brisk walking to reach the fence, the only thing separating the camp from the outside world, riddled with infected and rabid animals. Mercenaries and gangs. Psychopaths and murderers.

Yet you had a feeling that the outside world would be a lot better than being entrapped in this suffocating line they expected you to call home.

The outside world would be a lot more welcoming than the government would let on. After all, if the Fireflies could survive, why couldn't you? A "terrorist" group who's sole goal was to save humanity from extinction.

To find a cure.

And now you were going to find them.

Because it was only the Fireflies that could truly make you feel like you belonged.

Like there was something worth living for.

A cure...that would save everyone.

You tossed your backpack over the fence, following after it. The sharp edges of the metal scraped at your hands, leaving behind scratches and drawing blood. You ignored the pain, biting back groans as you heaved yourself over, falling to the ground on the other side.

You immediately felt...vulnerable. Exposed.

Out there, you could be met with anything.

The groans of infected could be heard in the distance. You could always hear them this late at night, but right now their moans seemed much more harrowing.

But you shook off the fear. Finding the Fireflies was the most important thing to you right now.

And that's exactly what you were going to do.

--------------------

Two days later

--------------------

Fuck

You stumbled as you ran through the mall, the sounds of growling and moaning disappearing into the distance behind you. You knew they couldn't follow you into here, the place was too fortified, but you kept running just in case.

You turned the corner quickly, arm outstretched to grab onto the wall and keep you from falling. Your head was turned over your shoulder, looking behind you to make sure you weren't being followed. That was a mistake.

When you looked back in front of you, you immediately stepped back, arms up in the air. Standing in front of you, leaning back against the wall with crimson red leaking out of his side, was a young boy with a gun in his hand, pointed directly at you.

"Step the fuck back." He hissed, shaking the gun at you and cocking it threateningly. You obliged, silently taking a step back and nearly jumping as your back hit the wall. "Look man, I'm not gonna hurt you-"

"Shut up." You nodded, looking down and keeping your hands up while he inspected you, head tilting to the side slightly. "What's your name?" He asked questioningly, voice as icy cold as possible.

"Y/N." You replied, slowly looking back up at him. His gaping wound caught your eye. His shirt was ripped, as though he'd been slashed at with a knife...or with claws. When you squinted your eyes slightly, you could make out...

a bite wound.

Suddenly you stood up straight, your heart dropping into your stomach. "Wh-what is that?" You asked softly, pointing towards his side. He looked down and his eyes widened, a flicker of fear flashing across his face. "Nothing." He said quickly. "Keep your hands in the air."

"Were you bit?" You asked cautiously, putting your hands back up. He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. But-"

You cut him off. "Let me go. You're going to die anyways, don't take me down with you."

"I'm not going to die!" He exclaimed nervously, voice trembling and the gun in his hand shaking slightly. He cleared his throat, pointing the gun at you once again. "I'm not going to die."

"Let me guess, you were bit this morning? By one of those monsters out there?" You asked, tilting your head back slightly. "Come on, man. Just let me go."

"I-I-" he hesitated. "You're not gonna believe me." he said quietly, shaking his head.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "What's there to believe?"

He stayed silent for a moment. "This bite...its two weeks old." he whispered, slowly moving his gun down. When you realized he wasn't going to hurt you, his words began to sink in.

"You're lying." You muttered. "You're lying! That's not possible. Everyone turns within three days." You took a cautious step towards him, gesturing for him to show you the wound. "Let me see it."

He leaned back against the wall and sat down, lifting his shirt up slightly. You crouched in front of him, the sight sending a wave of nausea across you. "Oh my god." You whispered softly. He flinched.

The wound was...healed, somewhat. It looked old. Definitely older than other bites you'd seen. It wasn't infected. But how was that possible?

Everyone turns within three days...

"How are you alive?" You whispered.

He stared at you back at you, his eyes filled with what you could only understand as pain. "I don't know."

____________________________________________________________

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allisonreader · 1 year

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@inklings-challenge Here’s my challenge story for this year.

Grandfather's Story

(Not a true story.)

There’s a story that my grandfather always liked to tell about his days working in a coal mine. He would always tell it to his kids and then us grandkids. Most of us weren’t sure whether to believe it, but he swears that it’s true.

His story starts with a tragedy.

A tunnel had collapsed and miners had died. Others were injured and managed to get out of the mine.

My grandfather had been one of the men tasked with shoring up the tunnel so that the dead could be safely removed to be given to their families for proper burials.

He and the other men took a canary in with them. An important alarm system for them even though they weren’t actively mining.

They had been working for several hours and had managed to bring all but one of the dead up. This particular gentleman had been buried in the wall collapse more than any of the others had been. As soon as they had managed to recover him, my grandfather and the other miners swear on their lives that the canary spoke. Telling them that they needed to leave before the tunnel collapsed further, before the bird fell completely silent.

Not a single man my grandfather worked with hesitated. They grabbed the dead man and booked it out of the mine as quickly as they could. Just making it out before the tunnel did indeed collapse behind them.

The canary returned to its regular singing once out of the mine.

Not a single one of those miners; my grandfather included, heard that canary or any other, speak like that again. My grandfather was certain that if the canary hadn’t spoken that all of them working to retrieve that last man would have been buried and died.

When that canary died, he was buried with all the dignity of a human and was given his own highly attended funeral. All the miners who were there that day, came to honour the bird that not only saved their lives but allowed families to bury their loved ones as they wanted to.

I still find it hard to believe that the canary spoke, but it’s also hard to argue with the amount of witnesses. Plus my grandfather loves to tell the story and I won’t tell him what to believe when he was the one who was there.

🐦‍⬛🐦🐦‍⬛🪹🪺🐦‍⬛🐦🐦‍⬛

So fun fact. I wrote this fairly short story during the duration of a one of the sprints that I've held this year. It came from out of nearly nowhere where, as I certainly never had anything planned like this for Team Chesterton, either this year or previous. I also have only given it a basic once over before posting it. (Mostly out of fear of not deciding to not post it if I leave it too long.) I'm still not super confident about it. Part of that is because of how I wrote it feels very much like a post that you would come across in the wild on this site in some ways. By which I mean I feel like it's more written like a post telling a story than how I typically write stories. Anyways I think I should stop over explaining before this becomes more of a mess than this note might already be.

(Three days after originally posting; post note. I'm pretty sure the nerves about sharing this were more just typical new posting than actually about the style. Because the story does exactly what I intended it to do. Be a quick story told in a way like I'm telling friends/explaining this story that is passed down by family. So I mean it's definitely not that I don't like it, it's just generally not how I write fictional stories. Anyways this is to say that while I might not have been confident, doesn't mean that I don't feel accomplished in what I have written. Now I probably really have over explained at this point.)

#inklingschallenge #team chesterton #genre: intrusive fantasy #theme: burial

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lorei-writes · 1 year

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HC: Beach Excursion

Premise: In which the Princes all go to a beach in Benitoite, by some strange twist of fate. Included Characters: Leon, Jin, Yves, Licht, Nokto, Chevalier, Clavis, Luke, Gilbert, Silvio, Keith, Rio, Sariel

Aye, the other idea I had for @solomons-poison 's Minx's Summer Fun Event ! A little silly, a little cute, just in the mood ~ Far longer than initially expected.

Content Warnings: food mention

Leon: It somehow happens that he spends the majority of his time helping lost children find their mothers. It also somehow happens that each person he helps wants to repay their debt by helping him. By the end of the day, Leon is followed by a flock of mother-child pairs -- enough to form an entire volleyball team. They decide to host a tournament and Leon ropes his faction into participation... Long story short, they suffer an overwhelming defeat. As losers, they buy everybody ice-cream.

Jin: Lifeguard. Honest to God, genuine lifeguard. No ulterior motives present. However, there is a certain issue with him fulfilling the role -- women (and men) who pretend to be drowning just so that he has to go and "save them". (Some do indeed start to drown after overestimating both their swimming and acting abilities.) He's one of the three reasons behind their loss at the volleyball tournament. Jin doesn't know the rules, can't figure out a smooth way to inquire about them and by the time he has pieced them together... the children have started to win. He can't bring himself to turn the tables on them, and purposefully plays poorly.

Yves: He burns. Oh, he burns so fast. SPF 50 is barely enough. He and beaches are just not meant to be -- Yves somehow finds himself dragged out into the ocean the moment he enters the water (Jin rescues him), steps into quicksand (what is quicksand doing here?!; it's not in his job description, but Jin rescues him), and then a pesky seagull tries to steal his earring. Licht tries to make him feel better by purchasing ice-cream for the both of them, but... they get separated soon enough. He's one of the three reasons behind their loss at the volleyball tournament. Do you think he manages to step into quicksand just once? Ha. And this sand is very, very quick. (They need a second ball after that. And a second Jin. And Yves.)

Licht & Nokto: They initially have some freedom of movement (that's when Licht buys Yves ice-cream), however, that joy is short-lived. They become confined to the shade provided by the umbrella fairly soon, although for different reasons. (Licht does not want to dress down from his usual attire, and Nokto... has had his sunscreen stolen by a certain someone). However! Worry not! Clavis comes to the rescue and builds them the most perfect sand mansion ever -- with an appropriately Lelouchian twist. Quite honestly, it is a marvel to behold. Since it gets confused for a haunted castle, Silvio starts charging the entry fee. Luckily, Clavis was wise enough to dig out a sizeable ditch around the castle walls. The legend says that is where Nokto's ex-lovers roam free... Licht's one of the three reason behind their loss at the volleyball tournament. He plays decently. The real issue is the fact that children compliment him too much, so... He can't take it. He just can't.

Chevalier: He burns. Oh, he burns so fast x2. He opts to rest in the shade of an umbrella and to read a book in peace... Not that Clavis is particularly fond of the idea. In fact, he knows what would surely cheer his insufferable older brother up! Chevalier barely manages to shield his book from the assaulting water. He proceeds to chase Clavis into the ocean. He ends up being pulled under precisely one (1) time. Only because he did not want to be stung by a jellyfish. He does have mild sunburn on his back afterwards. He will not admit to that, however.

Clavis: Well, if he isn't having fun! He builds sand castles (monstrosities that later become famous landmarks; he somehow managed to invent waterproof cement while at it), turns the water purple (and sparkly; it somehow attracts dolphins and so they swim merrily near the shore), collects jellyfishes (for research; they somehow end up inhabiting sweet water sources near Rhodolite's border with Obsidian afterwards), and even manages to play with his older brother! Who would have thought! Clavis is pulled under the water at least 10 times. However, he is prepared for that -- he doesn't even need to stand up. His life vest (another one of his inventions) does all the work for him! Which... is very fortunate, considering Jin is busy playing volleyball. And getting himself out of very quick quicksand. Some odd force compels him to slap Chevalier's back in the days that follow. However, Clavis never caves in.

Luke: He mostly naps in the sun (Clavis does prank him by writing some Lelouchian script in sunscreen over his back. However, it's so deformed only Chevalier can decipher it, and he's not telling anybody what's written there.) He has a good serving of honey ice-cream. He goes for a swim. And more than anything, he's glad that Sariel didn't make him stay back in Rhodolite to make up for all the study sessions he has skipped. (That being said, he has been forced to take books along... Books... that... are... somewhere. Probably.)

Gilbert: Listen, his outfit just doesn't work out in this weather. But has that ever stopped a true fashionista? NO! OF COURSE NOT! How do you think they produce ice for making ice-cream in this period? They take Gilbert by the hand (brazen), dip it in the water (foolish), and wait for it to freeze over (intense eye contact occurs)! Ice-cream manufacturing is the most dangerous industry out there! His cane somehow still manages to do the tap-tapping sound when he walks over the sand. Heck, he can walk into the water, and it will still tap. Tap. Tap.

Silvio: He's going to have fun tan lines from all that jewellery, but who's there to stop him? Nobody. He owns the place. He puts taxes on Gilbert's cold hands. He's charging everybody for any piece of shade there is. All while resting on his private jacht.

Keith: Well, Keith A and Keith B fight for dominance, and it is quite a fervent battle... carried out through dressing and undressing him, because one cannot handle the mortifying ordeal of being seen, while the other cannot even begin to hope to cope with the heat.

Rio: He just enjoys his time being rescued by Emma, or helping Emma rescue other people. Because, you've guessed it, she's a lifeguard. Rio's living for it. No CPR for him, however. Only (friendly) slaps. After her watch is over, he takes her out on a date. He plans to confess (again) at sunset.

Sariel: He stayed back in Rhodolite. He loves peace and quiet... Although, perhaps, he misses them all a bit? Just a tiny, tiny, tiny little bit...

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86

#minx summer fun 2023 #ikepri #ikemen prince #leon dompteur #yves kloss #jin grandet #licht klein #nokto klein #chevalier michel #clavis lelouch #luke randolph #gilbert von obsidian #silvio ricci #rio ortiz #sariel noir

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