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syoddeye · 3 months

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big game

ghost x f! reader | ~5k words cw: simon lies, mean simon, red flags? what red flags, hunting, animal death (discussed), predator/prey, knives, bad restraints, bad suspension, rough (arguably bad) sex, clothed man & naked woman, blood, murder, italic abuse. please tell me if you need something tagged. a/n: a cross between this post and this post. banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

Simon lets slip that he owns a cabin nearly a year into the relationship. It’s the kind of thing where you could and maybe should be upset, but you play it off as no big deal. You have to. This is Simon. The man didn’t show his entire face until the sixth or seventh date.

(He joked about it, too, that first time—Breathe a word about this mug, and I’ll have to kill ya. You laughed, delirious as he split you in two. He didn’t.)

It’s a few hours away from the city, on the far edge of the boonies. It’s long beyond the truck stops and hog refineries that dot this part of the country. Far from delivery and traffic lights. Deep in an unincorporated village, in an unincorporated area. Its remoteness would make one wonder how a foreign ex-soldier found such a location, but again. This is Simon. Ages ago, you learned questions earn neither his favor nor answer.

The property is impressive for its locale. Two bedrooms. A decent kitchen. Heating and cooling. A garage and a shed. Renovated within the last decade and upgraded piecemeal when Simon has time. It sits on a lake shared by only two other cabins, both residing around a reedy bend and well out of sight.

Upon arrival, Simon doesn’t offer a tour, telling you to poke around as he unpacks the car. Well, a jerk of his head and a gruff, “Go on in.” Since you started seeing each other officially, he doesn’t often let you burden yourself with chores. No lifting a finger if he’s available.

The place is sparse. Occupied but not lived in. While stocking a cupboard, Simon explains the previous owner, an older gentleman with cheap taste, left behind what decoration remains. A few tacky fishing signs hang on the walls, intermixed with sun-bleached squares on the wood paneling. A curio box collection of novelty keychains in the hall to the bedrooms, full of states and a couple of names. The lumpy pillows on the sofa pouf tobacco-scented dust when you test its cushions.

Tiptoeing into the main bedroom, you imagine how you might spruce up the austere space. Considering he moved into your apartment after three months, you assume it’s a matter of time until this becomes your cabin, too.

(It was incredibly romantic—the move. Near sunset, Simon appeared like a specter in the pouring rain, with his few worldly belongings in tow. Kissed you hard and fast, told you he couldn’t stay at his place anymore. That he needed you. You. All your effort paid off.)

The memory brings a smile to your face.

You’ll turn the cabin into a cozy love nest like your apartment. Blankets, candles, a rug or two. Though he’ll never admit it, Simon must desire comfort like anyone else. The first night he burrowed into your duvet, luxuriating in the cotton and silk, he fell asleep like an old hound freshly sprung from a shelter. He tossed most of his stuff the next day—said you had everything he needed.

Looking around, you realize you have your work cut out for you. The austere room more a cave than a refuge. The man's bed doesn't even have a frame. Just a neatly made mattress with tucked sheets and two flat pillows. A secondhand dresser and a stack of plastic drawers for extra storage. On the bright side, the adjacent bathroom is spotlessly clean, with a caddy holding melamine sponges, bleach, and other supplies on a shelf. He's always been tidy, likely a military thing.

From the living room, you're greeted with a scenic view of the lake and the adjoining deck through the glass door. A pair of wooden chairs sit side-by-side in front of a fire pit, one of Simon's old welding projects. Down the gentle slope to the shore, a small dinghy rests in the water, tied off at the aluminum dock. A smattering of yellow and white water lily pads hug the bank.

Peaceful. Picturesque. Private.

But your eyes hitch on a strange beam.

Bolted between two mature trees, a hefty piece of timber sits within plain sight of the deck. A series of evenly spaced, fixed eyelet hooks and two pulleys catch the light when the breeze shifts the canopy of the bur oak overhead.

Simon joins you on the deck, the planks creaking beneath his bulk. A cracked beer dwarfed in his hand.

“Did the former owner have kids?” You ask as he sips.

“Kids?”

You point at the curious installation. “Isn’t that for a tire swing? Seems like the perfect spot.”

Simon stares, narrowing his eyes slightly with a chuckle. The tone of it prickles—the same snide laugh he makes at his own awful jokes. When he’s in on the punchline, and you’re not. One of the few things that sour his image.

“Kids? Fuck no,” He shakes his head. “That’s where I ‘ang deer and the like out to bleed.”

You bristle and duck the arm he means to drape around your shoulders, ignoring how he huffs baby and c’mon, don’t be like that between snickers.

He finds you in the bedroom, sorting the clothes you packed with punchy aggression, fuming and embarrassed by his teasing. Stupid and naive, that’s how you feel, for all your care and commitment. You’re just so silly, such a townie, for not recognizing a piece of lumber as a barbaric vehicle for slaughter.

Two wide mitts glide over your sides as you try your best to ignore the behemoth behind you. You are by no means small, but Simon. Fuck, Simon, you whisper, half-exasperated when he nuzzles into the crook of your neck—he’s—fuck, he is big.

It’s an hour before your clothes are finally put away, and you’re already down a pair of underwear for the weekend. Simon leaves you sated and dozing, a tactile apology accepted, and retrieves you to fix supper when he’s hungry. Later, parked in the chairs in the yard, watching the end of the sun’s march to the horizon, you broach the topic again.

“Will you take it down?”

“Sweetheart, what do ya think I do on the weekends you work?”

You shiver. Ten seconds ago, you’d’ve said read or weld or fish. It’s ridiculous how your mind cannot wrap around the idea of Simon out in the woods, stalking through the trees and underbrush, hunting. Decked out in blaze orange and realtree, rifle cradled in his hands. You know his history and what he’s capable of. What he’s done.

But this is different from his military career. Simon said he didn’t want to do any of that. Enlisting was how he escaped a lousy home life; he didn’t plan to get stuck in it for as long as he did. He confessed once, after a silly tiff over your job, that the day he was discharged was the best day of his life, second only to the day you met. That’s where the disconnect lies. Hunting and killing for sport, that’s not the Simon you know.

You tell him as much.

“That so?” His smirk matches the rising moon. A waxing crescent.

You insist.

Simon cracks his neck. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal,” he starts, fingers flexing around the neck of the beer bottle. “I’ll quit, if I can bag one last trophy.”

The thought of burning the beam distracts you from the flicker in his eyes. The ugly thing is the only hiccup keeping the cabin from textbook perfection. You don’t want to think of Bambi’s poor mother dangling like some macabre ornament whenever you look outside.

“Fine. What’s the trophy?”

Simon grins.

“I better win a fucking award for this. It’s freezing.” You’d said, tugging on your sneakers.

He laughed wickedly. The sound burned right up your spine.

“You’ll get a fucking award, alright.”

Simon sent you off a half hour ago if the time on his watch’s dull, glowing face is correct. He buckled it around your wrist before you darted into the woods, tightening it as far as it would go. It spins loose around the bone anyway. He warned you to watch your footing, pressed bear mace into your palm, and then gave you five minutes to make yourself scarce. Inwardly, you preen. To go undiscovered for this long—you’ve surpassed your own expectations.

However, squatting with your back to a distressingly damp tree trunk, regret eclipses pride and buzzes under your skin. Hopefully, it's not a parasite from one of the puddles you stomped through. It's out of devotion, you tell yourself, itching under a wet sock, that you agreed to this game. Out of love. There isn't much you wouldn't do for Simon. From the moment you met him, it's been magnetic. Poetic.

And that first date? Cinematic. You went out with one man and returned home with another. Your date caught Simon staring from across the joint, a mean set of eyes in a ski mask eating you alive. What kind of man lets another steal his ‘bird’? That’s what he called you—birdie. Need some company, birdie? Complete disregard for the flop-haired man across the table. Cupped a hand to your date’s ear, said a few words, and Mike or Matt or whatever his name was vacated his seat, leaving the big Brit to take his place.

Bringing him home was a foregone conclusion, the decision finalized as you watched him, absolutely rapt, stab the meat of your entree and claim it as his own. Rolled up his balaclava just enough to take a bite with a row of crooked teeth. Breath hitching at the scars, the pale white lines stretching over his chin. You didn’t even know his name when you blurted out the question. And it’s with fondness you recall the flash of surprise in his eyes at your resolute zeal. Didn't make him work for it, offered yourself up on a silver platter.

('Course, afterward, you had to convince him not to fuck you in the parking lot, promising breakfast in the morning if he slept over. He did. For two days. He kept turning up after that.)

You may be hiding in the woods, but he's the animal. Yes. A neglected stray you dedicated the better part of a year into domesticating. Lured him with food, a warm bed, and sex. Assiduously filing down his sharp teeth and rough edges with your body. Introducing him to creature comforts, to living versus mere survival.

Which, again, prompts the question—why hunting? Didn’t you take care of him? If he needed more, all he had to do was ask. Take. Prying a burr off of a sleeve, you wonder if it's like the old saying goes: you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Maybe he needs to chase or track, and you’re another soft-handed city slicker keeping a working dog cooped up in an apartment.

If you still saw your therapist, she’d probably suggest you dissect that. But you don’t, and you’re not inclined to schedule a session. Besides, Simon said all shrinks are—

A twig snaps. It shocks you how quickly you push to your feet.

Twenty feet or so dead ahead, a hulking mass moves through a thin shaft of moonlight.

You run.

Huffing and puffing, you charge clumsily through the trees, miraculously avoiding clusters of roots and shielding your face with your hands. Feels unnatural to run from him. The blood rush in your ears drowns out the heavy thuds on the ground behind you, Simon pursuing, shirking stealth for speed.

Inevitably, he overtakes you. An iron grip latches onto your shirt, and a kick sweeps your legs. The bear mace flies from your hand into the brush, clanging off a tree. You dangle for a spine-tingling second, suspended, heart lurching into your throat. He leverages your tumbling momentum to swing you to the ground at his feet through strength alone. Landing on the cold floor of the woods expels a gasp, a second following as a boot presses between your shoulders. No force behind it; its presence alone enough to keep you down. Despite the dirt and twigs surely sticking to your front and the borderline painful thunder of your heart, you smile in relief. It’s over. His last hunt. The boot lifts.

“Nice work, big guy,” You cough, breathing hard. “Can we—Simon?”

Before you can move, Simon nudges the toe of a boot into your ribs, compelling you to roll over. You startle at the sight looming above, a strangled, incoherent string of mouth noises trickling out of shock. A pair of brown eyes peer through the orbits of a skull attached to a mask. They trail from your face to your stomach, where he takes advantage of your stupefied babbling, binding your hands with cord. You meet his gaze, heat creeping up your neck, and his eyes crinkle.

About a dozen questions surface on the return march to the cabin. None survive the swirling vortex of your head, unwilling to risk appearing perfidious.

Simon flexes his grip over your bound hands. “Gonna have some fun.”

Your faith does not lapse, though fear simmers low in your belly when he doesn’t lead you to the cabin but toward the beam. A fluorescent nylon rope now feeds through the hooks and pulleys, and an oxidized steel, wide-based triangle sways freely. Beckoning. A humiliating whimper escapes as he positions you on a circle of dead grass, hands of a hangman on your hips.

“Said you wanted a fucking award.”

A fucking award. A fucking award.

Simon reclaims his watch and then methodically changes your bindings. A hand to each vertice, he fastens you to the gambrel and kisses away a rogue tear. He tugs and tests the rope. It shouldn’t induce a flood, and yet.

“Is it—Can it hold me?”

“Birdie, this is built for stags and boars. It can hold me.” He strokes your cheek, tapping the bone with a knuckle, then breaks away. “Stay put.”

As if you have a choice.

Leaving you with the frogs and crickets, you watch Simon retreat indoors. A breeze carries a cool rush of air from the lake, your thin top a poor barrier to the slight chill. You take deep, rattling breaths to slow your heartbeat, still racing from the pursuit.

A distant click breaks the quiet, followed by a low, electrical buzz and the sudden, blinding intensity of light. It sears your vision before you can screw your eyes shut, blinking away the phosphenes with a noise of displeasure. The sensation’s almost enough to knock you off your feet. You squint, sight adjusting, and track the source to a previously unseen flood lamp affixed to the oak tree some distance away.

Simon returns shortly after you regain your bearings, his imposing silhouette accentuating his mass. Closer, he’s stripped down to a fraying and stained white t-shirt, but your eyes hone in on the rig fastened around a thick thigh. The cut of the strap guides your eye to the straining denim, and the image of his dick flashes in your mind, scorching like the flood lamp.

He extracts a knife from the sheath, steel reflecting light like a mirror. You squirm, a cross between impatient and uncomfortable. Is he cutting you down already? What was the point—

He pulls the front of your shirt, setting the knife edge to the hem.

“Simon,” your voice jumps high in your throat. “Don’t you dare.”

A steady upward glide answers the warning, cleaving the material in two open drapes. The breeze hits your sweat, the band of your bra suddenly chilled and sticking, though that doesn’t last long as he slices through it, too.

“Someone could see!” you stammer, nipples tightening in the night air.

“You’re frettin’ over nothin’, sweetheart. Nobody’s out here. Open.” Simon demands, pressing the hilt to your lips. “Good girl.” he praises when you relent to bite the compressed leather between your teeth, catching a whiff of polish. He rips off the remnants of your top and bra, dropping them to the ground in scraps. A big hand fondles and weighs a tit in its palm as if he hasn’t played with it before. There’s a deep inhale from behind the mask as he swipes a thumb beneath its mass, then a chuckle. “Work up a sweat?”

The hand with the knife carefully discards the mask, revealing smears of eyeblack, and he pops his thumb into his mouth to suck it clean. A gasp slips out when he steps closer, hand engulfing the tissue again, pushing it up to glide his nose along the underside, tongue trailing. He nips, soothing after you yelp.

You mourn your expensive leggings when he shreds them next, reducing them to ribbons—another deep breath and a throaty laugh, selfish and all too pleased.

“Knew I smelled ya in the woods.”

“You ruined–you tore them–”

“Thought you’d get lucky tonight?” Scarred knuckles drag from your ribs to your thigh, squeezing, his thumb rubbing sweet circles over old stretch marks. Your wires cross, his blatant rewrite of the afternoon makes your lips purse, but his hand, Christ, your toes curl in your sneakers. “A quick screw in the woods?” He sheathes his knife to trace a finger along the crease of your thigh.

Air whistles through your teeth in a sharp inhale. He skims, dipping to gather some of your wetness, licking his fingers clean again. He hums appreciatively. “Get off on being chased? Fuckin’ dripping, birdie.”

Your hole twitches at his teasing, and you know he must see it with the sneer he gives you alongside the abrupt plunge of two fingers. The hand on your thigh migrates to your ass, pulling you snug to the webbing.

“Simon!” A curse hisses out as he burrows his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, curling—not for your pleasure, no, but to keep you there, a crude hook. The rope strains as you squirm, impaled, and stretched too tight on his hand, clenching uncontrollably as if your cunt can’t make up its mind. A flurry of sensations meets head-on with reason, and logic’s never been your strong suit. Reduced to need and want in equal measure, a single twist of his fingers confirms you’re as desperate as the night you met him.

You don’t notice his other hand abandoning your backside for the rope. What squeaks first, you or the pulleys? It’s sudden, the way you slide off his fingers with a lewd pop, feet leaving the ground. He hoists you up and up, the movement practiced, tying you off like the boat secured around a cleat hook.

Some feet off the ground, naked and shivering in the dark, exposed—you should feel fear, but the other shoe, instinct or intuition, doesn’t drop. All the vulnerability does instead is send a white-hot pulse to your clit. A plea leaves your mouth before your brain considers anything else. Pelvis tilting. He awards your eagerness with a grind of a zipper and a gratified grunt. Simon tugs his jeans and boxers down, then bends slightly to hitch your legs.

Your legs settle around him, and though he huffs when you squeeze, trying to ease the pressure off your wrists, you think he likes it. The ropes above slack little, raised higher than he’s tied you. With a massive hand back on your hip, he uses the other to feed his cock into you, bringing the line taut once more as he pulls you down.

The steady shove and fullness push a low whine from your mouth, which Simon smothers with a toothy kiss. It stings some—you’re not nearly wet enough, only quieting with the faith he’ll make it better. However, the fact that he doesn’t give you time to adjust isn’t promising.

He ruts. Barges in. Takes what he needs in full strokes. Builds a pace that rattles the hardware and your insides. The pain steadily stressing your wrists and lower back is secondary. Third, probably, to pleasure and heat, though the former isn’t building as fast as the latter. Sweat beads in your hairline and neck, collecting under your breasts and in the creases of your belly. Makes your calves slick where they press into his sides, the cotton of his shirt sticking to his and your muscles.

“Simon, I can’t–” The words eke out, abdomen and thighs burning, friction in the wrong places.

His arms flex, boots shuffling over dirt and grass to further beneath you, cock dragging along your walls at a drastic angle, head jabbing into your cervix. More support, less comfort. A bitter trade-off, exchanging one hurt for another. The pinch of his brow makes the bursting stars at the edges of your vision worth it.

Each thrust shakes you in the rope, pulleys whining in solidarity. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes across the cabin’s yard, coupling with your gasps and Simon’s ragged breaths. After a particularly harsh snap of his hips, laughter, deep and gular, trickles out of his mouth. "You feelin’ alright, sweetheart?" he drawls, voice oozing sangfroid. “Y’like your award?”

That has you shuddering. His hands settle on your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh in a way that’s sure to leave marks. “Look at you, strung up so prettily. Pretty fucking ornament.”

Bambi’s poor mother.

Simon's voice and the image of a dangling deer carcass collide, punctuated with a thrust like a battering ram. It forces another string of needy sounds. Discomfort and desire coil in your stomach, twisting into a warm mass with a life of its own. You feel every inch as he withdraws and shoves in. The heat of him, the hardness. Nylon chafes your skin, each buck a reminder of your helplessness. Restraints are nothing new, but this is—

The air leaves your lungs in one big whoosh as Simon hits a sweet spot.

You slump a bit, legs close to jelly from bracing.

Finally, an adjustment. Simon slows to meld himself further into you, and it’s then, sucking in deep breaths, you marvel at how perfectly level you are to be fucked like this. He bands a single thick arm beneath your ass in a casual display of strength, the other snaking between you. Chin to chest, he spits, the glob hitting your clit like a bullseye. You’d cringe if his thumb didn’t chase after it, spreading his saliva. The sudden break, coupled with his attention, makes you quiver. Anticipation gaining on torment. His thumb’s rhythm quickens, alleviating the aches. You’ll be sore as hell come morning, but as you have before, you’ll forgive again.

With a new, albeit haphazard, focus on your clit, he rolls his hips at a more languid pace. The shift is a knife’s edge between torture and bliss.

“Still want me to take it down? Don’t know if I will, birdie, like the idea of keepin’ you up ‘ere, ‘anging for the takin’ whenever I want ya.” A chuckle vaporizes into a hiss. “Shit, you like the sound of that?

If you could manage speech, you’d say yes. Simon’s rewired your synapses in a matter of seconds with the rough pad of a finger. He’s backlit from this angle. Haloed. Suits him, you think. What you’re feeling is rapturous, however ruthless it may be. Animalistic, really. If you let him leave the beam—this is what you’ll remember. Not some fresh-killed doe staring into nothing. But you, Simon, and the orgasm he harvests.

It creeps up on you. You howl, jerking in the ropes, muscles spasming and weeping. Revived with a burst of adrenaline, your legs try to close automatically, only to press uselessly into his sides. There’s no stopping him and nowhere to go until he’s done. Your body sags in its ties like a puppet.

Simon snarls something, and his palms return to your ass, abandoning all pretense. A haze rolls, thick as molasses, over you as he uses you to his end. He goes silent the few seconds before he comes, breathing harshly through his nose. One last snap of his hips, a deep grunt, and his cock floods your pussy. His chest heaves. Breaths heavy and stunted. Burrowing into your chest, he digs his nose into your sternum and rasps his teeth over your frantic heartbeat.

Your eyes droop along with the rest of your person. Everything disappears under a tenebrous wave.

Movement. The grind of the pulleys. The sawing of a knife. A sliver of lucidity buoys you, a headrush from popping to the surface after drowning. Your head throbs, the world spins, and by the time you make sense of it, you hear the familiar creak of the cabin steps.

Simon lays you out on the lumpy mattress, brushing his fingers over your hair and skin. He disappears, and you float in and out of consciousness. Thoroughly fucked.

You briefly wake when he tucks you in. The crux of your legs is damp, and a faint medicinal smell emanates under the blanket. Layers of gauze over aloe wrap your wrists where they lay beside your head on a flat pillow, and you wiggle your fingers experimentally.

“Sleep.” He says, poking your forehead.

Your throat hurts. “Stay.”

The bed dips when he obliges. He molds to your back, smushing your chest with an arm and cupping a tit. His breath fans over the shell over your ear, and when you’re on the edge of sleep, he murmurs something, but the words run together.

Somehow, he falls asleep before you. Sated. Ran out. You take care of him, and he takes.

An emaciated tick floats with its legs curled in on itself in a glass on the floor next to the bed. You stare at it for too long, then roll over.

Simon’s awake, though his eyes remain closed and body still. You wince, thighs rubbing together and interlacing your limbs over his. His lip twitches, but he doesn’t shove you off.

You trace a scar jutting across the meat of a shoulder and stare at his chest, pock-marked like besieged castle walls. Months ago, you asked about the stories behind the wounds. The question went unanswered, and it earned you a week of getting fucked face-down. So you simply drop a kiss to a crater on his pec and then his chin.

“You broken?” He mutters.

“No.”

“Then fix us some breakfast.”

It’s Herculean with how your flanks and thighs protest, but you hum through the kitchen and diligently rustle up the meal. Visions of a life dance through your head. An ivory lace curtain will suit the window over the sink. The smoke-damaged, yellowing cabinets need scrubbing. There’s hair stuck in the hoarfrost of the freezer, which makes you gag. Leftovers from one of Simon’s hunts.

No sooner than you plate the bacon does Simon emerge. No need to call. He’s trained.

The cell reception is terrible, one of the features that sold him on the property. Calls drop sporadically, and texts scrape by at the shed. His phone vibrates when he sets foot over the threshold—messages from his pet, all sent within a few hours. Poor thing’s bored at work. He wouldn’t know the feeling. His morning’s been productive. Enjoyable.

Simon’s lip curls, and he leans the fishing rod against the shed door. Sliding his phone into a pocket, he turns back to fetch the tackle box. He lumbers past the wriggling cunt strung up on the newly installed gambrel, the plastic crinkling underfoot. The steady drip of blood is barely audible over their whiny throes. Probably hurts. Hooks through the Achilles tendons will do that, but they’ll go quiet soon enough. If he times it right, they’ll be done when he returns for supper.

He nearly pricks his thumb, spearing the worm onto the hook. Watches it writhe. He huffs a laugh and spares a glance back at the cabin. The two trees that once held the beam. It’s a loss to no longer watch game struggle from the comfort of the deck. He surprised himself with how he complied with his girl’s request. She earned it, he supposed. Cried and begged and bled for it. Usually, that sort of response draws his knife, not his interest. But she’s an odd one. Different. A rare beast.

He casts the line.

“Do you want to fuck me?” She’d asked all those months ago, less than a minute after he threatened to hang her date by the balls. Blunt and to the point. Refreshing. He was unaccustomed to finding them so willing, but she fucking imprinted on him like a wobbly-kneed fawn. Nosed his open, reaching hand like a stray, hungry pup. She saw him for what he was—the bigger, meaner predator. Top of the food chain. Thinks some part of her knew she was better off bowing her head and licking his cock than running. She stuck her neck out, took him home, and gave him her pussy without a fuss.

It’s cute, the way she thinks she’s made him agreeable. How she works on him and his hygiene and manners. Doesn’t get that if it were up to him, he’d sleep on the floor, in the dirt, used to a lifetime of bunking down in shitholes. The cabin’s simply suitable for his hobbies. The fact it’s a decent vivarium for the sweet girl is a bonus, a place to keep her nice and soft so long as she’s good. ‘Course, the sight of her hanging by her hands made the idea of introducing her insides to the outside cross his mind, but he won’t cut her down just yet. Not when he’s got her leashed.

Hours later, the cooler packed with largemouth bass and walleye, he unpacks the dinghy and trudges toward the shed. It’s silent, save for the insects and the birds.

The nosy prick from the bait shop sways, unmoving. Coated with his own fluids and dripping. He chuckles. He should call her.

#ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #mind the tags #posting and skittering off

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flemingsfreckles · 5 months

Text

Newlyweds

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Preview: You and Jessie finally get married, when you get home, your original plans get derailed by your sleepy wife

Warnings: suggestive, mentions of sex (fingering), getting walked in on, no detailed smut, non sexual nudity, showering together,

WC: 1.6k

A/N: this ended up soft and fluffy, I thought about taking it the smut route but I didn’t, sorry I know yall love some smut, I also finished writing this just now and I’m just gonna post it, it’ll edit it if I find errors but it’s very possible they’re in there.

Jessie was practically cackling as she ran down the hallway of your home toward your bedroom with you cradled in her arms.

“If you fall you’re going to get us both hurt Jessie.” You tried to protest when she went to pick you up outside the front door.

“It’ll be fine! Plus it’s a tradition thing.”

“I think the tradition is the groom carries the bride through the door, last time I checked we’re both the bride.”

“Shhh just let me do it.” You had, reluctantly let her pick you up, bridal style, walking you through the door of your house. It only took 3 steps for Jessie to in fact trip over the rug that sat at the entrance.

Thankfully neither of you were hurt, she had managed to catch both herself and you before either of you hit the floor.

“Jessie!”

That’s what set her off laughing. And she couldn’t stop, she was hysterically laughing as she kept moving, using your body to push open the bedroom door. By the time she placed you on the bed you were laughing too. You couldn’t help it, your wife’s laugh was contagious.

“I cannot believe you almost fell.” You shake your head looking up at where she stood next to the bed. Going limp she flops down onto the bed next to you. She’s laying on her stomach, looking at you as you lay on your back, turned to the side to look at your wife.

“Hi wifey.” She whispers to you, the biggest toothy grin across her face.

“Hi wife.” You lean in and kiss her gently.

You both lay, just staring at each other, soaking in the fact that just a few hours ago you had officially gotten married.

The two of you had joked for so long that you practically were married, being together since you were 17 and 18, you had stayed together falling in love with each other more and more as the time went on. Now being 25 and 26 you finally had done it, in front of all your friends and family, you were married.

As you stare at her you notice her eyes starting to flutter closed, then she’d open them with a couple hard blinks, before they’d start to droop again. The sight is adorable, Jessie’s sleepy face gently placed on the bed.

“Let’s go to sleep Jess”

“No, we’re supposed to, ya know, consummate the marriage.” She cracks her eyes enough to look at you and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Babe, I think that tradition is more for people who didn’t sleep together before marriage, we’ve been having sex for like 8 years.”

“But still, we’ve never had sex as wives.”

“What do you call the fingering in the reception bathroom then?” You counter.

You weren’t too proud of it, but something about seeing Jessie in her tuxedo declaring how much she loved you in front of everyone you both cared about, turned you on. You couldn’t help yourself but to whisper some filthy words into Jessie’s ear as both of you sat having dinner. The two of you had snuck off to a bathroom during your reception to have a moment to yourselves, one thing turned into another and before you knew it Jessie had you sitting on the sink, her fingers under your dress and inside of you.

Jessie’s face turned red at the memory.

“That doesn’t count as consummation, no one finished.” She argues with you.

“That’s not my fault, you can thank your sister for that.”

Jessie’s little, but thankfully adult, sister had come looking for both of you. The photographer needed you both for photos with your brand new wedding bands. You thought you had locked the door when you walked in, turns out Jessie had already made an attempt to lock it, meaning you unlocked it. She had looked everywhere, before she opened the bathroom door, seeing her older sister between your thighs, your dress hiked up around your waist and Jessie’s hand between your legs.

“Oh, you two are disgusting.” She clasped her hand over her eyes. “Wash your hands and both of you get out here, the photographer needs you!” Jessie had been mortified, being caught by her sister of all people, she would’ve preferred a teammate. You had laughed it off and dragged your red faced wife out of the bathroom.

The party continued on for a few hours after and while you were still very turned on by your wife, the exhaustion of the day started to sink in not exactly leaving either of you in the mood for what you knew would be multiple rounds of sex.

You watched as Jessie’s eyes continued to flutter shut each time they shut they stay closed for longer and longer until you’re pretty convinced she wasn’t going to open them again.

“Hey,” you gently nudge her shoulder and her eyes crack open. “Let’s go shower and get changed.”

“But I’m so comfortable here.”

“Come on babe, we can have our first shower together as wives.” Saying the word wife and it not being a joke anymore made you smile.

“So cozy in the bed.” She mumbled as her eyes closed again.

“Alright, hang on.” You stand up, moving over to the side of the bed closest to her, you scoop your arms under her shoulders and the other under her knees. She doesn’t protest as you lift her and carry her into the bathroom.

You gently place her on the floor and give her a kiss. “Let’s get you undressed.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jessie smirks at you.

“No, you were just falling asleep on the bed.”

She pouts at you, arms crossed. You gently take her wrists, undoing the cufflinks of her dress shirt and then sliding off her tuxedo coat. Your fingers move to the buttons on her vest, undoing those and helping her remove it. Lastly is her dress shirt, she works from the top down as you work to undo the bottom of her shirt. Your hands meet in the middle and she pulls the shirt off and quickly follows it with her sports bra.

“My beautiful wife.” You lean down placing kisses across her exposed skin. While your mouth stays kissing her chest, your fingers move to her belt, undoing it and sliding it out from her pants. She undoes the button on her slacks and lets them fall to the floor. You hands find the elastic of her boxers and you slowly pull them down. Moving your head from her chest you place kisses along both of her thighs as you remove her underwear.

“You’re turn.” She says, you turn away from her to allow her access to the zipper and ties on your dress.

Jessie’s hands find the top tie and begin undoing the knot. “Have I told you enough how beautiful you look?” She says as her fingers move to the next tie. “Absolutely stunning, you took my breath away.” Her hands then move to the zipper, undoing the rest of the dress. She brings her hands up to where the top of the dress sat. She begins pulling it off of your body, similarly to your actions she brings her lips, placing them on every inch of skin on your back she exposes pulling down your dress.

Jessie extends a hand to you to help you step out and over the dress. “Wow.” She takes the time to look you up and down. You had bought a new set of lingerie for the wedding. It was a lacy white set, one you knew would make your wife crazy. “Where did you get this?” Her fingers work into the straps of the bra.

“Oh you know, just something I had lying around.” You joke with her. Her eyes are locked on your chest. “Quit staring, I’ll put it on again tomorrow for you to fully enjoy.” The comment had Jessie biting her lip, likely thinking of what she’d get to do to you after a good night's sleep.

You move your own hands to your bra, unclasping the back while Jessie’s thumbs hook into your matching panties and pull them down your legs. She comes back up to meet your lips with hers.

You both stay for a second, grinning at each other, both overwhelmed with happiness. You pull away to start the shower, while you wait for it to run warm you pull Jessie into your arms, hugging from behind. You turn the two of you toward the mirror above the vanity.

“Look at my wife.” You point in the mirror at Jessie’s figure in front of you.

“Ehh she’s alright but look at my wife!” She teases you back, pointing at you in the mirror.

“I love you, wife.”

“I love you, wife”

Your arms release her, giving her a quick squeeze with your hand on her shoulders. “Let’s hurry up and shower so we can sleep and then tomorrow we can do all the consummating you want.” You give her a wink and she quickly follows you into the shower, the two of you having a moment of peace and relaxation after the day’s festivities. As you looked at her in the shower, you couldn’t help but think how it was just the two of you, and that was all you would ever need. You and her.

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #canwnt x reader

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longwizardbeard · 1 year

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the impact of neil gaiman on the good omens fandom is so obvious today because this could be a legendary day for posting, but if you reference material literally officially posted by amazon the most annoying people in the world act like you killed their dad. i’m not even really anti-neil gaiman, i’m pro- posting, and it’s so sad to see something kinda legendary happen but be swept under the rug because amanda palmer’s ex husband’s post about how he’s disappointed about the leak is at the top of the tag rather than anything fun.

#good omens #1k #for some reason #2k #we fucking did it baby

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

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Hi Miss Raven! I was reading your opinions about Leona and wanted to ask you, do you think Leona would be a better king than Falena?

[Referencing this post!]

Put simply, no--but not for the reasons you're probably thinking. Hey now, hold on! Put down your pitchforks and torches! Please at least hear what I have to say and consider it.

It's not that I think that Leona is incompetent or that I think Falena is sufficient as a king. It's that ruling (especially as a monarch that has a LOT of power and control) is very nuanced and to say that one person would be "better" than another is grossly glossing over all that goes into governance.

This post gets quite long, so I've placed all my thoughts under the cut. Again, I ask that you read the whole post before commenting.

First of all, the baseline we're comparing to is Falena so let's review what we know about him that's relevant to this discussion. Leona describes Falena as someone who has a "carefree attitude". Because of this, Leona worries that Falena will "run [their] kingdom into the ground." Now something I want to make clear: "[running their] kingdom into the ground" is very harsh wording used ONLY in EN. In JP, Leona is much more casual with his phrasing. He simply expresses that he is "worried about the country's future", not that he thinks Falena will ruin it:

In the book 2 post-OB flashback sequence, Leona implies that his older brother can sing and nap but still be guaranteed the crown because of Falena being first-born. Falena is noted as holding a ceremony in honor of his son's birth; he had commissioned for a fountain to be built (even though water is a scarce resource in their land) and unveiled in their capital—an occasion which Leona skipped. He refers to the ceremony as a "self-indulgent party where you show off your son to the people." This characterizes Falena as a jovial and excessive person who doesn't think too deeply about policies. Another example of this comes from Leona's Birthday Boy vignettes, in which Falena sends his younger brother an expensive rug. "In the time he spends sending me gifts I don't even want, he could be sending rugs to neighboring lands and bolstering our foreign relations," Leona says. "Of course, the thought never even crosses his mind." One of the Sunset Savnna’s driving philosophies is “hakuna matata”, which, as Leona describes it, means, “don’t think too hard about things”. And indeed, if Falena is anything like how Leona says he is, then he is the walking embodiment of their country and their beliefs.

One major issue that is unique to their homeland is that of unification. The Sunset Savanna boasts many different kinds of beastmen, each with their own customs and cultures--and because of that, these beastmen tend to live in settlements of just their own kind and don't always get along or see eye-to-eye with others. For example, it is said that very few bird beastmen reside in the capital city and Ruggie has implied that hyenas are low in the social hierarchy. Kifaji, the grand chamberlain, confides that the acting king Falena has struggled with this unification. The Kingscholars' father has communicated that he would like for nothing more than Leona to lend his assistance to Falena for this endeavor. (Keep this in mind, as I will be touching upon this again later!)

What I think many people tend to overlook when it comes to Falena's rule is that he has not been in power for a long time. According to Tamashina Mina, Falena has only been running the country for "the last few years", which is NOT that long. Falena has not even had that much experience as the official head of state to begin with--and yeah, you could argue that he has been preparing his whole life to eventually become the ruler, training for it and actually doing it are very different beasts. No amount of tutoring will prepare you for having the weight of an entire nation suddenly on your shoulders. I would also argue that anyone that is new to a job won't do the best right away and that experience is the best teacher. Falena is likely still learning while on the job and trying to do his best while also juggling being a parent and husband, trying to reach across the aisle to his estranged younger brother, and looking after his ill father.

This leads me to another point: a lot of what we hear about Falena is coming from Leona's perspective, which is very biased (especially in the post-OB flashback, as this was when Leona was at his most bitter). We should be aware of this while taking in the information Leona is offering. I don't doubt that Leona's telling the truth about how his brother is carefree or the things his brother has done, but at the same time we need to realize that this is a limited view of Falena. It's not the whole picture of who he is. Leona tends to focus on his brother's shortcomings and downfalls--but thinking about it, what are Falena's strengths?

Well, one of them is definitely that Falena is friendly, kind-hearted, and honest. Even Leona confesses to this. However, he frames these traits in a negative way, stating that "[Falena] could just focus on the kingdom's affairs--you know, his JOB--but nooo, he's gotta be the caring big brother who's nice to everybody," and, of his honesty, "he just makes things harder for himself." Falena also seems to be positive and insightful--admirable qualities in a leader. When Leona speaks rudely to him, Falena tries to reassure his little brother: "You may never become king, but you are still wise. There is much you could do for this country." He even pursues Leona when he leaves, trying to get his little brother to see reason. Falena sees the potential in Leona and he wants Leona to realize that potential too. If you look at this another way, this personality can be a boon. It could make it easier for Falena to smooth over tensions and get other political figures to open up to him, similar to how Kalim’s empathy helps to uplift and support his dorm mates and how those dorm mates in return give him their loyalty.

Finally, we know that Falena is cognizant of the culture and the values of the Sunset Savanna and likely works in accordance with those. If we revisit Tamashina Mina, Leona talks at length about how some areas of the country are so underdeveloped that its people are still drinking rainwater or from wells. He laments the situation and says that if only they improved their infrastructure and mined the valuable ore their country has, the people would be able to live better lives. Leona here leans pro-industrialization. From the lack of industrialization we see in large parts of the country, we can assume that Falena does not have this same stance. Rather, Falena understands that the people of the Sunset Savanna cherish living in harmony with nature and want to honor their animal ancestors by living in this way. He KNOWS that their people would be against industrialization, and so he favors slower development (Sunrise City being one of these metropolises that developed under the rule of their father) and in ways which preserve nature. As Lilia puts it, “Developing is easy. You just throw money at it. But building a city like this, while still preserving nature? That’s the real challenge, I’d say.” (That was a very quick summary but if you're interested in reading more about this topic specifically, I'd recommend this post!)

Falena cares about tradition and upholding it, and there isn’t inherently an issue with that. He values where he comes from and the practices that come with that. That’s why Falena gets upset with Leona for not doing his duties and skipping out on important meetings. It’s not purely that Falena sees these acts as disrespectful (although let’s be clear, it is disrespectful), but it also comes with the sadness of knowing that his younger brother doesn’t see the value in the same things he does—yet he still understands that Leona has his own strengths that be brings to the table.

You can see how this could translate into his ruling style too, even if it is not explicitly stated in the game. Falena is someone who is easy to approach with your problems (let's assume that this is the case both for his own people and for diplomats of other countries). He is someone who cares about tending to everyone, which would make him popular with the public--but that means he may spread himself or their resources too thin. Falena is also for slower progress in order to respect the ways of their culture and their people's values. But the point is, Falena cares, and all Leona sees in that is a bleeding heart since it doesn't produce what Leona thinks are good results.

And speaking of Leona, it's about time we get to him. What are his qualifications in a situation where he was king? What would his ruling style be like, and who would it serve his country?

Firstly, it's worthwhile to compare Leona's thinking to Falena's. Unlike his older brother, Leona is proactive--he plans ahead and considers the political power in something as simple as gifting an item. Many of the ideas he proposes for bettering his country are things that Falena either never thought of (ie gifting the rug to another country instead of to him) or would refuse to implement out of principle (speedrunning mining operations). However, it's undeniable that Leona's methods would produce results. As he demonstrates to us with his shady tactics in books 2 and 3, it does not matter to Leona what he has to do in order to achieve what he desires. His eyes are set on the goal, not on how he gets there (though he will plan the steps out meticulously as well). He's willing to tear up the environment if it means enriching the Sunset Savanna's economy and providing clean, consistent drinking water for the citizens. It's ultimately gains, but it jeopardizes maintaining harmony with nature. This would earn him genuine ire from his people (and honestly, disliking someone for blatantly disregarding your beliefs is valid; it's not blindly being petty or hating Leona for being the "lowly second born"). But!! Leona as of book 7 says he is going to intern at a mining and energy lab in his home country. This implies that he is willing to learn about the field and may use that knowledge to enact sustainable change. This is a really good start to his development and growth into a wise leader.

The brothers' personalities are also not alike at all. Leona is... admittedly far more abrasive that Falena. I'm not saying that Leona would behave so rudely to politicians or on a global stage (please, the man has more tact than that), but he would carry himself very differently than Falena. Leona can be polite and speak fancily all he wants, but he still does not have that same approachable warmth to him. Something else we should consider is that... well, Leona doesn't like stuffy occasions or putting on airs, which would basically be expect of him as king. We don't know for sure how he would act if the circumstances ask that he be cordial and yet the man himself detests such a thing. He could play the part if needed, sure. But for how long before he becomes annoyed or tired of it? Leona can also be arrogant and demanding. Do you think he would skip/sleep through meetings with advisors he deems irrelevant or unproductive? (Recall how he skips ceremonies and traditions he deems unimportant or boring, like the celebration of Cheka’s birth and tries to cheat his way out of his responsibilities as Captain of the Sunset Warriors.) How do you think he'd act with people who oppose him? Would he defy traditions? He also disregards the “hakuna matata” mantra and cynically labels it “self-serving”. I could see how tensions could rise as a result. (Reminder that I'm not saying it's for CERTAIN that Leona would do these things, I'm just posing possibilities based on what I understand of his character and whether you believe Leona would act like this or not is up to you.) Leona is 10 years younger than Falena and has never formally served in a governmental position. This means that he, too, lacks the political experience to be king. Some would say that where Leona makes up for this is in life experiences. He has been downtrodden and defeated, mingled among the common folk, etc. This means Leona is better equipped to understand the plight of his people, they argue. And I can see where people are coming from--but personally, I think Leona still lacks what he needs to be a "better" ruler. Yes, Leona has lived "out there", but the fact remains that Falena still has 10 years on him. What's more is that Leona has not actually strayed that far from his privileged life. He's dorm leader (a position of power within NRC), attends an elite magic school, and constantly has Ruggie taking care of him. I don't think this really prepares him to rule a whole country.

That's a good segway into Leona and his leadership. As I've mentioned before, Falena is having trouble with enacting national policies to unite all beastmen. Leona does not appear to have the same issue, as even though there is a variety of beastmen within Savanaclaw, they all defer to Leona the same. Therefore, Leona, as king, could easily resolve this problem in the Sunset Savanna--so the theory goes. As for me, well... In my opinion, I do think it's a show of skill that Leona can get many different beastmen rallying under his flag but I don't think this generalizes to (again) the scale of an entire nation. Not only do we have to account for WAY more people, but also people of demographics that differ wildly from Savanaclaw. The mobs under Leona follow him, yes--but thinking about it, they're all VERY similar demographics-wise. They're roughly the same age, all male, all students, and have the same goals in mind (for book 2, it was to be noticed by talent scouts). I would bet that most of them are from middle class or upper-class incomes too. Now expand the scope to a country. Do you think Leona could appeal to young and old? Male and female? Rich and poor? People of all occupations? What about parents? There are so many other factors to account for, so I don't think it's fair to generalize Leona leading a dorm of maybe 85ish (this is just a guess; NRC has ~800 total students, 600 are on-campus and split across 7 dorms so this assumes equal splitting) to a diverse kingdom of thousands.

If Falena were to abdicate the throne to Leona right this second, no, I don't think Leona would be fit to be king. Leona's ideas seem "good" on a surface level, but that's ignoring the long-term impacts and his less-than-stellar personality quirks. He has a ton that he has to learn before he can comfortably govern. At the same time, Falena isn't exactly a perfect ruler either. He, too, lacks experience and can be short-sighted and naive in spite of his good intentions and willingness to hear everyone out.

In an AU where Leona was actually the crown prince (and thus never got talked down to or treated like the “lesser” second born), maybe things would be different. But then that creates the same issue with Falena (now the scorned younger prince) being the "Leona" of the AU.

Each Kingscholar brother has his own strengths and weaknesses, perspectives, and leadership styles. THIS DOES NOT MAKE ONE SUPERIOR OR "BETTER" THAN THE OTHER. Instead, they make up for one another's deficits or flaws, creating a more well-rounded and unified view. This is, perhaps, why both Falena and their father want Leona to step in and help with ruling the country. I think they all see the benefit that Leona could provide and that they value his thoughts.

The "best" situation for the Sunset Savanna, in my opinion, would be Leona and Falena working together to see the country's future through. It does not have to be in the capacity of king and advisor; titles do not matter here. What is most important is that Leona and Falena can meet on neutral grounds and agree to put their all into improving the Sunset Savanna.

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yurinaa-world · 4 months

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𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓎𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇/𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 (𝓌𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈)

Notes: I currently trying to get dividers and a master list setup (I haven't even started) so this is what we're rolling with right now. ( but official and unofficial I'm writing for Wuthering Waves). I'm surprised to see no scar post yet 🤯

𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇 "𝒪𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐹𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓈𝒾𝒹𝓊𝓈"

Like I said last time, it's enemies to lovers and I’ll fight on this.

Him getting all personal with you but like real personal grabbing wrapping his arm around you. Your body pressed right against his, with zero room between you both; how he loves how bashful you are. (You threw your weapon straight at his head)

You know what’s better is seeing you all pathetic, when he has something you like, the information you need. Act all sassy and stubborn with me all you want makes it even better when you come to him with a face like a dog that messed up its owner's rug and is asking for forgiveness.

Poor you. He was so “worried” when he found out that you were injured, he came right in from your window!! Your scared face doesn’t look quite cute to you.

Aw, You won’t attack him this time since you’re hurt 😞. he won’t do anything too bad, his hand just glides around your body…maybe stop at your tacet mark, rubbing it while watching you wither. How lucky can he be?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“knock it off.”

You grit your teeth while shaking—twitching badly feeling his hand touch the tacet mark on your neck while grinning at you like he did something sooo amazing…ugh it’s annoying that injured as well and also having to be subjected to this torture.

“don’t be like that, you like it don’t you.”

feeling his nail gently scrape against the sensitive spot you flinched a little—panting for air like a man in the desert with no water. your hand immediately goes to his wrist, weakly grabbing it.

“Now you’re just playing dirty, you bastard,” you mutter out between breaths as he hums.

“It's more fun to play dirty with you.”

N/a: he probably likes it more when choking him cuz of his tacet mark

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

#✧*:･ﾟ✧:･yurinna yapping session･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#wuthering waves #wuthering waves scar #scar wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuthering waves x y/n #wuwa x reader #wuwa x you #scar wuwa #Scar x reader

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planchettewrites · 2 months

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"Red Hair" Shanks (One Piece)/AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: Imagine being "Red Hair" Shanks' wife.

CONTENT: Angst (Shanks losing his arm, talk of infidelity), Fluff (Weddings, Falling in Love)

A/N: Shanks my beloved. While I work on an ideally long Sanji fic, I needed something to post. Hence, this Shanks imagine. This can be read as OPLA!Shanks or Anime/Manga!Shanks. My friend Claudia always tells me being Shanks' wife would be a rather depressing endeavor, but to that I say, bring it. Enjoy bbys!

653 words | Safe!

Imagine being Shanks’ wife.

You’re not a pirate; you’re far from it. You worked at Party’s as a barmaid; you just happened to be the lucky lady to catch Shanks’ eye. Red Haired Shanks, a feared pirate, was nothing but a man with his hat in his hand asking to marry you. You had feelings for the pirate for a while, so of course, you accepted his proposal. You still remembered his words: “Would you marry me, darlin’? Make me the happiest man alive?” His words made you melt. Everything about him made you melt.

The wedding was nothing special in the grand scheme of things; it was what would be considered a “courthouse” wedding. It was held at the very bar you met, and you dolled yourself up nice: your nicest dress, your best available makeup, and you did your hair the way you like it. Shanks wore his Sunday best—which frankly wasn’t much, but you were always a sucker for the rugged look. The rest of the Shanks’ crew and all your friends were there too. Your officiant was the town elder, who looked at you and Shanks with a smile. He grabbed your hands, wished you eternal happiness, and told the pirate that he better not let a single tear slip down your cheek. Shanks promised.

There were two days he couldn’t keep that promise, the first being the day he lost his arm. As he and Luffy came to shore, you noticed the blood draining from the lost limb and screamed. You screamed so loud you were sure they could hear you around the East Blue. As Makino ushered Luffy away, you practically threw yourself at your husband. You were sobbing, grabbing at his shirt, asking what the hell had happened. He shushed and cooed you quietly, telling you what happened. You wanted to punch him, scream at him for his recklessness, but he was protecting a child that he cared for, and you couldn’t fault him for that. As you ushered him to the medic, you continued to cry. You loved your husband more than anything, and nothing would ever change that.

The second time he made you cry was when he left for the Grand Line, telling you that you couldn't come with him. You were enraged, and you showed it with tears. Thoughts raced of him with a hoard of different women, him getting hurt, or getting betrayed, or worse, his death. You couldn't stand any of those things; you needed to be there with him. You rarely got angry at your husband, but today was the day you became livid at him. Instead of screaming out of sheer horror, you screamed in sheer anger. How dare he? How dare he find it acceptable to leave you here forever? Alone. Alone, without the man you promised to spend the rest of your life with. Beck Beckman and the rest of the crew watched this unfold; you were not one to make a scene, but you weren’t going down without a fight. Beckman had approached Shanks, saying he was more than welcome to bring you.

Shanks shook his head and said: “I couldn’t live with myself if she got hurt.”

You fell to your knees. You weren’t going to beg. You had to accept this fate, the fate of a wife with a husband out at sea. Until you feel Shanks lift your chin and help you return to your feet. He kissed you with passion and pulled you into the tightest hug he could: “Where would I be without my wife by my side? You can come along, darlin’.”

From that day forward, you were on the sea with the Red Hair Pirates. More importantly, you were on the sea with your husband, the feared pirate Red Haired Shanks. Your souls in the ocean together would be, and that’s all you needed to be happy.

Please like, reblog, and comment! I love to hear from readers!

#planchettewrites #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks #shanks #red hair shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x yn #akagami no shanks x reader #one piece #opla #one piece anime

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compact-turtle · 11 months

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So I’m my area, I’m in the country, it’s pretty common to see women just in their bikinis laid on a blanket/chair out in the yard to tan. It’s the country, ya know? No one sees you, except for whomever lives with you. It’s just something we do. How would Atticus feel about that tho? Seeing his darling in skimpy bathing-suit laying outside to tan??

I'm slowly and steadily finally going through my inbox after five months. Sorry to everyone if I don't make it to your post there's like 100+ things in my inbox :(

That would be so sweet actually. Imagine him getting butterflies and everything seeing you openly tan in a skimpy bathing suit.

----

Content Warning: slight n--s--f---w.

-Today was a mandatory laundry day for Atticus. He was officially out of clean clothes. Everything was dirty and starting to smell worse than the cows on a hot day. Of course, he didn't mind it too much, but you were here. What would you think if he didn't keep up with his hygiene?

-A basket of wet laundry was at his feet as he started to pin them up to dry. He'd much rather be out milking the cows or tending to the crops than doing this. Still, it gave Atticus time to be lost in his thoughts.

-He wondered how long he could stall you from leaving. It'd already been a few weeks since your car broke down and he knew everyone was getting antsy. Especially, after working so much on the farm.

-To combat this, he started giving everyone more breaks and days off. He even attempted to encourage them to view this as a "rent-free-all-expense-paid-vacation" in a beautiful rural setting. Thankfully, all your little friends seemed to be airheaded enough to believe this. They ain't got a lick of sense to them.

-His attention was pulled away when he noticed you from the corner of his eye. He tried watching you discreetly; wondering what you were doing. In your hands, there was a large blanket and a tote bag. You were dressed in a long white t-shirt that reached barely past your butt.

-You threw him a warm smile along as you walked past him. You stopped near an oak tree and began to lay out your blanket. Gently, you set your bag down and then took out a few items.

Perhaps you were out on a small picnic today?

-He watched slack-jawed as you removed your t-shirt to reveal everything hidden underneath. The silhouettes of your body seemed to be chiseled by the hand of a celestial sculptor. He'd gladly worship it, adorn it with jewels, anything you wanted. Your skin was like a holy text, inviting him to devote himself even deeper.

"Looks like you're begging for a mighty big sunburn there," Atticus said as he walked up. His gaze cast down as he avoided eye contact.

"No worries! I brought sunscreen with me! Actually, could you help put it on my back?" You asked as you searched in your bag for a bottle of sunscreen. You pulled it out and handed it to Atticus with a bright smile.

-He nodded, then took the bottle from you. Slowly, he poured the sunscreen into his rugged hands. He gently began to spread it out on your back.

-Atticus nervously wondered if you minded his calloused hands. Were they scratching up your back? Or was it making you regret asking him?

-Still, more than anything, he was giddier than a schoolchild. He loved the way your skin felt underneath his hands. Your skin was like a delicate canvas, soft and flawless in his eyes. This felt like a privilege to trace his fingers all across your back. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to touch the skin underneath your clothes.

"Atticus, it hurts. Be more gentle." You tenderly mumbled, "Don't push into my back so hard."

-He felt something familiar rise in his lower area. it took everything in him to not pounce on you right now. Atticus would love to litter kisses all over your back. He'd kiss every part until you were tired of it all.

-He desperately wanted needed to rut into you. To show, that he could satisfy you in any compacity you wanted. He imagined your voice moaning out in a breathy tone, begging him to just go harder and faster. Of course, he’s comply with your demands and go as faster as you want. Then he’d lean down and suck y-

"That should be good now, Atticus. Thank you for the help." You said as you flipped yourself around to face him.

-His eyes briefly dipped down to view your whole body. Another small wave of imagination rolled over him.

"No problem. Seems like all your little friends disappeared."

"It's sweet that you're worried about them! Everyone is swimming in the creek nearby. I was going to join them but figured I'd tan instead. I haven't been able to do it all summer. Especially due to our road trip."

"I see. Where'd ya get this tiny piece you got on from? Don't look like it covers much of anything."

"Oh, does it make you uncomfortable? I can go and change if-."

"No. It's fine. Just go on back and do your own thing." Atticus interrupted quickly, "Don't mind me."

-He watched as you laughed and nodded. Atticus turned back towards the house. His pace was unusually brisk with heavy panting.

-The laundry could wait. He had more important things to do right now.

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

(That may or may not involve fantasies of you two in some intense yoga positions)

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anotherbananasong · 2 months

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So, there I was, scrolling tumblr and suddenly POOF I am gone… I think my account, allnewbananasong, got deleted for the post I made. I really didn’t think it was that bad, to be honest… I’ve sent a message to tumblr appealing it, but that was hours ago and I’ve yet to hear back. In the meantime, I will be utilizing this temporary account. I am heartbroken (I had so many wonderful messages, met so many fun new people), I have to start from scratch…….. but this may end up having to be my new blog. If you followed me before, please let me know so I can follow you back. I don’t know what to do here. I’m completely devastated.

I hope I can find this wonderful community that welcomed me into their arms, embracing my weirdness, again. I feel like I don’t even know where to start. Please either follow or recommend people for me. Rug officially ripped from beneath my feet.

#fanart #ghost #the band ghost #nameless ghouls

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inexplicifics · 1 month

Note

I adore your Cats Among Wolves series, I’m so excited for when the WIPs are posted! I know you get lots of requests for them, but if you come across any more of those snippets that you’d enjoy posting, I’d love more to tide me over until the next one gets officially posted! I keep hoping that checking your AO3 daily will somehow make it come out faster, but somehow, I don’t think that strategy is working 🤔… Oh well, I love reading the new chapters to your other works too!

Sending lots of encouragement with my invisible pom poms!

Rose has just finished a beta pass through Cedric & Axel's fic! Which means I now need to write another 3K minimum, because she found all my plot holes. Everybody say thank you to Rose for improving my writing immeasurably.

In the meantime, have a snippet!

The stairways and corridors are distinctly chilly after the warmth of the hot springs cavern, but the bedroom Gaetan leads them to is cozy, with thick curtains on the bed and a bearskin rug on the floor. One of the walls radiates a surprising amount of heat. “‘S the oven chimney,” Gaetan explains, jerking a thumb at it. “Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll bring up some more potions for when the last dose wears off.” He steps closer as Letho puts Cedric down on the bed - closer, in fact, than Cedric can recall the little omega getting to him pretty much ever before. Cedric’s always given Gaetan his space, and Gaetan has seemed to appreciate that. But now he pats Cedric on the arm, frowning down at him. “Don’t die, you bastard,” he says gruffly. “Not when you’re the only decent alpha our School’s got.” He and Letho leave while Cedric is still trying to find a response to that. Axel clambers into the bed and pulls the curtains closed, curling around Cedric carefully. “Don’t die,” he whispers. “Don’t leave me.” Cedric manages to shift until his fingers are tangled with Axel’s, and squeezes hard. He’ll do his best.

#questions answered #wip list #snippet #cats among wolves #omegaverse

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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 3 months

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Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 8 ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx xxx

I forgot to mention this in an earlier post, but I sincerely believe the human Alastor had a size kink. There, I said it. Also, this story initially has 15 chapters. I might cut it down to 13, depending on your opinions of the next part I post. WE HAVE OFFICIALLY RETURNED TO THE SMUT PORTION OF THE BOOK YAY ;)

WARNINGS: [ MDNI ] + [ NSFW ] + [ SMUT ] + [ BLOOD AND GORE ] + [ DESCRIPTION OF A MURDER ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx xxx

"Alastor!…" you purred into the crook of his neck, face flushed deep shades of red, and your breaths coming short. His were controlled in contrast, smooth against the shell of your ear as he held you down harder, bruising your soft hips without a care as to how you'd feel seeing the imprints he left later, but you wouldn't have him treat you any other way.

It's what you came to him for more often than not, paying a special visit to his beloved station on the premise of delivering your hardworking husband lunch -or dinner if it happened to be a day he stayed late, and not a soul in the building suspected you had any other motives besides that.

Alastor never turned your visits down. He expected them frequently and became increasingly addicted to having you locked in a room with him for a mere forty minutes or less just for the treat you never failed to gift him.

The basket of food you brought always ended up untouched, completely forgotten the second he slammed the studio door shut behind you and locked it for good measure.

Today was no different than those instances.

You came waltzing into the building, dressed as lovely as ever, and politely greeting every employee who recognized you. A few never failed to give you generous compliments, plainly buttering their boss's wife for high praise and often hoping to get you to conversate about him.

Alastor was methodically mysterious, divulging nothing about himself to anyone outside his immediate circle, which intrigued many outsiders.

Knowing this, you avoided long, invasive conversations with passing bystanders, heading straight to the station building's top floor with a coy smile hidden under the brim of a fashionable hat.

You found Alastor in the same room each time, a designated space for him and him alone. It was a large recording studio, complete with any and every equipment a radio host might need, including an area for rest.

The area was a simple, separated from the recording table he always sat at, but highly particular in arrangement. He only resided there on your visits, enjoying the lush velvet-backed sofa, red chestnut wood coffee table, and expansive floor rug out of pure selfishness for your undivided attention.

You'd knock on the heavy lead door, listening for his signature sign-off phrase into the mic, then the sharp click of his leather shoes as he stalked to the door, and then a crisp clack of the lock being undone. Alastor peers down at you over his glasses, an unforgettable lustful look in his eyes as you raise your head to showcase a ginger smile and big bright eyes. You try not to giggle, seeing him visibly stiffen when you stare at him innocently, testing how long he'll last before dragging you into the room with him.

He holds out for a mere ten seconds a record in your book- before snatching you out of the hall with a quickness that almost makes you trip over your own feet. Alastor anticipates your clumsiness without batting an eye, gently razing you off the floor with one arm before turning and kicking the door shut. "Al!.." you laugh in slight disbelief as he locks the door without a word, spinning on his heel towards his personal lounge area.

You spot the proud grin on his face soon enough, blushing hard as he sets you down on the sofa with ease. "You're late, ma chere," he drawls, eyes lowering to the basket you set in the middle of the table, a habit of routine. You frown a little, setting your hat next to it, letting your curled hair fall freely before giving him an apologetic smile.

"The twins went down for a nap a little later than usual, honey. You'll forgive me this once, yes?.." your lashes flutter, a slight pout on your lips drawing his attention, and the practiced expression renders his scolding useless.

It was no secret to you that your motherly side affected Alastor. If anything, he made it evident by the apparent increase in his appetite for you. Ever since your heart-to-heart months ago, he hadn't been able to keep his hands off you.

You feared at the rate he was going, you'd be pregnant again sooner rather than later.

It wasn't an outcome you would complain about if it did occur, but it was a worrying prospect nonetheless.

Alastor eyed you for a moment longer, eyes on fire, as you patted the empty spot next to him for him to sit. "Let's not waste the time we have left. I've missed you dearly, Al. It's really not fair you stay away so long…" The twinge of sadness in your tone wasn't at all practiced. It was an evident emphasis on the truth and one he couldn't ignore.

He sat down at your request, gaze softening as you grinned at him cheekily, reaching over to cup his face and kiss him tenderly, but as you tried to pull back and speak, he held your chin to keep you close. "Missed me? I'm not sure I believe that, sweetheart.." he peered at your lips, swiping his thumb over the bottom one and quickly pushing it into your mouth without warning. You flinched a bit, not expecting him to be so direct, but slowly coming to enjoy it as your body relaxed and your tongue began to swirl his intruding digit.

Alastor pushed further, allowing you to suck as much as you pleased while his fingers held your chin up, drool dripping beginning to drip down your chin as a result. Your eyes slid shut in bliss, your body warming with desire, and your mind going blank as he pressed his thumb down on your tongue. His grave laughter tickled your ears, the eerie drag of its deepness reeling you in, hypnotizing you with little effort.

"Come to me, my little doe," Alastor beckoned you with a satisfied huff, slipping his thumb from your warm mouth and leaning back into the sofa to fully relax as you fell onto his lap. Your dress shifted high, leaving little to his imagination and showcasing the lace stockings and matching garters you had on.

One look at your thighs in such thin fabric made his eye twitch out of amusement.

You smiled sheepishly as he inhaled sharply through his nose, his head rearing back and a tight smile on his face. "What'd I tell you about doing this, ma chere?" His question was rhetorical, nearly a guttural growl you'd grown to love, especially when his accent peaked with it, "Mmm, I dunno. Must've slipped my mind…." You cocked your head at him, dawning a curious expression as he chuckled wryly, "I see…" he mutters more to himself than you, head lifting slowly and his hands finding the strap of your garters at the same time.

"Tell me, darling…" he inches in closer, admitting a thinly veiled threat as your eyes lock with his and your hands scratch at the fabric of his dress pants. "…am I going to have to rip every single one of these to shreds for you to remember not to wear them around me?" You jolt when he emphasizes his words by snapping the band of your garters against your skin. Hard.

"N-no sir!.." you whine, hips rolling down on his crotch for much-needed friction, and what little relief it brings only lasts for a second before his hands halt you with a grip on your waist.

"Mmm, I don't think so, little doe. You want to be touched badly, so give me a reason." Alastor drank in your desperate expression, adrenaline rushing his veins when tears welled up in your pretty eyes and a defeated whimper left your panting mouth. “Whatever you want…I’ll do it…” you give in without a fight, nails digging into his thighs as his eyes lit up with triumph.

"Such an obedient little thing today, aren't we? Maybe you have missed me…" he snickered, glancing down at your covered thighs again before voicing his request. "Strip. And I'll see if you are worth my time today. Go on.."

He nudged you off his lap with one lift of his knee, careful not to make you fall back on the table as he did so, and once you stood up steadily, he rested back on the couch. You took him in then, the slight wave of his curls beginning to fall over his eyes from the heat of the room, his skin a deeper caramel from the springtime sun that'd been shining on New Orleans, and those swirling hazel irises glinting just for you.

If the devil ever came topside, you were sure he'd have a bone to pick with Alastor based on his looks alone.

Alastor also studied you, maintaining his patience as you reached behind to unzip your dress, but he shook his head at the action. You stopped, eyeing him curiously, "What-"

"Start lower," he instructed nonchalantly, gaze lowering on your body as he took his glasses off and set his teeth on the end of them. You wanted to crumble right then, seeing his pearly whites nip at the metal, stare deathly cold, and his jaw clenched in anticipation.

"Fine.." you mumble, perching yourself on the coffee table's edge to obediently strip your stockings off first. Alastor watched intently, un-afraid to smile more expansive as the thin fabric slipped off your smooth skin, never looking away as you moved on to the garters. The hem of your dress had no purpose left, merely a thin wall between your core and his hungry stare. You tried not to get shy as you snapped the second strap off your thigh, tossing it at him playfully, but as per usual, Alastor caught it with ease.

"Don't be a brat, ma chere.." he mused, a warning you barely headed while standing to your feet again to slip your dress off. You threw that clothing at him next, knowing he'd catch it, and giggled triumphantly when he did. Your joy was cut short as he pulled your bare body back onto his lap after tossing the dress across the room.

A shiver touched you as the fine linens he wore brushed against your skin, calm and somewhat soothing. The only thing more distracting than him being fully clothed was the evident rock-hard tent your cunt was forced to press down on.

Alastor groaned quietly as you rolled your hips down gently, sighing out his name loudly in gratitude before wrapping your arms around his neck. "Wasn't lying when I said I missed you.." you whimpered against his lips, chasing them for a kiss he refused to give until you pressed onto his crotch again.

"Still don't believe you," he grunted, stubborn as ever, and you smiled into the next heated kiss. Dragging the messy exchange out intended to render his argumentative tongue useless, and your goal seemed to be reached as you parted moments later. A thin string of saliva connected your lips, breaking as you gave a kitten lick at the corner of his mouth. Alastor cursed quietly at the shameless gesture, finding his resolve again when you threw a bold smirk his way.

"Believe me now, Monsieur Hartifelt," your French cadence earned an unconscious jolt of his hips, an almost uncanny natural reaction he couldn't help hearing you taunt him most subtly. “I've had enough of that mouth of yours, darlin'." The shreds of his polished persona vanished entirely at the words, his glasses tossed to the side, and the now free hand coming to grasp your jaw as the other reached to unbuckle his belt.

You blush heavily as he keeps your face near his, not allowing you to watch as he removes his painfully hard cock from the confines of his pants. It throbs against your mound, twitching when you moan quietly from the sensation, proudly desperate for it.

Desperate for him.

Alastor observed the gentle plead in your expression, merely smirking back at you and lifting an expectant brow. "Manners, ma chere…" His implication made you restless, willing to do anything he asked to get what you wanted, so you did as he told.

"Please…fuck me. Please…" you whispered, embarrassed beyond comprehension but very pleased with yourself nonetheless as Alastor slid his length between your folds for its slick before resting his tip right at your entrance. You raised your hips just right, finally able to glance down as Alastor shifted his hold on your face to your waist, using the new grip to slide you down on his cock with ease.

Your mouth hung open in awe as he slipped inside your gummy walls, a stinging stretch lingering with every inch he forced you to take, "Slow…Alastor…please slow down…" you croaked softly in his ear, shaking violently in his grip as he ignored you and continued to ease himself into you at his own pace.

"You can take it…Darling, you've done it before," he groaned rather loudly, hooking an arm around your waist, bearing your cunt onto him with tender force. Your stomach flipped as he hit your womb spot-on, brushing your sweet spot at the very same time, but the precise strike was followed by a harsher one, which left you restless for more.

"Al-Alastor!…" you barely shrieked in delight, slumping forward into his broad torso as he bounced you up and down his length. "Not so loud, dear," he scolded you absentmindedly, kissing the corner of your mouth as it gaped open to let out obscene noises. "Sorry.." you whimpered, mind a blur with every rut of his hips and nerves on fire as his cock delved in and out of your drooling slit.

"No need to apologize, ma chere… if the whole world must hear you scream, I'd rather they hear my name…" Alastor rambled on with an edge to his voice, eyes sliding closed while your hands coursed through his dark curls for a sense of comfort as he pounded into you.

Butterflies swirled in your stomach with his every thrust, multiplying whenever he groaned and never ceasing as the sparks of pleasure built under your skin. You tugged the strands of his hair, face rose red, eyes bright and watery, and spit sliding from your open mouth as he leaned his head back to get a good view of you…

"My darling wife…does it feel that good, hm? You can't even speak, sweetheart. That's fine…you look and sound just as lovely even without your wits…" he flashed a coy smirk, admiring the slight roll of your eyes as he gave a mainly driven thrust to your cunt.

Your walls instinctively contacted, begging for another aggressive strike, and Alastor obliged as a grateful groan slipped from his chest. "Atta girl… can't get enough, can you?" He laughs in your ear, breath hitching as his cock twitches for a nearing release and the knot in your core spiraling tighter at the feeling.

You nod frantically, moans reaching a higher octave, scarcely muffled by his skin as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Alastor…wanna come… ’m gonna- mmm…” you reached a hand to claw at his back, all your strength leaving your body as it reacted to his without your direct control. He let your hips move without his assistance, content with you matching the pace he set and on the verge of blanking out himself the closer you brought him.

Alastor planted his feet firmly, hands on your waist, frame tense as you leaned back a bit, resting your hands on his knees for support as you rode him of your own volition.

He smiled at the glint of your ruby-encrusted wedding band, fit snugly on your ring finger, an explicit claim of your existence. A claim you had on him as well.

It wasn't common for you to have this much control during sex, not for this long either, so you took the opportunity with an eagerness he found endearing. The view you got of your dear husband was something truly divine, a near fucked out expression on his usually cheery face, hazel eyes now a dark amber, hair too messy to be considered an honest mistake on your part, and his focus pinned to you.

The cockiest smirk inched its way onto his lips when he noticed you staring; your time to have the upper hand was promptly cut short as he jolted suddenly, the forceful shift causing your hands to slip and be pinned behind your back by one of his.

You didn't dare to argue as he stared into your dazed glare, having nothing to do but sit there and be at his complete mercy. It was worth it, coating his cock with your slick, your thighs trembling from the jabs of pleasure he inflicted and the utterly brutal precision he used to bruise your cervix until a delirious cry tumbled from your mouth.

All of it… you happily endure just to be close to him.

Your high hit like a tidal wave, unforgiving and driven further by his continuous thrusts upwards into your cunt. "Al…Alastor, please, I've had….en-"You gave up trying to speak, out of breath, as you slumped forward into his chest, basking in the overstimulation he caused. The fever of his pace faltered then, body giving way to its urges as your walls continually suffocated him.

Thick strings of cum covered your walls, gently filling you to the brim, and neatly stuffed inside until he softened enough to move away.

Alastor chuckled as you whined defiantly, feeling him pull out so briskly. "A little longer," you plead, showing him practiced puppy dog eyes, hoping to get extra attention, but he simply placed a chaste kiss on your glistening forehead. "My break is nearly over, darling. I'll have to be on air soon, and I would like to enjoy the food you made beforehand."

You sighed dramatically, ignoring the lazy smile he threw your way as he straightened himself out and searched for his glasses. You found them before he did, smiling wide as he watched you prick them from the couch and place them on his face, "Next time, I won't bring you lunch then." Your empty threat amused him but did nothing to change his mind.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, mademoiselle. Then a bite to eat before you head home, yes?"

"Well, if you insist," You stood, playfully rolling your eyes as he followed suit, towering over you and planting a kiss on your nose as a silent apology.

"Smile, darling. You're never fully dressed without one."

————- ————— ———— ————

“You are a lifesaver, Rosie,” you thank the grinning blonde as she gathers her belongings from the front door’s side table, ready to make her way back home from an afternoon of watching over Adonis and Antionette while you were out running errands -or rather paying Alastor a much-deserved visit at work. You swallowed thickly, remembering exactly what conspired between you and your husband less than thirty minutes after you arrived at the station. Luckily, your cheeks didn't heat up, and your expression remained fixed as Rosie piped up after slipping her day gloves on.

“Oh, it's no problem, dear! They are my god niece and nephew, after all, and I could never say no to you or Al..” she giggled softly as you smiled shyly, still unable to be discreet about your adoration for the older man even if she'd mentioned his name. Indeed, you had eyes for no one else, but he and Rosie could hardly blame you for it.

“Besides,” she smirked, reaching for the door as you stared at her curiously, “…I’m sure you both enjoy the rare quality time together more often now that the twins are so lively..” Her emphasis on ‘quality time’ stuns you for a moment, the blush you'd successfully surpassed now blooming on your face, “Well…I suppose it is nice to see him without interruptions.”

She laughed softly, seeing your flustered reaction morph into gentle offensiveness. You could beat her teasing, but you must still justify your obsession with Alastor.

“Mmm, I would assume so, dear. Now, I'll be on my way and as always phone me if you need my help, oui?” Rosie chimed, waiting for you to nod in understanding before she waltzed out the door and began her walk back to her own home. You watched from the entry window as she crossed the lush front garden lawn, turning to wave at you one last time before passing through the gate and disappearing around the corner.

You sat there for a moment longer, profoundly thinking about the events of your day, mainly reminiscing on the time you spent with Alastor only an hour ago. The intimacy that so easily turned into having a quiet conversational lunch with him in his studio. It brought a smile to your face, your love for him, making the world feel light under your feet, and the hard times you thought would never end becoming a distant memory.

Your thoughts were halted as familiar crying sounded from upstairs, a normal noise you expected to hear so late in the evening and one you happily went towards. As you entered their nursery, the twins were wide awake, a lovely, cozy room Alastor had meticulously designed himself. You had some say in the decor, but most of the work was done by him, which meant there was a shelf full of classical books, a radio set on the highest ledge, and a few handmade dolls his mother had gifted you occupying the other empty spots on the lower shelves. Other gifts you revived from the guests at Rosie’s party were neatly stacked in one corner of the room. A rocking chair faced the windows that let in the soft breeze and warm sunlight, their business situated right next to it, and a wardrobe full of clothes placed on the adjacent wall.

Alastor had taken his time with the room, putting in the effort for his children that you suspected his father had lacked for him when he was a child. Your husband would never admit such a dedication out loud, very guarded about the subject of his father even if he were long dead, but you never pried at the matter. You'd allow him to talk about it whenever he was ready, simply appreciative of his commitment to the twins and generally pleased with his strive to be a better father than his own.

“Are my loves already awake?” you cooed at the whining infants, leaning over their bassinets to admire them up close. Adonis took on Alastors features without a doubt. Not a soul could say that wasn't his son, and his mother had proudly proclaimed her grandson to be her son's spitting image any time the comparison was made.

Antionette, on the other hand, favored you the most. Alastor was taken with her from the start, bonding with the smaller version of you almost instantly. She always seemed content in her father’s arms, staring at him like the sun, moon, and stars rolled up into one man. She took on not only your features but also your love for Alastor.

They were your darlings, the combination of you and Alastor that kept your heart light.

You took another eminent to admire them before starting their evening routine. A quick feeding, changing, and playtime, all while listening to Alastor’s nightly broadcast through the nursery’s radio. For an hour, his voice blanketed the room, cutting in and out between records of newly released jazz, which was all the more comforting for you.

It wasn’t long before the twins doxed back to sleep, their father’s voice carrying the gentle static, making it easier for them to drift off. You hummed to the following melody aired as you put each infant to bed, placing a chaste kiss on their heads before switching off the radio and wandering back downstairs.

Alastor would be home soon, and you had a few tasks to finish before dinner time rolled around…

The house was aglow with shades of orange and purple light, the setting sun casting a claiming tint over each room you migrated to, completing mundane adjustments as the clock ticked on.

You were nearly finished organizing the desk in his study when a quick rap of knocking sounded from the front door. You glanced at the fireplace clock, noting it was 8 in the evening, which was far too late for any visitor you might’ve been expecting. “Who could it be at this hour?..” you mumbled, leaving Alastor’s now clean study to find out who exactly was at your front door.

The knocking started again as you waltzed closer to open it, almost offensively loud this time, and you grimaced at the potential of such noise waking the twins from their sleep.

You unlocked the door and opened it swiftly, holding back a glare as the culprit came into your view, but the restraint you had momentarily slipped seeing a familiar face staring back at you.

Oh…..

You didn’t care to see her, especially outside of the binds of social events, but here she was at your doorstep.

“Catherine Lafayette…”

The brunette grinned as you murmured her name, obnoxiously sweet persona shining through her bothersome high-pitched greeting.

“Long time no see, Y/n! Can’t believe I finally caught you at home!..”

You were tempted to roll your eyes at her, well aware she was the neighborhood's resident overbearing HOA president, wife of the police chief, and your childhood annoyance.

Her father had been a long-time partner with your own, so you were forced to have elongated play dates with her and the brat of a little sister that trailed her heels. You would’ve loved to have a nice word for her, but from the start of your acquaintance, she was a raging bully, entitled, and morbidly unaware of her debilitating company.

You managed to avoid her after marrying Alastor and moving into the neighborhood, only having to endure her loud mouth on occasion at public events, and for a year, that seemed to suffice.

Unfortunately, Catherine had a knack for sticking her nose where it did not belong, and it just so happened that she lodged it in your business.

“It has been a while. Is there something you need at this late hour? A cup of sugar or a pint of milk-“

You politely offered everyday items of exchange, wanting to get her out of your face as soon as humanely possible, but she merely giggled loudly and threw her hands up in dismissal.

“Oh, no, hun! I came over to give you the Garrison Gala invitations in person! You know it’s coming up real soon!” She reached into her clutch purse, taking her pick of freshly sealed cardstock envelopes before holding two out for you to take.

You stared at her outstretched hand, not believing that was the only reason she’d stopped by, “That’s sweet of you, Catherine, but don’t we usually get those in our mail?..” She seemed slightly taken aback by your blunt observation, used to hearing your soft-spoken voice complying with others rather than questioning them, but you weren’t the girls she’d tormented in the past.

You’d changed…and it was brazenly obvious.

Catherine’s smile shifted to a closed smirk, bright red lipstick forming a thin line as you eyed her up and down, “Me and Von thought it’d be a nice change to hand them out in person this year. He thinks it’ll excite more people about donating to the city’s cause this year..”

You didn’t believe a word out of her mouth, not fond of her husband either, who your father had once offered your hand to during Alastor’s absence from Louisiana. Thankfully, Von never got the chance to have your hand in marriage; Alastor promptly swooped in to slip a ring on your finger quicker than he could blink, so Von settled for Catherine.

You knew she harbored a little more hatred for you because of that fact but would never admit it out loud, too proud of being the police chief's wife and too stubborn to concede that you were her husband's original pick.

With a small smile of triumph, you plucked the invitations from her hand, ready to thank and bid her goodbye, but she cut in right before you could.

“Mind if I stay for a minute. I’ve been running around the neighborhood all day, and you are my last stop. I’ve been wanting to catch up with you for a while now..” she grinned, appropriately smug, as her explanation gave you no room for refusal, and you wished to god that simply slamming the door in her face would make her disappear for good.

However, that would be rude, and in a town like New Orleans, being crude to another -especially if you were a significant idol's partner- did not bode well for public perception. You were sure she’d rant to anyone who listened that you’d refused to host her.

So, you reluctantly nodded with a stiff smile, agreeing to suffer her company for a bit longer. “Why don’t you come on in then? I just finished making a pot of hot chocolate…”

Catherine hummed, clearly pleased with herself as you led the way inside the house, having to remind yourself that slamming the door shut might wake the twins but dreaming of doing it out of anger, seeing the slight woman eye your home's interior.

As if she had an authority on your taste in home design…

God, Alastor, please come home soon so I can get rid of this harping bitch…

————— —————— —————- ————

Catherine's short visit was anything but…

When you led her into the dining room, she was already rambling about some rumor she had picked up from another housewife down the street. You tried to seem interested or at least flattered to have her talking your ear off with nonsense, but as she grabbed on while sitting at the table, you couldn't wait for her to get to the point.

You were starting to wish Rosie had stayed a bit longer. She surely would've put her foot down with Catherine, who is famously not a fan of her, and she would have been a better boundary setter, too. Unfortunately, as always, you were too lovely and could only nod with an empty smile as the woman ranted.

She hadn't changed once since your childhood together, speaking highly of herself only, bragging about nearly everything, and topping all her vanity off with the guise of a pleasant personality. It was tiring to see and even more exhausting to listen to.

After the longest two minutes of your life, you cut into her following sentence to avoid another five full of slanderous gossip. “Why don't I go pour us a cup of hot chocolate? All this talking can make us women very thirsty.”

Your covered insult hit a nerve for Catherine, her red lips pulling into a proper grin as you stood to do just as you said. You had intended to hear an answer from her, content to listen to her clear her throat in gratefulness or iteration…you aren't entirely sure of her intention, having walked into the kitchen already when she did speak back up.

“How are the twins doin'? I hear it was a tough feat for you to have em…”

Your eye twitched as you turned from the table, agitated that she asked something so personal but unable to muster the energy to avoid answering it.

The truth was it did take a toll on you physically and mentally. You’d never want to go through it again….not shortly anyway.

You highly doubted Alastor would want another child so soon, either.

However, expressing any of your negative thoughts to Catherine would only turn into her spouting the information to every other homemaker in town, so you settled on telling her a white lie. At the same time, you prepared the cups of sweet melted chocolate.

“It…was certainly an experience. I’ve always wanted children of my own, and I’m glad to have them. Alastor is a wonderful father, too…”

You said the last partly quietly, smiling softly at the memory of Alastor playing with your children whenever he had free time. Still, your reminder was cut short as Catherine’s snotty laughter sounded from the dining room.

You stopped what you were doing, perplexed and a little angry.

Had she found something you said funny?..

“I’m sorry….was something I said amusing?..” Catherine stopped laughing as your soft voice carried from the kitchen, a little sharper than usual and a hint of annoyance.

She smirked wide, finally satisfied with your state, “Oh, no, honey. I can’t imagine all of yours being any good with children. He was always strange when we were kids, and I could’ve sworn Von caught him beating another boy half to death just for speaking about his skin…He is a mixed breed, so I never understood why he got offended by someone pointing it out…”

Her careless description of Alastor had you fuming immediately and instantaneous anger rushing your veins like liquid fire. Still, you swallowed the vile words you wanted to spit out and continued to listen to her.

“Ya know, that reminds me…Von did mention a suspicion he had about your husband recently. Something to do with the Bayou Butcher….”

Catherine grinned, hearing you stop all movement in the kitchen, feeling proud of herself for startling you and eager to pry some helpful information from you on behalf of her unsuspecting husband.

The pace of your heart slowed drastically as her statement hung in the air. Nonexistent bells began to ring in your head as the world seemed to tilt on its side, and your chest felt stuffed with anxiety.

She knew- no…her husband knew something…was on to Alastor…which could only mean….

You blinked slowly, feeling eerily calm as the realization dawned on you, but the need to panic was so far away you’d failed to touch it.

“Oh? Why would Von ever think that? Alastor is always at the station and is a kind, sweet, and hardworking man. I find it hard to believe he’d even hurt a fly..” your tone was almost too light, too carefree, but you kept a calm demeanor while finishing up the cups of hot chocolate.

Catherine grimaced where she sat, rolling her eyes at your attempt to act unbothered, “You and I both know your husbands’ always had a few screws loose, Y/n. Even your father knew, so don’t act so clueless, dear. I’m only trying to give you a heads up before push comes to shove…” She held back a snicker at her insincerity, holding nothing but a grudge against you and your oh-so-perfect life with Alastor…

One she wished to have with Von but couldn’t since his obsession with work and justice ranked higher than loving her.

You had a doting husband who balanced life well and cared for you, your children, and his career.

You had endless avenues of income, a good background, an even better public perception, and a well-educated mindset that you could easily use to get any profession available.

You had it all, and the first chance she’d get to strip it all away from you, she vowed to take it.

Holding the information regarding Alastor’s name possibly being involved with cannibalistic murder cases was a perfect opportunity to do so.

You smiled, finding it funny that Catherine could be so bold, underestimate you, and try again to bully you into her shadow…ten years later and in your home of all places.

“I suppose you’re right, Catherine…” You grinned, re-entering the dining room with lively steps, setting her cup down, then your own, but hesitated to take your seat as she sipped her drink with a pleased hum.

“Aren’t you gonna join me,” she peered up at you expectantly, confident that you’d comply with her every demand, but you shook your head with a slightly surprised expression. “Oh, do forgive me. I forgot to plate the fresh beignets for us. I’ll be right back..”

You waltzed out of the room, ignoring the eye roll she gave you in response and completely disregarding the platter of freshly baked pastries set on your kitchen counter to open up the knife drawer instead.

Alastor…forgive me…

You felt a tear fall down your cheek as the sturdy black handle slid into your hand, cold but light as a feather. Your senses felt elevated, your heart a steady drum despite the fear clouding your thoughts, and yet the calm you felt was bordering natural as you turned to pick up the plate of beignets swiftly.

The warmth of the plate was comforting, a feeling you focused on as you glided back into the dining room with a kind smile plastered on your face. Catherine gave a fabricated smile of gratitude as you neared her, ready to grab a sweet treat. You set the platter in front of her from the side, but as she reached for one, you fisted a hand in her as tightly as possible.

Before the woman had a chance to tell in surprise or spout out another offensive remark, you revealed the knife behind your back, letting it glint in the dining room’s chandelier light right before her terrified eyes and quickly lowering it to slit her throat in one swift drag of your hand.

Catherine gulped; a horrendous sound of blood clogging her airway filled your ears, and the sight of it pooling from the wound she had caused was equally horrific.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid or even muster an ounce of guilt or despair.

All you felt was relief, joy, and a twinge of happiness seeing the life leave her eyes.

A smile graced your face as she finally went limp, head hanging low in your hand as you dropped the blood-stained knife onto the red tablecloth runner.

“You know it’s rude to make a mess at a host’s dinner table, Catherine…and threaten my family too..” Your grip on her head loosened, letting the body part slump.

You sighed, seeing her lifeless body folded over your freshly waxed dinner table, her blood beginning to trickle off its sides and onto the art deco-style tiled floor.

Thank god it was tile…

After a moment of silence, your mind drifted back to reality, packed to the brim with an array of emotions, but none as the guilt you felt now seeing the mess you’d made.

You’d never wanted to hurt anything or anyone in your life…

Let alone kill someone…

Yet, you had done just that to protect your family…to protect Alastor.

It felt…good.

Right even, but the guilt ate away at you as more of Catherine’s blood pooled on the floor.

Alastor…forgive me, please…

Your heart rate quickened at the thought of him seeing what you’d done, how he’d react to your gruesome actions, and what he’d have to say about it.

You knew him to be a killer, but him seeing you as one?…

That…felt terrifying to imagine…

It felt worse that your guilt stemmed from the possibility of Alastor finding you standing over a dead body with blood on your hands rather than feeling bad about killing her…

You glanced at Catherine, trying to feel remorseful but only able to think one thing.

The bitch had it coming…

Ding Dong Ding…

The clock’s chiming startled you out of your daze, signaling the time had drifted to 9 in the evening, which left you thirty minutes before Alastor arrived home.

“Fuck…”

You whispered, feeling a bit rushed as you peeled Catherine’s body off the table, gently laying it on the ground to attempt pulling it towards the basement through the kitchen.

Her weight had doubled without oxygen in her body, and you groaned in defeat when you could only drag her two feet from the table.

How in the world does he do things like this so effortlessly?…

With a sigh, you gave up on the task, sinking to your knees beside the body with a frown. You tried to think of other alternatives, quick fixes to the enormous problem, but your mind couldn’t compute any suitable solution.

Not one that could be done by the time Alastor unlocked the front door…

“Click”

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx xxx

Von = Human Vox … I know he's from a different time, but in this story, he will be one of the main antagonists…sue me.

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette @gasiacos @marvelgirl123 @dinosaur-crime-scene @mo-0-o

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor fanfiction #human alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hartfelt #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor smut #alastor fluff #ao3 writer #ao3 author #hazbin alastor #alastor x oc #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #Spotify

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codenamesazanka · 4 months

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more Deku bashing, if you'll forgive me

Seeing lots of shocked tweets and posts that Deku seems so cold and distant about Shigaraki dying in front of him; that Deku doesn't seem to care much at all; that Deku isn't devastated he wasn't able to save that little boy.

I have to point out that Deku never cared in the first place. He really didn't! It's why he needed to see The Crying Child to feel any bit of empathy for Shigaraki, and why ever since then, he only yammers on about saving the Crying Child and only the little boy. He never gave a shit about the Shigaraki in front of him. Never treated Shigaraki like someone real to engage with. That Shigaraki is unforgivable; and it was impossible to have ever bring the Crying Child into reality because the Crying Child was a memory, it happened 15 years in the past that cannot be changed, so all Deku can do is comfort the Crying Child then beat the shit out of Shigaraki.

I mean, just look at the imagery and the word choices:

Are those the words and expressions of someone who's trying to be careful about not hurting Shigaraki? Actually trying to help someone in pain? I remember when people were excited that Danger Sense would tell Shigaraki that Deku doesn't want to hurt him - turns out nah. He was so ready to make Shigaraki throw up blood.

Deku never tried to talk to Shigaraki. He never asked any questions during the whole time they were fighting. Mirio asked a question and got a response; but Deku? Nothing. Even in the memory-realm, when Shigaraki via memory-villains ask Deku what his plan was, Deku just shouted 'No!' and that was that.

When Deku said 'Somewhere inside of you is a person' he literally meant that. Inside of Shigaraki is the Crying Child, who is the actual person. Did he catch Shigaraki saying 'Spinner will be looking forward to this' and think, 'huh, Shigaraki has someone he cares about, I think? Then he wouldn't want to destroy Spinner, would he?' No. The fan-translation got everyone's hopes up that Deku wants to 'shred the rug' of societal failures, but the official translation was correct - Deku wanted to pry the lid off Shigaraki's trauma, accusing Shigaraki of repressing himself.

If he cared about Shigaraki at all, he would've protested when Gran told him he might have to kill Shigaraki. Instead:

He would've opposed the construction of something called a SKY COFFIN DEATH ARENA. He would've spoken up when Heroes talked strategy about how AFO is the better opponent to fight, implying that it's better if AFO had taken over Shigaraki, despite Shigaraki being the victim of AFO here.

Even when he ends up saving Tenko from Decaying the Shimuras, he's utterly lackluster there. Tenko's in tears, saying that he must have wanted to kill his family, he was born with a quirk like Decay, who could ever validate his existence the way he is??? And Deku's response? "Well. Holding my hand might make you feel better. So here." Saying something like, 'No, you're a child! It's not your fault!' or 'Your quirk isn't meant for harm, it can be useful too' or 'It's okay. You're not an evil existence' seems obvious, but Deku doesn't.

and really, all this has been obvious since the Mall Encounter in Chapter 69. Remember when Shigaraki point blank told him that All Might's smile is stupid because he acts like there's no one he can't save? And it's clearly full of resentment? And Deku picked up on this, which is why next chapter he asks All Might if it's true there are times where All Might couldn't save someone.

But once Tsukauchi said, don't worry about it, Deku did just that. When he does think about it one time, it's this absolutely nothing of a reflection

"I guess we just have to agree to disagree!" Come on. And this kid has a 'drive to save that eclipses all common understanding'??? for real?????

Deku has never given a crap about Shigaraki or Villains. Honestly, him wanting to save that sad little boy might as well be just Horikoshi putting lines in his mouth to move the story along.

If Deku really did care, I think he would've wanted to save the entire person that is Shigaraki. The Crying Child is a phantom - Shigaraki is real and solid and there. The Crying Child is innocent and easy to care about because it's a cute baby and it's openly weepy; saving hand-monster junji ito twink Shigaraki who laughs and talks about destroying everything Deku loves would've been an actual challenge. But clearly we couldn't have that because even the Crying Child was too far gone for Deku to save.

#character bashing #warning #nalslastworkingbraincell #again #i'll take it all back if next chapter proves me all wrong #sorry

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the-marshals-wife · 4 months

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Refuge (Sierra Six x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: It's official: I'm obsessed with The Gray Man. I've watch it 3 times so far in under 2 months, and I really wanted to write something sweet for my current favorite Goose character.

Description: Sierra Six/Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader, established (secret) relationship; flirty, steamy fluff + angst if you squint | Warnings: suggestive themes, kissing, alcohol | Setting: post-movie | Word count: 1,746

Gif credit: user magnusedom

Imagine Six returning to you, his best kept secret, and asking you to come away with him

There was only one thing in the world that could make you open the front door of your apartment after midnight. The instant you recognize the familiar, distinct sequence of knocking, you shoot upright from your slumber and scramble off of the sofa, the book on your chest flying across the floor from where you had dozed off. Having almost tripped on the rug, you release the dead bolt and frantically fumble with the chain lock. Heart pounding, you slide it loose and jerk open the door.

Waiting on the other side like an apparition was a smiling face you weren't sure you'd ever lay eyes on again.

"Sorry for the late hour, ma'am. Could I trouble you for a cup of sugar?"

"Court!"

You couldn't help it. His name, the name only you could use, escapes your lips like a cry.

"May I come in?" he gestures.

You grab his arm and usher him inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked in a hushed voice, looking over him.

"Here, there, everywhere," he answers, leaning back against the closed door. "Spent a little time in nowhere too."

"I've been so worried about you! I haven't heard from you in months. I know that's the job, but it's been so long without a sign or anything. I was afraid something happened to you. I didn't know what to think," you say all at once.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just, let me look at you first," he says, gazing on you softly, "Wow. How is that possible?"

"What?"

"How are you more beautiful than the last time I saw you?"

You feel your cheeks turn red, but it doesn't keep you from pointing a finger to his chest.

"If you think being a smoothie is going to get you out an explanation, think again, buster."

He wraps his arms around your waist.

"Fair enough," he nods, "It's still true though. You're even prettier when you're angry."

"I must be stunning then," you smirk.

He brings his hand up to lift your chin, leaning in close, "Incredibly."

The waning space between you vanishes as he captures your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring every sensation you'd missed so much. From the warm, smokiness of his scent to the gentle scratch of his beard on your skin. When he finally pulls away, you're nearly breathless.

"Why don't you make yourself at home, stranger?" you propose, composing yourself, "You want a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a beer," he replies.

"Coming right up," you say, turning towards the kitchen, "They feed you in 'nowhere'? I got half of a leftover sub here, and some really leftover pizza I can nuke in the microwave."

"Tempting, but I'm good for now, thanks. Just the beer," you hear him say as you grab two bottles from the fridge.

"Good call, honestly. We can just order take out or something."

He doesn't respond, and it immediately catches your attention. You grab the bottle opener from the drawer and make quick work of the caps. With a faraway look in his eye, he stands on the other side of the modest island that separates the kitchen area from the living area. You extend the bottle towards him, and even when he takes it from your grasp, he's barely shaken from his silent reverie.

Too worried to imbibe, you set your own drink down on the counter. "Court, what's wrong? I can tell something is bothering you."

He takes a drink, which is followed by a long pause.

"Do you remember Fitzroy's niece, Claire?"

You nod. "Of course. Is she alright?"

"She is now," he sighs, setting his jaw, "Fitzroy is gone."

"What?" you say, rounding the island to be at his side.

"It's a long story, but some bad people got ahold of Claire to get to him, because of something that I did. We took care of it in the end, but...he didn't make it."

He takes another hefty drink and puts down the bottle.

"Court, I'm so sorry," you say, touching his arm, "I know how much he meant to you."

He turns to face you. "He did. Now Claire has no one, except me. And that's what I came here to talk to you about."

Your pulse quickens at the seriousness in his voice.

"Her and I have been on the run the past couple weeks. Staying ahead of Carmichael and his goon squad."

"Wait, you escaped the agency?" you ask, shocked.

"Didn't have a choice after they tried to use her as leverage to get me to keep doing their dirty work. I got her out, which means I'm out too, for good," he confirms solemnly, "I've found a place for us where we might actually have a shot at a normal-ish life."

You stare at him wide-eyed.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I'm all she has left. She needs me. And I need you," he says, gently rubbing your upper arms, "Before, I couldn't give you the life you deserved. But this could be my second chance. I think I might have finally gotten to the top of the hill, and I want you there with me."

"Oh Court, I don't know..." you hesitate, mind reeling, "I don't know anything about raising a kid."

He grins. "Neither do I. We can figure it out together. I mean there's gotta be a manual or something, right?"

You can't help but snort at the idea. Just as more protests are forming on your tongue, he gives you a look so disarming that you forget the words entirely.

"Come away with me, Y/N."

He takes your hand in his.

"It won't be easy, and it definitely won't be perfect. I know I've got no right to ask you to leave everything behind. But I've loved you from the very beginning, and I will protect you with everything I have."

His vow brings tears to your eyes. He laid his heart bare, and in doing so, he'd banished the last of your meager doubts.

"Well, when you put it that way," you say.

You grab the collar of his jacket in your fists and pull him into a kiss. He hums in pleasant surprise and laces his fingers through your hair. After another heated moment of rediscovery, you at last loosen your grip and surface from the embrace.

"Is that a yes?" he chuckles.

"It is," you answer, your smile becoming nervous as your thoughts turn to the future, "Do you think Claire will like me?"

"Oh, don't worry, she's going to love you," he smirks, letting you go and walking over to the window. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm going to survive you two. This was probably a bad idea."

"Now I really I can't wait to meet her," you tease.

Your amusement fades, however, as you watch him part the curtain and cautiously peer up at the surrounding rooftops.

Dread stirs in the pit of your stomach.

"How much time do we have?" you ask.

"We should probably get you packed up," he says over his shoulder.

"Really? I thought we'd at least have tonight. Are you being followed right now?"

"Not yet. No one knows about this place. But the longer I'm here, the greater the possibility that changes," he frowns, "I need to get back to Claire. I took a risk coming here. She can't be alone for long."

You mind begins to race as your gaze darts around your apartment and belongings. The framed pictures scattered across the walls of old friends and family you hardly see suddenly meant more than anything tucked away in the safe beneath your bed. But could you even take them? Would having any ties to your old life be too dangerous?

Old life. The thought makes your head spin.

"This is happening so fast," you say as you rub your temples, "I never thought I'd just leave everything. I don't even know what to take with me."

"Hey," he says, stepping back over to you, "It's alright. Listen, I know I got caught up in pouring out my dumb old heart a minute ago, but you don't have to do this, Y/N. If you want to stay, I understand."

"No, I'm coming with you," you deny, "I want to be with you, no matter where we have to go. I've never wanted anything more. You have made it to the top, Court, and I wouldn't miss the view for anything."

All this time, you had been the only refuge in the world for "Sierra Six". Now, more than ever, he was becoming yours.

He kisses your forehead softly and smiles down on you.

"How about we just start small, and go from there. Baby steps. Like, maybe a suitcase?" he suggests.

"Sounds good," you agree, "Guess I don't need to pack the kitchen sink for wherever we're going?"

He snickers, "No, we have one of those. Got one in the bathroom too. We even have a toilet."

"I wasn't expecting such luxury," you smirk.

"I mean you have to hold the handle down a little to get it to flush, but other than that," he quips.

"Well, I suppose I'll survive," you say in mock exasperation.

"We do have a TV, so that kinda makes up for it. Plus, I got queen bed all to myself. I might could be persuaded into sharing, though."

You cross your arms, eyeing his suggestive look.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, but you'll have to sleep on top of the covers. I don't wanna get your girl germs on my sheets."

"Courtland Gentry," you grunt, smacking his arm.

You take off down the hall to your room, and he follows after you laughing.

"What? What'd I say?" he asks, knowing full well.

"Why don't I just sleep on the floor?" you pose.

You bolt over to your dresser and start rummaging through your clothes, keeping your back to him.

"Okay, you're right. That was unfair of me," he concedes.

Biting your lip, you spin around with your eyebrows raised.

He stands in the doorway, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket and unwrapping it, "You can get under the comforter."

You throw a shirt at him, shaking your head.

"Shut up and help me pack."

He pops the gum in his mouth and smiles.

"Yes ma'am."

#sierra six x reader #courtland gentry x reader #court gentry x reader #the gray man #six x reader #sierra six x y/n #courtland gentry x y/n #court gentry x y/n #sierra six x you #courtland gentry x you #sierra six imagine #courtland gentry imagine #the gray man imagine #the gray man fanfiction #ryan gosling #sierra six #courtland gentry #court gentry #my writing

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