#only adding these tags so it gets a wider reach

[artdescriptioninthewoods]

remaking this post by @linaxart because the poll got overrun by people like me who just wanted results. it’s the exact same except for removing the last option. i’ve also copied linaxart’s examples. if you want to see the results, dm me and i’ll notify you when the poll is closed

again, please only vote if you actually rely on image descriptions! thank you

Example 1: A drawing of a penguin wearing a hat.

Example 2: A drawing of an emperor penguin wearing a felt hat.

Example 3: A drawing of an emperor penguin facing the viewer wearing a red and green striped felt hat.

Example 4: A digital drawing of an emperor penguin facing the viewer wearing a red and green stripped felt hat. It has a friendly expression. The background is plain white and the style is non-realistic made of flats with soft textures.

please reblog this for a better sample size! i will share it periodically until the voting window closes

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Starved (Alec Hardy)

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are: open and encouraged

Summary: Alec discovers you fantasise about his tongue. A lot.

CW: oral (reader receiving), no pronouns but reader does have a vagina, vaginal fingering, squirting, overstimulation

Broadchurch tag list: @clarina04 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

There was just something about the way that Alec spoke that enraptured you. The accent, the way his lips moved around the words. His tongue. God, Alec’s tongue. The amount of time you had spent fantasising about having Alec’s tongue buried inside you was, well, ridiculous. 

“Eh, love? You alright? Not sayin’ much.” 

You’re only pulled about halfway out of the trance when you reply- 

“Sorry- thinking about your tongue.” It only takes a further second for you to snap completely out of it and realise what you’ve just said. “Oh, shit.” 

Your cheeks go beet red and you slap a hand over your face in mild horror. Alec’s not usually a cocky bastard, but the way a smirk twists its way across his lips just drips with sin. Your breath hitches and Alec’s fingers reach out to caress up your thigh. Unconsciously, your leg twitches into his fingers. A silent plea for more. 

“What ‘bout it? Huh? Thinkin’ ‘bout my tongue?” 

You bite your lip as his grin turns darker. You nod, and his fingers trail up your thigh towards your sides. He moves closer. You can see the bulge growing in his trousers. It’s all you can do not to whimper- the memories of having him buried inside you to the hilt, fucking into you- oh this had to stop. But then again, you didn’t want it to. 

“Yeah,” you reply breathily. “God, I want your tongue on my clit.” 

Alec chuckles at your bold statement. Now that was unexpected of you.

“Spread your fuckin’ legs then, darlin’,” he replies with a nonchalant shrug. A moment later he’s beside you and pulling your chair away from the table. You let out a sound that’s halfway between a whimper and a yelp and spread your legs for him as he kicks your feet apart softly. 

Another moment and he’s between your legs, spreading your folds with his fingers and licking a flat stripe up your clit. You groan, sinking back in the chair and you feel the puff of air hit your core as he chuckles at your reaction. 

“Please, Alec?” 

Alec doesn’t make you beg. He wraps his lips around your clit, sucks it into his mouth and flicks the tip of his tongue back and forth over you mercilessly. His fingers reach around to grip at your ass and tug you closer to the edge of the chair. He eats you like a man starved, salivating at the taste of your pretty little cunt. 

“Oh, I could eat you for days,” he groans, breaking away to catch his breath. Your hips wiggle as the stimulation stops and as recompense, he pushes two fingers inside you, eyes entranced by the view of them inside you. Your cunt clenches around them and he laughs. “You like that, eh? Bet you do. Love having your pretty pussy stuffed like this.” 

Your head drops back against the chair and you spread your legs impossibly wider. Alec approves if the way he crooks his fingers just right for you is any idea. 

Another moment and his fingers are pulling out and his tongue is replacing them. Alec has to press himself as close to your flesh as possible to get his tongue as far as he can into your hole. You cry out, fingers digging into his scalp and holding him there. 

Alec flicks his tongue inside you and rubs the tip of his nose against your clit as he does so. You keen, thighs trembling with the effort of not closing around his head and popping his eardrums. 

One of his hands snakes around your thigh so his thumb can rub at your swollen clit. 

“Fuh-huh-uuck,” you moan, grinding your hips against his mouth and thumb. He feels so good, and there’s no way you’re not going to cum on his tongue in the next few seconds. “Fuck, Alec- shit- I’m- I’m close. God, please.” 

Alec laughs into your cunt as best he can with his tongue buried halfway into your core and he moves his thumb faster. You twitch and shake as the stimulation brings you closer and closer before-

“Oh, God- fucking fuck- fuck, Alec!” 

Your fingers yank against his hair, grinding yourself against his tongue as you ride out your high. Waves of pleasure roll over you while the continuing stimulation on your clit makes you shudder and twitch. 

He pulls his face away from your sopping cunt once he’s had his fill of your pussy and you grin tiredly at the blissful, wet mess that is his face. You can see your slick on his cheeks and chin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his spare hand. The sight of him panting, eyes black with lust does things to you. 

All of a sudden, his fingers are rubbing against your clit again hard and fast. You yelp, hips twisting to try and get away from the overstimulation. He tuts and refuses to relent. Your hips buck off the chair, fingers white-knuckling the edge of the table. 

And you cum again. But this time, you do the unthinkable and squirt. All over him. You’re shocked through the haze of pure pleasure coursing through your system, though it doesn’t stop you from making sounds a porn star wishes they could emulate. He’s grinning like a loon, rubbing at your clit like a man possessed until you have to basically all but kick him off you. 

The noise that escapes him sounds quite like disbelief, and while the main thing you can focus on is the pulsing of your overstimulated clit, you still manage a shaky “shut up.” 

“Never,” is his reply.

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | extras | Mick and Yn create a playlist together

― Summary: Yn and Mick are still threading through their feelings, none of them yet aware of how deep it is. Some say that actions speak louder than words, but guess songs do too sometimes. ― Word count: 1.3k ― A/n: This can be read as a stand-alone, but it’s better when you’ve read the series. ― Warnings: mention of food; tooth aching fluff.

✷ see my main masterlist | patreon masterlist | KOMH Masterlist ✷ wanna be tagged on my works? check my taglist ✷ you can support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

“I created the playlist,” Yn shares once she finds Mick in the garage. It’s close to lunchtime, and some of the crew are already leaving to eat at the paddock cafeteria. George is pointing something to Mick on the computer to which he simply nods before turning to Yn. “I just sent you the Spotify link,” she adds.

His eyes take her in and he nods again. He wants to say a lot of things, how beautiful she looks, how he missed her the whole morning, how boring it felt without her laugh, how happy he is that she created the playlist, that way he’ll have yet another excuse to text her, but he just nods. A lot of the things that are going through Mick’s mind are making him choose to keep his lips sealed. He knows each little thing can and will be pointed to by his friends as catching feelings.

The worst thing is that he believes that maybe it is true.

Maybe he is falling for Yn.

His friend’s sister. 

His co-worker's sister. 

“What playlist?” George asks, poking his head in their direction and Yn rolls her eyes playfully.

“It’s nothing, you’re a driver, not a reporter, you don’t need to know everything,” her retort makes Mick throw his head back in laughter and even Russell himself can’t contain the snicker.

“You’ve been walking too much with Lando, you’re getting sassier,” the British points while taking off the headphones from around his neck.

“As it happens, I’ve actually been walking a lot with you, George.” 

Mick snickers watching the whole interaction the way you watch a tennis match, head going from one side to the other to catch the faces the duo is making. 

“Anyways, I gotta go have lunch, you two have fun,” Russell patted Yn’s and Mick’s back before leaving them alone in front of the computer.

“Are you having lunch in the cafeteria with everyone?” he asks but what he really wants to say is: would you like to have lunch with me? 

Yn shakes her head, “I ordered lunch.”

“Oh-”

She adds before Mick can say something else, “I ordered two…you said you wanted to try that salad last time, and I thought-”

“Awesome! So we go through the songs while we eat lunch,” Mick has a small smile on his pink lips, whereas he’s jumping up and down inside. 

Yn nodded, starting the track to one of the meeting rooms she used to work while in the garage. Mick is right behind her, and the silence until they reach the door is peaceful. Yn left the package by the table along with two bottles of water, but they settled on the couch sitting in front of each other. Shoes discarded on the ground, legs crossed.

“I already added one song, I’m sorry,” Yn starts and Mick nods, silently asking her to continue. “Die Hard, by Kendrick Lamar.”

“This song is amazing!”

“Do you like it?” Yn asks, smile wider this time, and Mick nods.

“Can I add Lost by Frank Ocean?” the blonde asks and Yn jumps up and down while still sitting. 

“Yes!! Absolutely!!” 

She digs her fork into the food before taking a bite. Mick sips his water, and then asks, “So, you add one I add one? And we only add the ones we agree on or? How’s this gonna work?” 

“I think we can make a mix, no need to agree, we will listen to everything afterwards and then we can talk about the ones we never heard before… that is if you agree.” 

“Well, I’ve never made a shared playlist like this before, so yeah, I agree.” 

Yn smiles, “I do them all the time with Lewis, he hasn’t surrendered to Taylor Swift quite yet, but I always try,” Mick chuckles. “Anyways, I think we should add some classics like It Wasn’t Me, we were listening to it that day in the car, you remember?” 

“Yeah, you sang that Mick song too.” 

“Oh, Mick, you’re so fine, so fine you blow my mind,” she sang teasing him and the German rolled his eyes playfully, a flush creeping from his neck to his ears.

“Does she actually sing Mick?” he’s truly curious.

Yn shakes her head, “But I do,” the way she winks at him makes his stomach roll and feel cold in a strange yet good way. “She sings Mickey, but I think Mick fits better, don’t you think?” 

Mick is at a loss for words, so he chooses to stuff his mouth with lettuce and shrug instead of answering. How could he answer? Were they flirting? What the hell was this feeling in his stomach? 

“I propose we add the songs and go through it in real-time. Open the app there,” she points to his cell phone and Mick does as she says. 

“You just added Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls,” he states and taps his fingers on the screen adding Tennessee Whiskey, watching Yn as she furrows her brows.

“I’ve never heard this one.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know much about Country music,” she confesses.

“I’ll add my favorite ones for you.” 

Yn smiles at him.

They go about eating and adding songs to the playlist. There’s a smile and a giggle here and there, sometimes laughter, and frowns with the unknown songs. 

Yn is sipping her water and looking at the phone, when she sees a new song pop on the list, “What does ‘schön’ mean?” 

“I’m adding some German songs for you,” Mick explains, but Yn is not satisfied with the simple answer.

“‘Mkey, how do you say this?” 

“Sch-ön,” he slowly mouths and she giggles.

“With kissy lips?” Mick nods. “Man, you Germans are kinda cute. You make kissy faces every time there’s a word with this thingy?” 

“Umlaut,” he explains, holding back a chuckle. “And yeah, kinda.” 

“So…what is this song about?” Yn asks, hitting play.

Mick watches as Yn bops her head to the rhythm, a grin on her plush lips and her eyes closed.

Du bist schön und es macht Spaß, dich anzuseh'n

(So schön)

Du bist schön und meine Augen sind verwöhnt

(Verwöhnt)

Du bist schön, uh, du bist schön

“What is he saying, Mouse?” 

“You are beautiful, and fun to look at. You are beautiful and my eyes are… spoiled,” he tries to focus on the lyrics, but the second her eyes open and they find each other the song becomes mere background noise. “You’re beautiful,” this time his voice is a bit softer.

“Did he sing that again?” 

Mick shakes his head, notices what he just did, and then nods. 

“Yeah, it’s… it’s a simple song, it’s a good choice if you want to start learning some words in German.” 

They go about adding songs in silence again, until Yn jumps from the couch hitting play on yet another song, “Oooh, this one’s good, you’ll like it!” 

“Taylor Swift?”

“You were able to identify, that’s a good start. Yes. This one’s called Karma, it totally has your energy, Mouse.” 

Mick furrows his brows in confusion and Yn starts walking around the room while explaining to him the story behind the music which took them over twenty minutes, but the Schumacher wasn’t bored, quite the opposite, he listened to everything, asking one question here and there, and chuckling at her enthusiasm. 

It’s only when Lewis texts Mick telling him lunchtime is over that they wrap up their conversation, agreeing on adding songs to the playlist whenever they find something the other might like or should see. 

“Thanks for lunch. Guess I owe you dinner now, huh?” 

Yn sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, and Mick’s eyes drop slightly following the motion. 

“Yup,” she nods. “See you in a few, Mouse.” 

And when the door closes behind the blond Yn sighs. Her brother would have to forgive her. Not liking Mick was getting harder and harder. 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! A huge shout out to my ☕️anon for proofreading this piece so quick ❤️ Don’t forget to reblog and comment, and follow me if you liked it!

taglist: @sachaa-ff @ferrariloverr @mickslover @fdl305 @lunnnix @saintslewis @mishaandthebrits @iloveyou3000morgan @smiithys @crimeshowjunkie @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @f1kota @wondergirl101ks @shhhchriss @leclercsluv @baby-is-crying @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @v1naco @cixrosie @elliegrey2803 @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @thatgibbsygirl @the-depressed-fellow @darleneslane @skepvids @goldenalbon @nichmeddar @buckybarnessweetheart @nzygftoji @fastcarsandshit @minkyungseokie @scopeiguess @jamie2305 @balekanemohafe @callsign-scully @schumacheer @dearxcherry

✷ check here my main masterlist | patreon masterlist | KOMH Masterlist and my taglist if you wanna be tagged on my pieces

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work. do not repost on a different media platform.

Remember: likes are gold, but reblogs are golden🩷

[marigoldenblooms]

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 2

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Non-consensual touching (arms/shoulders), slight transformation description, threatening, mentions of pain (burning), intimidation tactics, arguments, manipulation, angst, canon-level violence, mentions of scarring/burnt skin, restraint, we're finally leaving Belmoor y'all

A/N: Holy crap y'all, thanks for the incredible responses on everything once again! We finally get some trio dialogue going in this chapter ^^ Natasha’s interrogation is based within Latin, while R’s occasional text is built primarily within greek. Russian is also here, as expected. I had nothing for Smut Saturday, so I hope lore will suffice ^^' We will see if the writing block ceases, lol

Equally, we’ve got a Unica tag list coming along! Let me know if you’d like to be added to it! 

Word count: 3.9k - Read Length: 14 minutes, 29 seconds. ~~~

You’d never dreamt awake before. 

You could feel your mind faintly, cognition ghostly as you’d blink within your own head. Your transformation’s destruction was never something you were aware of until you rose out of it, covered in viscera from your form’s hunt. Was it really your body, after that? As you’d drift hazily in a river of your own thoughts, you couldn’t separate feathers from skin. You and your monster were one in the same.

You’d try to shut your eyes again, fall back into the painless slumber your molt offered. A part of you knew the horror you’d awake to- perhaps your succession had slaughtered them all, friend and foe alike. You would grieve her as you had the others, the fiery healer with her crimson magic. The knight would become a cliff note to your psyche, a tack onto an endless tally-board. You were used to being hunted. 

It’d be minutes before you realized you weren’t alone. 

Gaze snapping upwards, you’d bare your teeth towards the intruder which marred your thoughts, only to find a translucent figure. You could feel her chill from here, Her feathered speckling like a shawl over her shoulders, the wings behind her blanketing into a beautiful frame. She reached a hand towards you, although her smile was too thin to be kind. She didn’t look much different than she’d appeared days prior within your dreams yet again. The Aegyptius creation deity. Why was she here?

You didn’t shy from her gaze, looking at her with both respect and provocation. She was in your mind, fragmented as it was while your body rampaged elsewhere. If there was anywhere you were dominion of, it was this. “I know who you are now, Matron,” you’d assure, your voice echoing in the dim expanse, rippling along the water of your thoughts. She seemed to catch your words, and her grin grew wider, eyes narrowing. She’d tut, and in a second you could feel her cold, mist-like hands on your shoulders, “I expect something more reverent from my martyr..but you will learn.” 

“Martyr?” Your expression grew sour as she wouldn’t elaborate, toying with your frustration as she’d run her palms down your arms. An uncomfortable shiver would brace through your body, and you could feel your form stretch beneath as if her touch spurred your transformation all over again. She was cruel, a pained sigh leaving you as your teeth would clench. 

Her grasp on you would tighten, feeling the brittleness of pin feathers beneath flesh, “Your mind may not remember, fledgeling…but all my creations know my whims. And yet you wish to rid yourself of me?” Her laugh would be musical, but the bite in her tone was awash with rage, thinly veiled as the Matron stalked circles around you. 

The frustration that had flowed through you prior to your molt was flimsy now, embers against a cold snap. You felt your gut sink, fear bubbling thickly in your throat. You’d stopped looking at her by now, your gaze piercing down into nothingness. All you could manage was a pitiful nod, and you couldn’t tell if her snicker was anger from your lackluster response or joy from how compliant she’d rendered you. They were one in the same with your kind, you supposed. 

“You cannot..although I’m certain you’ve already understood that.” She’d pause in front of your face, ghostly touch icy as she’d claw your chin to meet your gaze with hers. Her phrase would come quickly, as if she was excited to utter it, “And for penance…you must kill that witch.”

“What?” They weren’t dead already? Your molt would’ve torn her to shreds by now. What was happening in the waking world? Even within a dream, the thought of murdering another with your conscious mind churned your stomach, especially one that brought you food. Mercy. “Command my body to do it, then-”  

“No. You must do this as human,” Her smile was dagger-thin now, and you swear sparks flashed from her maw when she spoke. “Not as bird. Your hunger will be your guide.” Her hands would cradle your face now, the chill of her spectral palms almost forgotten as your mind would rush and lurch. You could feel the knaw of famine in your gut, a terrible feeling, all too real. 

“I reject this- she has been kind, I-” The Matron would’ve disappeared immediately, the thawing of your flesh the only reminder.  Your plea would be met with silence, hyperventilation coaxing your heart into overdrive. Thudding in your skull, you could almost feel the weight of bone in your jaws, your throat suddenly parched. You’d rasp, drawing your hands close to cradle yourself as the world grew fuzzy and vague, “I don’t want to be a monster..”

“Oh, my martyr..” She’d murmur, her voice suddenly swirling along the shell of your ear, freezing your hunch in place. 

“That’s what I made you for.”

Your mind would swim, lucidity and unconsciousness blending into tar which filled your brain. You’d blink, heavier than before..and just before you’d wake, you’d feel her touch on your shoulder again. 

“Survivε, mυ μάρτυρας..” 

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

You’d regain your mind halfway through it all. Your body ached and tore within you, the subtle itch of plumage molting from your skin a feeling you couldn’t soothe. You were in the barn. 

Your arms were held back as you’d kneel on the floor, a searing heat plaguing your wrists as you’d fight against its hold- your chains. They’d manage to cage you. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, you would’ve wheezed relief at that. Your tongue was dry, the taste of blood and bone absent on your lips. You hadn’t eaten anyone during your transformation, and yet your body twinged with agony all the more for it. You had no fuel to offer you shifting body, and so it ate you from the inside to power your return to being humanoid. Panting a low whine, spasms would twitch your form as your bones would grow heavier within your flesh, solid all the way through. Even through your strain, a quiet shuffle would draw your eyes immediately- your heightened instincts were always the last things to go. In the recluses of the barn stood your prior attacker, although her attention was focused elsewhere, ghosting over something in the palm of her gloved hand. Thank fuck.

It was only now you could get a good look at her. Her hair was auburn, braided sharply in cascading strands which met the nape of her neck. It had been chilled near its ends, pale and almost wispy, as though something had leached the color from it. Sorcery? Stress? You couldn’t tell at first glance, but the perpetual scoff that seemed to mold into her face signaled the latter. 

Blueish gray irises stared into what she held, and it was only when you growled a restrained snarl at the sight did her eyes lock to yours. She was holding one of your shorn feathers, the visage making your hackles raise. You wouldn’t shy from her gaze as you had with Wanda, even raising your chin higher so you looked down at her with pinprick pupils- you were an adversary. A challenger. You didn’t fear her. Your head throbbed, the heavy burn of your engraved chains a constant reminder. 

She’d approach you with malice- unsurprising given your circumstances, but the prick of a metal blade against your neck was a little more shocking. This early? Damn. You’d grit your teeth but remain steadfast, even as she’d glower over you. 

“Ossifraga, dic omnia quae scis.” She’d spit, her words foreign yet familiar in your ears. ‘omia’ was a word you gleamed in an instant - ‘everything’, yet the rest was butchered in her mouth. You’d bare your teeth at her, grin sickeningly raw even as she’d press her knife’s edge to your nape. “Dic mihi omnia Fraga, ne te interficiam sicut columbam-“ 

Her anger would shatter at the creaking barn door, flinching just as you did. At least one similarity between the two of you. A familiar soothing tone would echo to you, honeyed and thick, albeit strangled from…anger. Anger? 

“I leave you for one second, you глупый козел-“ Wanda muttered harshly, her stomping footfalls sharply rattling in your skull. She’d pluck the knight’s hand away from you, grip harsh as she’d try to wrestle away their weapon- futile, as their shock to Wanda’s insult only lasted so long. From your attacker’s reaction, it seemed they shared a language. Interesting. “And here you are, nicking my patient-“ 

You’d struggle at Wanda’s words, trying to show her your discomfort. Your wrists continued to burn, and you swear their imprint would be branded on your skin if they weren’t taken off soon. And yet, it may be safer if you remain chained. The Matron’s words still throbbed in your ears, a blinding sight locking your gaze onto Wanda before you bit it back down. You’d breathe, ragged, before gasping a sound which seemed to catch her attention. Her nimble fingers would move to start unshackling you, before being caught by Natasha’s rough grip, pulling her immediately back, “What are you doing-!? It’ll kill you-“

“I won’t harm…her..-“ You’d hiss, finding your bearings as your larynx would thrum with your voice again. You’d glare at the hunter, voice steadfast even through your pain, “You’re- a different story, knight..let me go, and maybe I’ll consider.”

You saw her jaw flex at your tone, malice seeping from every beat of her heart. She’d release Wanda with a tight-lipped grumble, your wrists losing their binds seconds later. You’d rub at the tender flesh for a split second, gasping and hiding away as it’d still bubble with scorching heat. You were too late, and soon your wrists would scar over. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad next time, perhaps.

You’d sit up, movements sluggish as you’d sync again with a heavier frame. Your glance would be wary, looking to Wanda as if the knight wasn’t there. You saw annoyance flash across the hunter’s expression, and satisfaction bloomed in yours. Let her be upset. “What happened..? You shackled me, I am thankful for it.”

“And yet your wrists don’t look happy..” Wanda would respond with muffled concern, although you’d retreat from her scarlet magic’s attempt to heal- scars proved you had lived, this one above all. This one showed you could trust the healer to protect you when you couldn’t protect her. The slow rumble of starvation proved you wouldn’t be able to protect her for a long time. She’d sigh, but wouldn’t press further. “You’ve been in the barn for three days, we put you here on the evening of the first-“ 

Your expression faltering would quiet her words, a shaky inhale slicing into the room’s air. Three days. “I’ve never been..” you’d grip your hair as you spoke, bending to pull more of you closer. You’d stare at your shorn feathers, brilliant white where they lay unheated, almost ghostly in the thin light of Wanda’s shed. 

“I’ve never been transformed for that long.”

“And why should we believe you? You could feather again as we speak- kill us all.” The knight would glare at you, though there was a chance she never stopped, boring a hole into your skull which you gladly challenged. You’d bark a laugh, the sound uncomfortable in your raw chest and yet you reveled in how she flinched away. The air grew thick and still, “If you hunt my kind with that attitude, you obviously know nothing of the Aegyptius.”

“Then enlighten me, Fraga-”” She said that like an insult to you, and yet it didn’t register. 

  “And why the hell should I-?”

 “Because we have a common goal, you dolts-“ 

At Wanda’s interjection, your voice would sliver and slip away, her face red and scrunched with frustration. It was almost adorable how her nostrils flared with her words, yet the rage in her eyes was something that stirred sorrow inside you. Something clicked in the back of your mind, memories from your brood when you were young, and yet nothing registered in the fog of retorting anger. There was curiosity on the hunter’s face, shoulders squared back at Wanda’s tone, and yet your mind still held what the knight had said before.

“What did you call me?” Your words stumbled as you’d shift to stand, legs frail under the weight of yourself. You wouldn’t see the knight’s bewildered expression until much later, too busy keeping your feet underneath you, “Fraga…do you not even know what you are?” “Enlighten me,” you’d taunt, clipped thin between your barred teeth. Wanda would scoff, shaking her head in your peripheral.

“You are Ossifraga. Bone-breaker, the unclean bird..” Your eyes would narrow, but not in the way the hunter wanted, it seems. These names meant nothing to you. “A mistake upon your feathered kind. A blight-'' Her words would build in strength, low as she’d stalk dangerous steps towards you. You looked towards Wanda, her hands slowly raising as scarlet magic grew to weave around her fingers.

“Others of your kind can be minstrels, songbirds or doves- even raptors can experience valor as warriors…but you, Fraga, are the mutated husk of your false god.” She spit her tone with vitriol, acidic. The receding down on the back of your neck rose as your blood ran cold- Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, a lump swelling in your throat, but it wasn’t all fear. There was something else, a chill unfamiliar to your waking form, coaxing your mouth open. You resisted, even your back reached the worn wood of the barn’s walls and the knight’s voice swarmed back into focus. 

 “A dangerous monster, consuming the bones of innocents and leaving plague in your wake,” A gleaming metal shone near her wrist, and your stomach dropped all too late. The knife was probably sacred, intricately carved with markings you could hardly make out in the blur of motion, her gloved hand grasping your shoulder while the other swung to pierce your stomach. 

“You’re the infection I must quell-” 

Your maw opened before you could think.  

“Αμολάω-!” You’d shriek, your voice hissing with the inflection of many. You heard the clatter of metal on the ground as your tone echoed forth. The knight would barrel backwards, clutching her head as Wanda flinched behind her, the shockwave of your words hitting her fainter the further it went from your mouth. 

You kicked away the knight’s dropped blade, another command echoing from you, your tone no longer your own, cold and bitter on your tongue, “Γονατίστε, παράσιτα- Θα σε καταβροχθίσω χωρίς δεύτερη σκέψη..”

The hunter sunk to her knees before your sentence had finished. You’d gasp a second later,  your lungs filled with air as though they’d never have before. Blinking, you’d feel a tenseness in your body, arms trailing with thin plumage which quickly sunk beneath your skin. You’d watch it leave with a cold numbing shock, jaw slung open with a heavy breath. Your thoughts translated your foreign words after a few moments, ‘Let go. Kneel, vermin. I will devour you without a second thought.’

Your feathers had never grown beyond your molt, confined to the hellish day a month where you were no longer yourself. Your hands tremored, ghosting over the goosebumps that had been left behind. It’s like the feathers had never been there- and yet you could feel your body creak and crunch, as though impatient.  

The hunter stood a few seconds later, gait slow as she’d physically wrench herself from your command’s thrall. She’d brush at her scuffed armor, plagued with the barn’s dirt which clung to the metal, “I know what you’re saying. Your pronunciation is weaker, and yet it is still-” 

“The language of my kind,” You’d mutter without sympathy, scoffing as the knight seemed to take offense to your interruption. “You’ve stripped it of its history..it's what you spoke before.” You’d never learned your own tongue, and yet half your thoughts spoke in it now. A shiver rolled down your spine, a cascading chill that felt like an awaiting grasp. 

“Ah, so it can listen..” She’d sneer, glance harsh as she’d eye her forlorn blade again. Wanda’s interjection would be seen before it was heard, scarlet magic weaving around the hilt before daintily grasping it, pawing it over to her awaiting palm. “And so must you, Romanova..” The way she curved the words had a sense of familiarity, drawing a frustrated huff from the other woman. You’d narrow your eyes, but it wasn’t your turn to speak anymore, “You both listen, or you leave my barn with nothing but a death wish. Am I clear?”

You’d nod slowly, and by Wanda’s sigh, you assumed the knight did the same. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere cozier, shall we?”

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

Wanda’s home would’ve been just as comfortable as it had been the prior evening, albeit more cramped. Between three people in the living room, a thin glow of red magic seeping through the slats of wood that boarded the kitchen up, and the deadly eye contact you and the knight shot at each other every second, the air was never thicker.

“And you tore through the kitchen wall,” Wanda’s words were analytical, the gnawing feeling of guilt settling heavy in your gut. You kept your distance from her, a pang of hunger grinding into your thoughts the second you grew closer to the witch. You chewed at the inside of your lip as her palm waved towards the construction her sorcery partook in. Her shrug was too easy, “Not afraid of remodeling, after Romanova mistook my window for a door-” 

She’d almost bite towards the hunter, a simmering scoff laced between her accented tone. “Is that your name? ‘Romanova’?” The knight would leer at your question, slinging her arm against the heavy metal of her armor. From Wanda’s scoff, it seems she’d gotten the same reaction while you were out. “You butcher my family title, Fraga-” 

“Give me your name and I won’t have to.” You’d raise a brow as her eyes locked to yours, your breath thin and still. You felt the cold in your throat again, creeping like a retch up your windpipe- yet you swallowed it with huskier words, “Since we’re all in the sharing mood. Aren’t we?”

Her sigh was almost palpable, hissing in a low breath, “I am Natasha Alianovna Romanova. Templar of Latrodectus, it’s esteemed widow.” That title meant nothing to you, although your unfitting reaction seemed to knock her down a few pegs. Her reply was less angry than curious, “Did you ever earn a name, Fraga?”

“Earn?” Your snort brought an angry heat to Natasha’s face, perplexed laughter ricocheting through your solid skeleton, “You really do know nothing of my kind. We do not remember names. Unimportant.”

You wouldn’t see Wanda’s furrowed look until she exhaled sharply, looking away from you with crossed arms. Your mind sunk and crackled whenever you looked in her direction, suddenly parched. The flutter in your stomach remained, bringing an uncomfortable nausea rather than burst of curiosity. You kept your eyes on Natasha, expression hollowed, “Why do either of you stay? This..is your house, Wanda, I know-” 

“Because we want to help you-” “She does- mhph-” Wanda’s hand would outstretch towards Natasha, blocking her mouth with a wispy scarlet sheen. You looked at Wanda’s shadow, feeling her sigh as your gaze never met hers. Her voice was calmer yet thin, strained between forces, “Do you want to rid yourself of your feathers?”

“Yes,” Your quick response earned an unseen smile from the witch, although your skin grew clammy at the thought. Natasha shuffled, and when you met her eyes you saw hers were raised, almost in shock, her mouth still clasped closed. “Then we have a common interest. This one can find a method beyond violence- and if your transformation is progressing faster, then it is my role to bring you back to normalcy.” 

You’d meet her glance now, her smile radiating a warmth into you that culled away some of the chill, satiated you. Your palms felt your own, awkwardly poised as you offered your hold to the witch, her touch filling you with an unfamiliar satisfaction. You shook her hand against yours, ignoring Natasha’s silent indignation burning into your skull. Perhaps you could control yourself- you could protect each other, “Thank you, Wanda.” 

“Ah, none of that- you are a medicinal marvel..” She’d tease, your thanks rolling right off of her. You met her grin with your own, her words shushing as she’d lean to you, “Think of what it will do for my prices, to heal an Ossifraga-” 

Your laugh was a startling welcome, filling you with mirth as it was returned. “I will pay you then. How many feathers-?” Her hand patted yours before receding, wiping her palm along her clothed side. “...I’ll keep a running tab for you, Птичка.”

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

The sun had risen into midday, and you basked in its sunlight. Your shoulders felt tense as you hauled supplies towards the wagon Wanda and Natasha had acquired an hour ago from Belmoor proper. You’d hung back, admiring the hazy scarlet tendrils which packed Wanda’s belongings. The two had found you handing random objects to the sorcerous helpers when they returned, although Natasha was pulled away by the witch before she could crow about the non-essentiality of bringing Wanda’s butter churn. 

The mule that was attached to the wagon- Daisy, Doris, something like that- had been chewing on the turf as you’d settled another crate of rations along the wagon’s bed, pushing it into place with a heavy shove. It was a ten days road travel to Arkridge, the capital of this province, as you’d been told. Its libraries held what could be the first of many secrets. The forest never spoke of it, yet its grandeur was palpable even through Natasha’s gruff words. She hadn’t tried to stab you again, although her glare was seething whenever you met it. 

You passed each other by as you’d return towards the house, huffing an unimpressed groan as her haul was much smaller than yours. She’d abandoned her armor for now, and you watched as the musculature of her back shifted as she’d set her barrel down. You could take her if you had to, even without your strength- though the scabbard along her back gave you pause, the longsword’s hilt gleaming in the light. It had been engraved, similar to the leather sheath that bound it, and you’d guess it was the same inscription. Runic and familiar, it brought your thought to your chains, their markings similar yet worn. Perhaps you’d find a way to ask about it, if you could have a conversation without insulting each other.

Your side met Wanda’s as you leaned in her vicinity, your gaze locked onto the knight a dozen meters away. The witch’s voice was smoothed and sweet, honey-like as she’d offer her palm to yours again, inspecting the scarring along your skin as you’d accept. “Your name isn’t Margo, is it?” 

You shook your head, still in her embrace, “No. I just needed something to give to you. Satisfy..”

Your words petered out into silence, her squeeze of your hand gentle, shying away from the raw flesh of your wrists. “You don’t have to do that, Ласточка. I have countless things to call you that you won’t forget.” Her wink made your face flush, shying away from her gaze as her tone wrapped around your thoughts. Her giggle wasn’t lost on you, a fondness in her expression you couldn’t decipher. “Will you tell me what that means?”

She’d shake her head, just before you heard Natasha’s heavy footfalls towards you. The forested grove retreated behind as you three would set forth a few minutes later, silence thick. Bellmoor would be forgotten, in favor of new memories. Perhaps your first night at camp would be more riveting. 

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Tag List: @mousetheorist

[lxclerc]

𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐲 | 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

SUMMARY: when the man in the bar gets too handsy, arthur is more than ready to step in. REQUEST: from @princessbetsy123-blog : “Can u do a Arthur fanfic idc. What is abt” and from anon: “can i request one where the reader is at a club and theres this guy being creepy towards her and arthur interferes and pretends to be her bf to help her out <3 (strangers to lovers)” WARNING: creepy guy in a club, nothing else PAIRING: reader x arthur leclerc WORD COUNT: 821

NOTE: let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

masterlist

You lost your friends a while back, some of them already preoccupied with whomever they decide to spend the night with and the others already too drunk to realize you’d somehow been separated from the group. 

You aren’t too drunk, still able to properly walk in your heels without wobbling but you are a little tipsy, your head already beginning to spin as you attempt to look over the sea of people in search for your friends. The party scene have never been your thing but there’s never been anything wrong with dressing up and spending the night dancing and so you hadn’t thought much into it when you agreed but if you’d known you’d be spending the night alone, you would have chosen your couch and a rerun of brooklyn 99. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing alone?” Someone purred by your ear, immediately making you move away from the touch of the drunk man who suddenly appeared behind you. He definitely looks more than a few years older as he smirks at you, hand gripping a bottle of beer. 

You resist the urge to grimace, the sight of him disgusted you. “I have a boyfriend, sorry.”

You hate that you have to make up some lie just for this man to leave you alone but unfortunately, you know that men only respect other men. He might not see you as a human being, but he will be your imaginary boyfriend. 

But this man only smirks wider, looking so sinister and terrifying at that moment that you attempted to take another step back. “I don’t see him around now, do I?” 

He’s moving towards you again, hands reaching to place on your hip. You try to swat his touch away but somehow that only makes him smirk wider. 

“Please let me go,” you say, hating the way the shake in your voice is evident as the stench of alcohol covering him invades your nostrils. 

“Come on now, honey, no need to play hard to get. You’re far too pretty not to get laid tonight.”

You’re already considering screaming and making a scene when an arm wrapped around your waist, removing the creepy man’s hand on your hip. 

“She said to let her go, did she not, mate?” said a thick accent behind you and you turned around to be faced with another man, a smile on his face but you can see the threat in them as he stared down the drunk man that had just been hitting on you. You have half a mind to push him away but his hold is warm and inviting and the wink he gave you when you met his eyes somehow eased your fears. 

“Look, man,” the creepy man continues. “I don’t know who you are but I got to her first.”

“I’m her boyfriend,” your ‘boyfriend’ said menacingly, his french accent somehow becoming thicker. He looks ready to pounce as he pulls you closer to him, practically placing you behind him and out of the man’s view. “And unless you want a broken nose, I’d suggest leaving now.” 

You expected a little bit more of a fight but the man simply huffed before turning around, stumbling out of your sight.

Your savior removes his arm around you and you can’t help but miss the heat he provided, your short dress barely enough to protect you from the cold. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, attempting a smile. “Thank you so much for helping me out with that. I was beginning to get scared.”

That was a lie. You were already scared before he came. 

He gives you an easy smile, so much unlike the sarcastic one he had given the man earlier. You can’t help but notice the wrinkles by his eyes when he smiles and you’re tempted to reach out and sooth it with your fingers. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says, needing to speak up in order to be heard over the loud music. “I’m Arthur.”

“Y/N,” you tell him as you wrap your arms around you, trying to keep yourself warm. “And thank you so much again, Arthur.” 

“Here. You look like you’re about to freeze.” He says nothing else as he shrugs off the jacket he’s wearing, offering it to you. You can’t even find it in yourself to argue as you gratefully accept the warm fabric, slipping your hands through the much bigger sleeves. 

“Do you…do you want to get out of here?” He asks hesitantly, scared you’ll think he only helped you out so he can have his own way with you. Truthfully, he just really wants to be able to look into your eyes and hear your voice. 

But his worries disappear as you flash him a smile and Arthur could have sworn his heart stopped beating there and there. 

“I’d really like that,” you tell him. 

Cause I see sparks fly when you smile.

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @rdtbattinson @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @sebsdaniel @writing-about-current-obsessions @amsofftrack @lostinketterdam @bisexual-desi @cialovessirlewis

[coltermorning]

Where Stubbornness Leads Pt. 1 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur has found himself offering his help to you time and again, even if you’re too proud to accept it. When Hosea sends the two of you on a score pretending to be a married couple, the reason for Arthur’s helping hand is revealed.

Author’s Notes: Part one of two. This one’s straight pining and fluff and can be read as a stand-alone piece if you prefer that over its more devious part two ;) Told from Arthur’s pov and takes place during chapter two in game.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, mutual pining, fluff, eventual smut

AO3 Link

~

Where Stubbornness Leads

Word count: 5226

Part One

“Let me help.”

You glared at Arthur. He realized too late he was doing it again, offering a hand where it wasn’t wanted. He couldn’t help it—you were only a few weeks into joining the gang, and unlike all the other women who had joined, you had a tendency to take to chores that were better left to the men. Or so he thought.

“No,” you told him firmly, struggling to carry a hay bale to the horses. “I told you, I don’t need help.”

You were always claiming that. But there you were, carrying the thing by the strings because you couldn’t lift it from underneath. He knew how sharp those strings cut in from the weight of the bales and was willing to bet your hands were killing you. You ignored your pain anyway, choosing to spite him in favor of admitting defeat.

You reached the nearby trees and threw the bale down, lurching forward from the sudden loss of weight, catching yourself on the hay. Arthur felt a smile turn the corner of his mouth at your grit—the hulking thing had to be half your size.

You turned and eyed him, like you hoped he hadn’t seen that. “What are you looking at?”

He kept himself from smiling wider, only just. “Someone too stubborn for her own good.”

“I’m not stubborn,” you shot back, standing tall. Well, as tall as you could be considered. The effect was like a bunny standing its ground.

“You realize just saying that is stubborn, right?” He was unable to keep the smile at bay now.

“Why are you needling me? I’m only trying to help, and there you are at every turn, acting like I’m fragile as a bird, telling me I’m stubborn-”

“Because you are,” he added.

“Yeah, well so are you,” you shot back. That, he couldn’t well deny. He knew better, especially to try and deny it in front of you. So he let you be, resisting the urge to go get the second bale before you could reach it just to see what you would do about it.

“Fair enough,” he mumbled, keeping his laugh held in, heading back into camp.

This had all started when you tried carrying two heavy saddles over to their respective mounts at once on only your second day in camp. Arthur had stepped in to help, and your quick refusal had his amusement gluing him to the spot, watching you fumble them onto the horses all on your own. From then on, he felt it was his duty to offer his help on the off chance you felt overworked. He didn’t want all the chores to scare you off. But it had turned into a bit of a game with the pair of you, you doing things you and he both knew were too much for you, him nearly forcing whatever it was from your grip. You had stood your ground relentlessly, and he soon came to realize you would never take his help. Whether for pride or spite he wasn’t sure, but he found himself trying anyway. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had to do with the challenge in your eyes, the gleam in them every time he approached you. Whatever the cause, he found himself trailing you around camp more often than not. And it was this that got Hosea’s attention.

“Arthur!” he called out, waving him over. “I’ve found a lead, Arthur. And I need you and Y/N to work it together.”

“Y/N?” he responded, not liking bringing you into the line of fire so soon. “Why her?”

“You seem to have gotten to know her better than the rest of us, and I need an unfamiliar face for this job. A woman at that. You said you already took the other women into town a few days ago.”

“Not Molly,” Arthur offered. “Or Abigail.” Or Sadie. But Sadie was still in mourning, and he didn’t like the idea of bringing her on a score anymore than he did you.

“Yes, but Abigail needs to be here with Jack, and you remember what happened the last time you and Molly worked something together.” Arthur scowled, recalling when Molly had nearly blown their cover, too busy going on about Dutch.

“Yes,” Arthur muttered.

“Then Y/N it is. About time to test her grit, I say.”

“What is it? Ain’t too dangerous?”

Hosea’s face curved into a knowing smile. “Not unless you’re as terrible at cards as everyone seems to think you are.”

“Cards?”

“A poker tournament in Valentine. Stakes are high. I say we take a little of the winnings for ourselves.”

“Hosea, I just beat a man half to death in that town. Don’t think they’ll take too kindly to me forcing my way into a game.”

“That’s exactly why it has to be you. They won’t refuse you after winning a fight like the one I heard about. We need you, and someone holding you accountable.”

“I can handle a game of poker,” he said flatly.

“Sure,” Hosea said. “But, for sake of appearances, I think it best if you had a woman on your hip. Less chance for things to get heated.”

On his hip?

“And who knows? Maybe she’ll prove better at cards than you. That would certainly help our chances.” He laughed that wheezing laugh of his.

Arthur scoffed. “You really want my help or just felt like annoying me?”

“Why not both?” he said, and for the life of him, Arthur couldn’t help but snicker right back.

Hosea suggested Arthur let you in on the plan, but he quickly shot that down, not wanting to have to tell you what role you would be playing alongside him. He had a feeling you would refuse. So, Hosea let you in on it instead, and Arthur watched from afar as you eagerly agreed. You soon ambled up to him, looking smug.

“Seems I’m to be taken out on my first score,” you told him, crossing your arms in a taunt.

“I wouldn’t call it a score,” Arthur said. “Just a clean game of cards. That’s what you’re there to make sure of anyway.”

“Is it?” Your smile widened, a wicked-looking thing. “And here I thought I was to play wife so you keep your head.”

“Wife? Is that what Hosea told you?”

You snorted a laugh. “At least act like you know how to relation a woman.”

He felt his face heat, his embarrassment turning to anger. “I ain’t concerned with that,” he spat. “I’m concerned you’ll give us away.”

That wiped your smile away. “I can act the part just fine. It’s you that seems to have a problem with it.”

“Only because I know how you are. You can’t stand me being around you, so how the hell are we supposed to play married?”

“What did you think I was going to do, stand there and look pretty? Why would I be needed if that was the case?” That was a good point. He didn’t quite know what he had expected you to be doing. And before he could think of what to say to this, you interrupted with another snide smile. “Look sharp. I’ll be ready at seven, dear husband.”

He went red again, annoyed at himself over it. He was going to have to make a better show of this if it was going to be remotely believable.

Night eventually fell, and seven came sooner than Arthur was prepared for. How to act married to someone who only ever fought him at every turn? He was starting to think Hosea had done this on purpose just to distract him from poker, for he could act as sweet on you as was needed, but he had a feeling all it would do was annoy you. Dressed and heading for the horses, he wondered if the pair of you could even last an hour doing this. Ten minutes, even. It looked hopeless as it stood.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice,” said a voice at his back. He turned to see you wearing a dress that made him double take. You usually wore pants, the occasional dress here or there. This was neither. His gaze hung on the curves of it, how it hugged your body. Nothing like he had ever seen you in. “What do you think?” you said, turning so the deep red skirts spun back and forth.

“It uh…suits you.”

You stopping spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, give it a rest, will you?” he said, grinning. Your face gave way to the same.

Arthur made sure all was in order with the horses and wagon, and the pair of you were soon atop it, riding out of Horseshoe Overlook. You discussed a bit of strategy on the way, namely your backstory to be sure you were on the same page. The town of Valentine soon came into view, more crowded than usual, most people walking toward the saloon on the main road. Finding a good spot to park the wagon, Arthur brought it to a stop. He was a little nervous if he was being honest with himself. A good score he could handle, a long night of poker too, but he never was very good at acting a part. And yet, he found himself doing it time and again, Hosea always finding a way to swindle him into it. The only thing that kept him from thinking the night would be a total disaster was the town knowing his face after his fight with that big brute in the saloon. That tended to keep most people from asking too many questions.

After helping you down, letting you take his arm as you walked, Arthur noticed nearly everyone he passed turning their heads. He wasn’t sure if it was due to his bare-knuckle reputation or you on his arm. What a sight the pair of you likely made, him a trussed-up fool stuffed into somewhat decent clothing for once, you looking like something out of a storybook. In fact, the more he walked, the more he was sure it was both things turning heads—folk wondering how a man rough as him had ever won something with such refined grace. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him.

Stepping into the saloon, Arthur knew Hosea had planned this perfectly. For those who immediately took notice of him cleared out of the way, some whispering behind hands, a few muttering outright what state he had left Tommy in. It grated on his nerves a little, but it had the effect he was hoping for. When he stepped up to one of the tables now converted to a poker table in the back of the room, a seat was immediately offered to him.

“Here, sir,” a scrawny-looking man said, having trouble meeting his eye. The others already seated at the table glared at the man, like they wished he had offered the chair to anyone else. But Arthur sat, remembering his manners, letting you step behind him as another woman with her husband did across the table.

They all eyed him, the man to his left finding the courage to confront him. “You the man left Tommy in a right state?”

“Hey, he started it. And it ain’t no cause for worry besides. I can play nice.” He leaned in close to the man and said lowly, “Or my wife’ll have my head.”

This seemed to calm him some, but Arthur knew it would take convincing for these men to trust he wouldn’t beat them half to death over a bad hand.

Hosea was right again thinking having a woman with him would help. And you did well, not drawing too much attention to yourself but keeping a pleasant air about the table. When the game started and a few rounds came and went, he was surprised to feel your hands sliding over his shoulders, to hear your whispering voice in his ear. “He’s bluffing.”

Arthur kept his surprise at bay, daring a look at the only other man who hadn’t folded. He wanted to ask how you knew but couldn’t give himself away, so he took a chance and made a bigger bet. Cards were laid out, and it paid off. He won.

He turned to where you still hovered by his ear and muttered, “Thanks, darlin’.” You gave his shoulders a small squeeze, and Arthur felt his heart give a happy kick in return. He ignored it, knowing this was all for show and reminding his heartbeat of the same.

You didn’t pitch in often, but what little advice you had was always spot on, and Arthur’s pile of chips was soon building high. Lucky Hosea had thought to bring you in, really. He was only ever average at best playing poker, bets too big and bluffs too noticeable. He soon realized that was the flaw in his strategy—he played for himself when he should have been watching the other men at the table like you were. When two men busted out, leaving three others and Arthur, he started leaning into you for advice every hand, losing very few when he did.

“Hey, you play your own game or sit her at the table,” one of the men said bitterly, his pile of chips running pitifully low. Arthur only had to shoot him a sharp look to shut him right up.

The night wore on, and Arthur was soon left with only one opponent, the money he had won substantial. The only problem was that he was beginning to lose it, the other man either very good or very lucky. Even your advice wasn’t helping to win, only to keep from losing too much. Finally, when you whispered, “Call it,” Arthur knew you weren’t talking about matching a bet. He wouldn’t have ever thought of leaving the table if you hadn’t been there, would have just kept on playing until he busted. He knew then Hosea had been right in thinking you would help him keep his head.

He hesitated, wanting to win one more hand.

“Arthur,” you warned. But he did it anyway, matching a particularly high bet. You brought your hands away, obviously annoyed, and he hoped like hell the cards would land in his favor for it. The turn proved unhelpful and the river even worse—he didn’t have a thing. “Fold,” you hissed, as his opponent had raised the bet even higher. Arthur debated it. You could obviously read the man well, but how was he to win and get a seat in the next game, the game where all the money was, if he folded now?

He raised the bet and placed his cards face-up. He thought he heard you curse under your breath behind him. The other man smiled and matched the bet, showing his cards—he had a straight.

“Damn it,” Arthur said, slamming his fist on the table enough to make the chips shake. He had just lost twenty dollars. Watching the other man rake in his winnings, avoiding his eye after his small bout of violence, Arthur finally heeded your advice. He stood. “I’m taking my money and my pride while I still got some.”

“Probably for the best, dear,” he heard, your hand finding his arm and giving him a reassuring squeeze. He looked to you and again felt his gaze catch—he was standing close enough now to notice the red on your lips, the slight color high on your cheekbones. You had really leaned into your role, looking the part so well that he found himself unable to tear his eyes away.

“Here’s your money, sir,” said a voice from behind him. He hesitated a moment too long, you raising an eyebrow at the way he stared.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, rounding quickly to cover his blunder. He had still won a fair amount, knowing Hosea would be happy with him and even happier with you for not allowing him to lose it all.

With that, he offered his arm to you again. “Back home then?”

You shot him a smirk and took his arm, pulling him to the bar. “May as well enjoy ourselves a little. Home can wait.”

You were soon making him buy you whiskey with his winnings, eating through a few bucks with ease when he joined you in it. When you asked for yet another shot, it was him raising his eyebrow this time. “You trying to drown out the thought of being married to me?” he asked with a grin.

“The thought of your stubbornness, more like, losing that last hand.” The next glass was set down in front of you and you threw it back without hesitation.

“Yes, I’m a proper fool. But take it easy or you’ll blow our cover.”

You set the glass down, staring at it a moment. “Ain’t so proper for a married woman to be doing this, is it?”

Arthur shrugged. “Maybe. I ain’t quite the right man to ask.”

You laughed lowly. “I guess not.” Then, “Let’s go home, take the long way around. I need some time away.”

His gaze had fallen to your mouth again. Luckily, you didn’t notice, too busy straightening the lapels of his coat. It was an intimate gesture, domestic enough to make his chest hitch at the feeling that ran through him—longing for that life. For someone to care enough to straighten his clothes. The thought of settling down often plagued him, what with all that business with Mary and what he could have given Eliza and Isaac. But it hadn’t worked before and it wouldn’t work now, and your hands were soon falling away, and the moment was gone before it even began. Nothing but a facade, like looking in on someone else’s life through the outside window, never his to grasp.

Realizing he was still staring at your mouth through his moment of longing, he met your eyes and turned away just as fast, knowing he had shown you a part of himself he hadn’t meant to by the way you stared just as frankly.

“Come on then,” he mumbled, letting you loop your arm through his and leading you out.

Thankfully, you were silent for the walk back to the wagon. He helped you up, his hands on your hips making him feel something he didn’t know how to feel. Not now. It was only when he was back on the wagon pulling the horses into the street that you spoke, bringing him out of his reverie.

“I think I did okay, don’t you? Gonna put in a good word for me with Hosea?”

There it was—the truth that it had all been a ruse to you. That what he had felt when he was so near you didn’t hold weight, didn’t matter.

“Sure,” he said, trying hard to keep his feelings out of his voice. Then, to get back to something resembling normal with you, “And where’s all this compliance been the whole time? Here I thought you couldn’t go two minutes without an argument.”

“Oh, hush. Just be glad I chose not to. Some wives argue just as much with their husbands as I do with you, you know.”

He felt one side of his mouth tug upward at the comparison. “I guess so. Just seems you’re going against your nature, not running your mouth at me.”

“Trust me, there were plenty of times I wanted to,” you shot back. “Who knew you were such shit at cards?”

He turned to argue, but you were smiling so devilishly at him that he knew better than to reply. He instead settled in his seat, keeping the horses pointed toward the path out of town, dead silent.

“Oh, real mature,” you teased, giving him a small shove. “Admit it, Arthur. You love arguing just as much as I do.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t wrong so often.” You hit him this time. “It’s true,” he said on a laugh. “You’re too stubborn to accept that I’m right more often than not.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” He was grinning now, especially when he saw how worked up you were getting.

You turned away, making a point to cross your arms and turn your nose up.

“Now who’s mature?” he asked, poking you in the side. You jerked away and swatted at him, smiling despite yourself.

“You- big- annoying- bastard,” you said between swats.

“You know you love me.” He said the words before he could think to stop himself.

Hoping this hadn’t come on as too strong, he peeked at you to gauge your reaction. You were turned around again, arms crossed once more. Thank the lord. That is, until you mumbled, “I do, and it makes me hate you even more.”

Arthur’s heart started racing. Surely he hadn’t heard that right. “What was that?” he asked, playful but careful.

“You heard me,” you snapped, still turned away.

“Sorry, I didn’t.”

You spun on the wagon seat with enough force to send the thing rocking. “I said I do like you, but it makes me so mad that I do because of that stupid, smug look on your face.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“Excuse me?”

Arthur’s grin was wide, his heart still kicking a wild pace as he taunted, “You said you love me.”

To his shock, you blushed so deep he could see it in the moonlight. Then, sputtering, “I don’t- I didn’t-”

“Oh yes you did.”

You threw your hands up in defeat. “You’re impossible!” And he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, nor the feeling that bloomed in his chest when you turned silent again, never denying it.

The pair of you remained in silence as he took the long way like you suggested, down by the river. You were still fuming, refusing to look at him as he took in the nighttime scenery. It was pleasant and peaceful, but he couldn’t stop stealing glances at you. He suddenly wanted to know your innermost thoughts with a desperation that ate at him. He was consumed by the thought of you feeling anything remotely friendly toward him, much less anything that made you blush like that. He had never seen that out of you. And he started going over every interaction between you in his head, wondering if there was something he had missed. Maybe you had been seeking out his company on purpose, doing chores you knew would draw his attention. Maybe that constant challenge in your eye wasn’t what drew him but something much, much deeper, and he had been too much of a fool to see it.

“Fine night,” he said, breaking the silence. A pointless thing to say, really, but his thoughts were driving him insane. He needed something to cling onto besides the thought of you.

You gave a high, “Hm,” with nose still upturned.

He snickered. “You still mad then? Over me winning an argument?”

“You didn’t win-” You turned to him and saw the smile lighting his face. “Oh, for god’s sake.”

“What?” he pushed.

“You!”

“What about me?”

You huffed out a breath in annoyance. “You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. I won’t fall for it.”

“I ain’t trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Yes you are! It’s all you ever do, following me around camp all day, treating me like a wisp of a thing.”

“That’s not why I-”

“Really?” you interrupted. “Tell me then, why do you do it? Why treat me like I can’t do anything myself?”

The answer to that had just occurred to him, and it most certainly wasn’t something he was willing to speak aloud just yet. He hesitated.

“See?” you said. “Even you know deep down, that’s what you’re doing.”

“No it ain’t.”

“Then what?” You rounded on him, your usual temper taking hold. Only, he didn’t know what to say now that wouldn’t give him away.

He cleared his throat. “I just want to help. You’re new is all.”

“See, that’s what you’re always claiming. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“Why?” he said, trying desperately to cover up what he really felt.

“Because of the way you look at me when you walk up all smug, like you think it’s so damn funny I’m trying to do whatever it is I’m doing.”

“That’s not what-” He stopped himself. This was getting dangerously close to what he didn’t want to admit.

His sudden silence drew your attention. And, your voice changing to that of amused curiosity, “What is it, Arthur?”

“Ain’t nothing,” he mumbled, giving the reins a switch. He needed to be back in camp, out from under this conversation. The sooner the better.

“Tell me,” you insisted.

He shook his head. “What part of ‘ain’t nothing’ don’t you understand?”

He dared a glance at you. Your smile was feline. “Why’s your face all red then?”

Shit. He didn’t realize—didn’t have his hat to hide behind.

“Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he muttered.

“Big, tough Arthur, all flustered.”

“Shut up,” he said, and with a laugh, you nudged against his shoulder with your own. But to his amazement, you dropped it, not saying another word.

Quickly taking you up on the respite, he changed the subject. “How’d you like your first outing then? As a Van der Linde?”

“It was fun,” you admitted. “Glad to get to play cards and get under your skin all at once.” He felt his face heat this time, remembering how you had caught him staring back in the saloon. Twice.

“Of course you are,” he muttered.

Going on about some of the hands he’d gotten in poker, you carried the conversation. He was glad for it. He couldn’t very well focus when his thoughts were on your mouth again.

Finally, thankfully, the path back to camp gave way to the familiar woods hiding the overlook. Arthur was moments away from escaping you, being able to breathe again and get his mind right, when you placed a hand on his chest.

“Stop here.”

Confused, he hesitated a moment then pulled up short, the horses stopping obediently. He looked down at you, wondering why you’d asked such a thing. You seemed…nervous. It made Arthur’s heart race, and he was wholly glad you had just taken your hand away from his chest lest you feel it pounding beneath your fingers.

“I…” you started, not meeting his eye. “I wanted to ask…”

You hesitated so long he spoke. “What is it?”

You shook your head and let out a small laugh. “I may be completely mistaken but…” Each word was slow, pulled apart like you were forcing yourself to utter them. You looked at him then, open and honest for the first time, entirely too close to him. “Back in the saloon. You’re either damn good at playing husband or…”

Arthur knew where this was going. He felt his heart pick up its pace more still.

“Or that look you gave me meant what I think it did,” you finished, staring at him. Your breathing had quickened. So had his. He debated whether to admit what he felt or not. He wanted to. Christ, did he want to. But he didn’t know how it would be received.

He took the look you were giving him now to mean the same as his in the saloon had and responded lowly, “And if it did?”

You stared, your eyes flicking back and forth between his. He was holding his breath now, his heart thundering. He thought of kissing you but didn’t, wanting to know how you felt. So he sat there silently until, finally, in a voice so quiet he could barely hear the words, “Then I’d say we’re both stubborn fools.”

Your gaze landed on his mouth. And, doing what he had wanted to do for longer than he cared to admit, Arthur leaned over and kissed you.

All thought of you not wanting him like this melted away the second your lips met—you were gentle yet sure against him. Perfect. Everything he had dreamed. His mind went blank a moment before he remembered himself and his manners. Though it took everything in him to do it, he pulled away.

He watched a small smile light your face before you looked down at your hands, nervous once more. It was a strange-looking thing on you—he only ever knew smugness or stubbornness aimed at him. Not this. He certainly hadn’t expected this.

“That…what you want?” he asked quietly, like any louder would shatter the moment.

You nodded. “Wanted it for a while. I thought it was pity keeping you around though, not this. Then I saw how you looked at me tonight and figured I had to try.”

His chest felt like it would cave in at the thought of you believing he only sought you out for pity. And the timid look on your face now, the nerves he could see plain as day…he couldn’t have that. He placed his hand under you chin and lifted your face to look at him.

“Sweetheart, it weren’t pity. It weren’t ever pity.” You gave him a smile so genuine it made the side of his own mouth tug upward in return. “Just took me too long to admit it to myself.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, unable to resist. Slower this time, reveling in the fact that you felt this way toward him.

You pulled away after a moment, that usual spark back in your eye. “So it was your stubbornness keeping this from happening?”

He smirked. “You said it yourself, we were both stubborn fools. Blind idiots.”

“You calling me an idiot?”

His kissed the grin right off your mouth before pulling away, taking the reins back in both hands, urging the horses forward again.

“Now I know how to shut you up.”

You swatted him and laughed, the sound a pretty thing in the night. “Maybe I’ll argue more often then, see what it gets me.”

Arthur felt the heat cross his face but chuckled anyway, happy like he hadn’t been in a long time.

The pair of you got back and parted ways with knowing looks and matching grins. When Arthur was almost back to his tent, Hosea called over to him.

“How’d it go?”

After what had just happened, Arthur had clean forgotten about the poker game.

“It uh, went well. Got enough money to make it all worth it.”

“And Y/N?”

Arthur looked over at you where you had sat with the other girls, talking animatedly, no doubt describing his poor poker skills. He tried his best to keep the smile off his face. To no avail.

“She’ll fit in just fine. Kept me in line, at least.”

“That’s saying something,” Hosea said. And when Arthur met his eye, the gleam in them, he wondered for the first time whether Hosea had recognized something that made him send the pair of you off together in the first place, playing married. Arthur shook his head in amused disbelief, making for his wagon. The damn conniving sneak.

_________

Part two is here.

[a-s-levynn]

I'm terrified to post this. So watch me sprinting away into the distance after dropping this.

Open love letter to -in extension to the wider ST community on tumblr, but especially- to the fellowship of Sleep because without you, life would be much more lonely

My Friends,

It was today when it finally dawned on me that you gave me the most undescribably precious gift. Many of you probably going to relate to this to some degree because i am not unique in any sense but i had to get this out. And by just the sheer lenght probably not many of you will read it. But i still need to put this out there, even if i'm being obnoxious and probably sound overdramatic and maybe even cringy.

I struggle with a lot of things. Anxiety, self doubt, depression, paranoia, self destructive tendencies, self isolation and the list goes on to even darker places. All in all i have a suboptimal mental state to put it lightly. I feel inadequate in many ways. Especially with connecting to people.

To this day, i struggle every day, seeing my friends, you, talk on a daily basis, have inside jokes and wonderful conversations and whatnot and either i like it or not, thoughts intrude: "am i doing enough? Am i a good enough of a friend? Do i really have a place among these wonderful bright souls? Am i intruding? Am i inserting myself into spaces i do not have any right to be? Am i forcing myself into your circles?"

For the longest time, on most days the conclusion was no. I do not belong. You were just being nice to the pathetic little creature in the corner because by nature you are simply kind. But as the weeks went by i learned that you are also awkward people with your own stuggles and hardships which are far harder and more painful than mine. That you are choosing to be kind every day, in spite of what life threw at you. Because you know.

I started to see you also crave a particular type of companionship and you reach out with the same trembling hands, hoping that someone sees it and grabs it. That someone finally says: you are not alone. I am here. For you. With you.

And you did. You've seen a bunch of hands fumbling in the dark, desperate to hold onto something and went: yeah.. i think i'll grab all of them. Because we are coming from the same darkness. And if i can help pull you into the light than you might have the strenght to do the same for me, so we can all sit in the warmth of the fire. The fire we built together. A fire that is growing ever brighter and allowes us to see even more hands on the edges to be pulled and invited into the circle.

So we have. For a while sitting almost silently, showing the things we found along the way. Tentatively feeling out the boundries. Than we broke the silence. You even started to call me your friend at some point. I already considered you mine because i'm painfully lonely and just the gesture, that you included me among the hands you grabbed was enough for me to see you mine. But all in all, for some unknowable reason, we became friends.

The weeks turned into months and i felt a bit more comfortable to approach you on my own clumsy and awkward ways. Many of you know by now that Tiny Token was born because i was too afraid to send a happy birthday ask to someone. I still apologize regularly just for adding thoughts to posts even if i only do it in tags. I am afraid. Of so many thing.

We still don't talk daily. Yet we still call each other friend. We have actual plans now. I still stuggle with the though of not being enough. There are still days when i feel you just feeling pity towards me.

But lately there is an other thought there. Which makes me feel bad for thinking that way. A thought that's never been there before. "If i was truly bothersome or annoying or any way too unpleasent, you could simply walk away. This is the internet after all. You could just block me. You have the option to walk away but you are time and time again choosing not to. No matter how many days pass by with us not talking, you are there. I can count on you. I'm still hesitant to reach out and dump my superficial adversities on you. But i also see you keeping the door ajar, leaving the option there to be approached if anyone needs it. So it would be not just a disservice but an outright insult to you if i'd think you are just acting out of pity. But if you like me than.. there has to be something about me to actually to be worth knowing?"

And that is doing something that ten years worth of failed therapy could not. You made me question my self doubt. It is still there and will be for the rest of my life. But now there is a steady counter balance i never had this solidly in my life ever before.

I'm still afraid to ask even if anyone would be up for a talk, let alone a call because i have little to offer in conversations. I don't talk much by default and that is not a good base for conversations. I'm still terrified of overstaying my welcome. But i also know now that you probably wouldn't mind from time to time. Because you understand. Maybe one day i will get there. I don't know when but there is a hope i never truly had before.

This is something i will never be able to repay you. Thank you for understanding that we all have different levels of anxiety and fear and not holding it against one and other. I'm writing this to you with immens love and eternal gratitude i cannot truly express in any way that does it justice: Thank you for showing me hope. Thank you for being the way you are.

You gave me the biggest gift there is to give.

You gave me your friendship.

I love you.

Yours in friendship,

Levynn

[seeingstarks]

on the level of the devil

summary : maxwell / mjf finds a way to deal with his brat s/o after his double or nothing match pairing : mjf x afab!brat reader cw : teasing, chin grabbing, cmjf mention if you squint, general bratting, talk-back, choking, dom/sub dynamic, daddy/babygirl, punishments, blowjob, ball massaging, general filth. a/n : this is my first fic since dec 2022, writers block truly hit me hard & so did irl things but i'm v happy to share this with everyone and that i actually had the inspo to write for once!! as always reblogs are v much appreciated! <3 there may be a few spelling/punctuation errors. word count : 1,090 words tag list : @josiewrites , @omg-im-such-a-masochist , @baysexuality , ( for the guy you love, hate )

being one of mjf's so called ring girls came with it's benefits, no one would be able to tell you apart from the rest except for the devil himself.

your h/c hair tucked gently behind your ears with e/c eyes as you peaked out from behind the lilith mask, a pit of jealousy forming in your stomach when watching the other women reach toward maxwell as his entrance music hit.

you wanted to be his one and only girl but max was always extra. you reached your hand up further than you were supposed to, a hand lightly brushing up against his crotch.

a growl falling past his lips that only you were able to hear, almost as a small warning but you continued your actions briefly until max left your presence.

once retaining, he didn't take much time to grab you by the hand and pull you back toward his locker room. he was covered in blood and sweat from head to toe but didn't care in the slightest, he wasn't going to take that kind of teasing from you especially before one of his biggest matches.

hearing the locks click on the door, knowing you were in for it. especially since he put the devil mask back on and hadn't spoken a word since the two of you reached his locker room.

with a thick gulp, you stared up at his tall stature, towering over you. "not so brave now that we're all alone, hm?" he taunted and lifted his hand up, holding your chin. you were barely able to see his dark hues through the mask but they were ones full of lust and desire.

"m-max... y'know how i get jealous when you're around other girls. don't like their hands all over you." you admitted, attempting to look away but he kept your chin in place keeping a firm grip.

maxwell laughed and you didn't know whether or not you wanted to punch the man, kiss him, or both.

however, he didn't utter a single word. for someone so talkative on the mic he was rather quiet at the moment, his hand leaving your chin briefly while he removed the mask. a whine slipping past your lips at the loss of his warm touch.

"look at you... so needy to touch daddy earlier and now whining all from one simple chin grab? pathetic." you knew he could be rather arrogant at times after a big match but even this was pushing it. so why not meet fire with fire?

"what's pathetic is how anyone backstage could have me screaming their name except for you, maybe i should give phil a call - surely you would know. dunno' how you could even call that thing between your legs a dick." you stared at him with a smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

you watched as his dark hues flickered between lust and what seemed to be anger, slowly you pushed the man toward the edge and he was swift to act on it.

backing you up against the wall, maxwell spread your legs open. absentmindely, you opened them wider just as he taught you to many times before.

he reached his hand up, wrapping it around your throat and applying pressure to choke you just enough where you were still able to breathe.

"gonna say that to me again, doll? not'so brave now when daddy has himself pressed up against you-" his voice lowered and he leaned in toward your ear with a soft whisper, "here i was hoping you'd be a good girl so i didn't have to punish you..."

with the added pressure of him choking you and his hard on pressed up against your core, various moans and whimpers escaped your mouth. "daddy - promise you i'll be good." you glanced up at him with wide eyes, putting on a pout.

the man simply tsked and waved his finger, "you're not going to get off that easily, doll. daddy needs to teach you a lesson. no talking back. got it?" you simply nodded as he released his grip from your throat, you let out a much needed gasp of air.

"you're not on the level of the devil." tilting your head, simply confused as the man mimicked one of his promos. maxwell pointed toward the floor as you lowered yourself on your knees and looked up at him with hooded eyes.

"good girl, someone's finally listening. get to work beautiful and then maybe daddy will let you ride him on the throne later."

once your knees hit the floor, you swiftly removed his pants and burberry boxers. you never got used to seeing his massive size pressing up against the man's stomach.

after taking a deep breath, you placed your mouth on his tip, twirling your tongue in circles while sucking and making the perfect shaped "o". small groans fell past his lips as you licked the man as if he were your last meal or even a lollipop.

going deeper on his length, you began to bob your head slightly while taking his balls in your hands and massaging them at the same time. the noises coming out of his mouth were unknown to human.

he grasped the back of your nape, pulling at the ends of your hair which caused you to gag on the rest of his size, the locker room being filled with nothing but unholy noise as maxwell picked up the pace and started to thrust his hips in your mouth.

gagging and choking on his cock, maxwell quite enjoyed the sight under him as he twitched in your mouth feeling close to his release. knowing you had to come up for air at one point or another, you tapped at his thigh and the man simply just smirked. oh no.

momentarily, he thrusted into your mouth a few more times as you massaged his balls and he groaned out as you moaned around his cock, "mff-"

maxwell painted your mouth white, "clean up every last drop, sweetheart. don't want you wasting any."

you swallowed the salty white liquid with a big gulp and stuck your tongue out to show the man, he patted your cheek with a grin, "good girl, but i think you missed some."

he reached over to his dresser and pulled out a mirror showing you your face which was covered in drool and you had some of his cum dripping down your chin.

"such a messy babygirl... ready for round two with the devil?"

[random-mha-thoughts]

Observant (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, College AU

Word Count: 2,562

Summary: In which Shouto moves to the library to study, but it’s more than the quiet atmosphere keeping him coming back.

Tags: @yamichxn @liviitehe @cyanide9602

*Btw it's been a while since I updated my taglist and everyone's usernames I have are from like 2 years ago, so if you wanna be on it shoot me an ask/DM and I'll update it

A/N: Ok maybe I lied and this took longer to write than a week, but it's a lot longer than I thought it would be!

While I liked this idea in theory, once I wrote it I wasn't as big a fan as I thought. *sigh* The life of a writer... Always hating what you put out...

I hope you guys like it, it's more in Shouto's POV than the reader's which is different for me. I think it's pretty cute, and that's what matters.

-----

Shouto needed a change.  Studying inside an empty classroom or in his dorm room alone wasn’t productive anymore; more often than not, he’s started spacing out or having to reread entire pages of his notes.  It also didn’t necessarily help that his roommate this year caused so much of a ruckus every day - the roommate tended to have loud company over frequently, or he would stumble into the room in the wee hours of the night when Shouto was still studying - that Shouto's normally abundant patience had run out and he didn't want to sour their relationship by confronting him (Also read: he had no more fucks to give and it was getting on his last nerve).

Finding a replacement study space was the best decision he’d ever made.

Izuku took him to one of the school library’s quiet floors, the place he tends to study after class.  The floor looked cozy; among the endless rows of library books, there were rows of desks pushed against a wall covered in windows.  A wider clearing in the middle of the entire floor had a few larger tables to seat about six to eight students.  On the other side of the rows of desks were locked rooms that groups can request to reserve for a few hours.

Izuku couldn’t stand the typical absolute quiet on this floor, so he tended to reserve one of the rooms with a classmate after a long day of classes; the extra privacy was an added bonus.  Iida couldn’t make it, so the freckled fellow was grateful to Shouto for tagging along.  The duo settled into a room with concrete white walls and a simple table, a large plane of plexiglass the only view into the rest of the library.

Shouto didn’t care about the room almost feeling like a prison; there was enough natural lighting from a double window, it was minimalistic, and he was in the presence of a friend if he needed someone to talk to when he took small breaks.  He figured even if Izuku didn’t come with him every day, he could sit at one of the desks in the middle of the room with his earbuds in for a few hours.  A completely focused section of the library with no distractions, just what he wanted.

Until some movement caught the corner of his eye through the plexiglass and made him do a double-take.

A girl with hair reaching past her shoulder blades approaches one of the nearby bookshelves, the white sleeves of her shirt folded up to her elbows and a burgundy skirt sitting just above her knees.  The outfit alone earned a small glance from him, but what made him stare curiously was her actions.  She moved a few heavy tomes aside, revealing a much smaller one hidden behind them.  She plucked it from its place, opened up to a bookmarked page, and proceeded to twist the “bookmark” into her hair, making a neat bun near her nape, before walking away.

Shouto couldn’t help gawking at her receding figure.  She not only hid a book in a secret hiding spot, but she used her hair stick - or fork, or pin, he was too far to tell exactly what it was - as a bookmark when she was done reading for the day.  He’s heard of Fuyumi using everything but an actual bookmark to hold her place, but he’s never actually seen another person with such a habit.  It made sense, one would want to pin their long hair out of their face to read - Fuyumi says she keeps her hair on the short side because long hair is a hassle to control - and Shouto acknowledges how clever she is.  But then how does she spend the rest of her day with her hair down?  Doesn’t it get it in the way the rest of the day?  Going outside with the wind kicking around?  Eating with her hair all over the place?  Catching it on her backpack or her jacket?  Maybe he was getting ahead of himself and this was a one-time thing, she just happened to not have a bookmark and the only thing on hand was her accessory and something was better than simply folding the page down.

Shouto realized he’d spent a whole 5 minutes ruminating about this mysterious girl and her hair and her reading habits.  He’d just found a new distraction, and he wasn’t mad at it.

After a few hours of homework and studying with Izuku in the locked room, Shouto noticed the girl walking slowly back to the same bookshelf, nose buried in the pages, bun still in place.  The boy silently chuckled to himself as she stood completely still for a few beats, he figured she was just finishing up a chapter.

He suddenly stops short and his eyes widen.

In one swift motion, she pulled the stick from her bun and, as if in slow motion, the silky strands were freed, falling past her shoulders as she shook it out.  It was more satisfying seeing it all fall down after she meticulously pinned it up.  And of course, it just looked pretty.

In doing so, her glance catches him from her periphery.  His heart stopped as he quickly turned back to his laptop screen, already holding his breath.  He’s not a creep, he told himself as his face heats up, his mind was just bored and his eyes wandered and he just so happened to catch activity happening.  Simple.  It’s not like he wanted to see her do it again.

Izuku stretches his arms over his head.  “Yikes, I didn’t notice how late it was.  Wanna break for the night and come back tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

~*~

Shouto has come to expect the usual schedule of events: He would settle into the study room with his study partner and unpack as he waits for the girl to come retrieve her book.  He would watch as she’d expertly weave the stick in her hair, give a cute little head shake to make sure it was strong enough to hold, and then disappear into the library to read her book.  A few hours into his work, he’d wait for her to come back to her book hiding spot.  The most satisfying part of his day would be watching her pull the stick out of her hair and letting that cascade of silky hair fall past her shoulders.  He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of that.  On his way out one day, he snuck a peek at what book she was reading and inspected her hair stick.  It was a simple enough design, thin and gold colored with a leaf pattern at the very end of it.

Sure, it sounds creepy to an outsider.  But he’s not a stalker, he’s just a creature of habit.

Or, that’s what he tried to tell himself whenever he would accidentally meet her eyes and have to turn his head quickly.  Which has happened more times than he’d like to admit in a 3 week span.

“What’s IcyHot looking at so intently?”  Katsuki’s gruff voice alerts Shouto out of his trance one afternoon as he waits for the mystery girl to appear at the end of the day as usual.  “You’ve been looking over there all day.”

Shouto tears his eyes away from the bookshelf, clearing his throat and staring at his screen.  “Nothing, I thought I saw something.”

Katsuki and Izuku’s eyes darted to where Shouto was looking to find the girl retrieving her book as usual.  A smug look spreads across the blond’s face as he leans back in his chair.  “Ohh, I see.  You’re watching the pretty girl.”

Shouto clamps his mouth shut, not wanting to give the boy the satisfaction of being right.

“You like her, right?”

“No!”  Damnit.  “She just happens to be here every day too.”  He can’t stop the heat rising to his cheeks.

“Well she’s coming over here, be ready.”

As soon as Shouto’s heart lurches, there’s a soft knock at the door.  Shouto glances around to Izuku and then Katsuki, who’s smirking.  “Go on, answer it.  She’s not looking for us.”

Shouto wants nothing more than to punch his smug face, but he hurries over to the room door to open it.  He stiffens up when he sees the girl standing right in front of him.

Up close, she has a slightly rounded face, her black-framed glasses framing cat eyes and long eyelashes.  Her mouth was slightly agape for a split second before stiffly closing it to compose herself and stand up straighter.  “Um, hi.  I hope I’m not bothering you.”

Shouto closes the door behind him.  “No, not at all.”  He shoves a hand in his pocket to try looking casual while his heart flutters at being close enough to someone he’s been watching from a distance.

“I actually wanted to ask you a favor.”  She pushes her glasses up on her face nervously.  “Do you mind hiding this somewhere in your study room?”  She’s clutching her book to her chest, the dark cover contrasting against her white sweater.

Shouto’s eyes couldn’t help taking a quick glance down; the dark book cover contrasts against her white sweater tucked into her black plaid mini skirt ending just above her knees, the rest of her legs covered by sheer black tights and ending in a pair of black boots with a low heel.

“I usually hide it behind one of the sections of books no one reads,” she continues, pivoting a bit to point, letting Shouto glance down quickly to the black plaid mini skirt, sheer tights, and black heeled boots before she turns back around.  “But I figured someone might move it one day.  And I just happen to notice that you’re in this room every day at the same time, I can count on it being in the same place…”  She tucks a hair behind her ear and Shouto nearly melts at the way her voice trails off sheepishly.

Shouto reaches out to take the book she’s offering to him.  “Yeah, I’ll keep it here in the room.  It should be locked overnight.”

She clasps her hands in front of her and smiles at him.  “Thank you!  I’ll come back to get it tomorrow, promise.”

Shouto dazedly smiles back at her.  “Sure…  See you tomorrow, then.”

She gives him a little bow and walks away from him, letting him get a whiff of her fruity-floral perfume.  He stands there a moment to watch her, containing his excitement before collecting himself and ducking back into the room.  He realized his palms were sweaty when he sat back down and wanted to study the book cover.

He feels eyes on him, only to meet Katsuki’s shit-eating grin and Izuku’s eager smile.

The blond is the first to break the silence.  “Well?  What did she want?”

Shouto plays back the conversation in his head.  “She gave me her book to keep in the room overnight.”  She happens to notice me here… Shouto thinks, Every day…  Just like I notice her here every day…  “She must think I’m a stalker or something,” he mumbles.

“Oh my god.”  Katsuki facepalms.  “It means she likes you, you idiot!  She just wanted an excuse to talk to you!”

The clueless boy blinks, causing the blonde to groan.  “Why else would she come up to you specifically and not Deku?”

Izuku gives his childhood friend a hard look.  “I agree with Kacchan, she looked shy to talk to you.  Maybe you should do something nice for her and ask her out?”

When the pieces finally click in place, Shouto’s face turns brighter red than his hair at the prospect of the girl possibly being interested in him too.

“IcyHot’s got such a huge crush!” Katsuki guffaws, hitting the table.

~*~

“Thanks for taking care of my book again,” the girl smiles.

Shouto’s already racing heart squeezes as their fingers just barely brush during the exchange, rubbing the back of his neck.  It’s a regular occurrence, but the gesture never fails to fluster him.  “N-No problem.  I know it’s important to you.”  He coughs.  “I actually read a little bit of it this time.”  He thinks she stiffens up for a moment.  “I apologize if I was intruding!” he says quickly.

“N-No, it’s fine!”  She clutches the book to her chest tightly with both hands, managing a nervous chuckle.  “How far did you get?”

“Just the first three chapters, I didn’t get too far.”  Her nervous behavior makes Shouto sweat.  Did he cross a line?  She must think he’s indecent now if she didn’t before.

“Oh.”  She visibly relaxes.  “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d look.  I thought it looked too…girly for you to be interested.”

“I figured you’re reading it so intensely, it must be good.  I was just curious, I’m sorry.”  He feels his face heat up in shame again.  He keeps glancing at the book, not knowing if he should find some way to take it back from her or not; only adrenaline had let him go through with his plan.

The girl realizes the book feels thicker in her hands, the split created by her bookmark now a small hole.  Her fingers reach inside and open up to that page, eyes widening.

She plucks out a thin golden stick with a burgundy flower at the head, a matching chain tassel with a gem at the end hanging off of it.  “What’s this?”

The boy’s throat is parched and his heartbeat almost deafens him.  “I know how much you like using these sticks to tie up your hair, and you tend to wear reds and burgundy a lot.  I wanted to give you a nicer looking one that matches.”

Shouto almost wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole when she stares up at him wordlessly.  The girl finally smiles warmly.  “It’s really pretty, thank you, I love it!”

The boy lets out a held breath, the cold fear slightly leaving him.  “Oh good, I’m glad.”

She hands him the book to hold as she wraps her hair up and places the stick in the bun.  Shouto’s chest fills with pride as she turns her head to show him.  “How does it look?”

“Stunning,” he blurts out and his eyes immediately widen at his unintentional candor, earning a giggle out of her.  He hangs onto the wondrous sound and the way her warm eyes bore into him.  “Would you grab dinner with me later?”

She slightly tilts her head at him with a smile, sending more warmth through him.  “I’d love to.”

Shouto smiles back, his whole body relaxing and his heart full.  “Great!  See you later, then.”

The girl reaches both her hands to gently retrieve her book, allowing more contact to linger between them as she shyly keeps their eyes locked.  “See you then.”

As she walks away, the burgundy tassel swaying side to side, Shouto leans back against the door for a moment and smiles to himself.  He feels lighter now, looking forward to his date.  As he turns to go back inside the room, he briefly wonders if he should learn how to use one of those hair sticks; maybe he’ll get the chance to weave his fingers through her silky hair and place it himself.  He’ll get the chance to pull it out, eventually.

[littlesoot]

stargaze - cg!klepto!wilbur x little!reader

note; klepto!wilbur has been on my mind for days !! i luv him sooo much and just had to write this :p

tags; @koithelittle , @eyluvu , @wilburstamagotchi ask or dm to be added!

⤷ gn!little + ghost!little, comfort/fluff, very brief mention of passing

you woke up in a groggy state, laying on a random bench in the local park. you didn’t know how or why you ended up there, but you did notice one thing; a new locket around your neck.

your hand clutched the small locked quickly, finding something to try and keep you distracted from being in an unfamiliar place. you had only ever visited the park with a cg, never alone.

“hello?” a sudden voice startled you, looking around in a frightened state to try and find the source of it. a taller figure slowly approached you, kneeling down in front of you and removed their hood.

“you okay there, little one?” the man’s voice was soft, stretching a hand out for you to take, a light smile forming on his face. “you can trust me.. i’m here to help.”

you always knew never talk to strangers and never to just go with them, but something about him was different. you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, simply wearing a skeptical expression as you stared down at his hand.

“let me introduce myself, okay? i’m wilbur.” he moved to sit next to you, making sure to keep some distance so you could warm up to him. “i’ve met many people like you. this is all so.. confusing, i know.” he lightly chuckled, watching as you smiled slightly and looked up at him.

“i’m.. y/n.” your voice was quiet and hesitant, but it was still enough for his smile to grow wider. “i love your name. it’s one of a kind around here, isn’t it?” he gently tapped your nose, earning a giggle from you.

“you wanna go for a walk? the playground is a bit dirty right now.. someone needs to clean it up for the little ones.” he reached a hand out to you again, watching as your own wrapped around two of his fingers. “off we go?”

of course, he knew what he had to do. it always upset wilbur whenever a lost soul was stuck in a little mindset, he never knew how to properly explain to them what happened and why they were there. but something about you made him wanna keep you around.

by the time he had reached your destination, he quickly covered your eyes. “don’t look, okay? i gotta clean up something.” he gestured for you to turn around, which you did, covering your eyes as you listened to the shuffling of feet atop of leaves, and him lifting something.

“you can look now.” you quickly did so, turning around to see a small run down shed, a spot where the leaves looked smushed, and him awkwardly standing in front of a well. “so.. you wanna help me decorate it? could make it your little hang out.” he lightly tapped the side of the shed, watching as your eyes lit up at the idea.

thankfully wilbur had a few things in him, mostly just his coat you could use as a blanket for now, and a keychain you could play with. he sat you down on a barrel inside the shed, using an old broken broom he found to sweep out the insides.

“how does fairy lights sound? little book cubby and stuffed animal bin maybe? if i clean up that window sill, i could maybe turn it into a nap spot.” he was mostly speaking to himself, but would glance over at you to see if you approved of his ideas. “and maybe.. when you’re big again, i can explain what’s going on. yeah?” you nodded at his words, not fully understanding what he was talking about but.. you’d understand at some point.

“it’s getting late. you can see the stars outside.” he sighed and shut the shed door, pulling the small string that attached to a faulty light. “you wanna stargaze before bed?” you nodded eagerly, hopping up into the dusty window sill, your hands pressed against the window as you looked up at the sky.

wilbur could feel himself smiling more, walking up behind you and gently wrapped his arms around you in a hug, his chin on your shoulder. “want me to stay?” he whispered to you, earning a smile and light head pat from you, which he took as a yes.

“alright.. i’ll stay. just don’t cause me too much trouble.” he chuckled lightly, before kissing your head and turned his attention to the sky, watching as you pointed out different constellations and shapes in the stars.

[generic-wattpad-badboy]

Stefan Salvatore X Male Reader

Reader’s first time having sex, so stefan fully walks him through it and asks for his consent etc

Wanting

Pairing : Sefan Salvatore x Male Reader

Tags: established relationship, first time,consent is sexy

Words: 727

17+ ( if you're under 17 and still read this its on you and not me)

Y/N Might be a virgin but he definitely wasn’t a blushing one, he knew what he wanted and that was for his boyfriend to fuck him, every time he thought it would happen Stefan pulled away from their heated make out session and was the ever-doting boyfriend which don’t get him wrong, he loved it but there's only so many time he can cock blocked by his boyfriend and not lose his mind.  

“We should stop” Stefan pants after pulling away from his boyfriend that lay beneath him. 

“Why?” Y/N asks sounding almost like a plea. “Do you not want to?”  

“of course, I do” the vampire says leaning down to nip at the skin of his boyfriend neck “are you sure you want this?”  

“Stef I've wanted this for weeks, You’re a bit slow on the uptake” Y/N answers in-between moans 

Stefan pulls away to look at him then nods “but if you want to stop tell me straight away, okay?” 

“Okay, now C’mere”  

Stefan hesitates before he gives in, he leans back down and catches Y/N’s lips in a searing kiss its deep and consuming. His hands move up under the hem of Y/N's shirt, he drinks away every sound that Y/N's lets out, but it becomes too much and yet too little, he pulls away and begins to pull off his boyfriend shirt. He leans forward and begins to press kisses against Y/N's collarbones before moving up to mark the junction of his neck.  

They make quick work of removing the rest of their clothes,  

“Stefan, please” Y/N whispers lifting his hips to grind against Stefan, they grind against each other, Stefan moves down Y/N's body kissing his chest, his stomach then finally his thighs being spreading his boyfriend legs wider.  

He leans slightly to reach into the nightstand drawer never taking his attention off the beauty that was his boyfriend. He finds what he’s looking for then pulls away to uncap the bottle of lube. He squeezes out some of the liquid onto his fingers. 

“I'm going to stretch you first, okay?”  

Y/N nods “please.” 

The vampire takes his time before pressing a finger to his hole. He feels Y/N tense up most instantly “Deep breathes, okay?”  

“okay”  

When he feels Y/N’s body begins to relax, he moves his finger in small circles, pressing forward slightly. Y/N clenches around him so Stefan presses a kiss to his thigh as he speaks “don’t clench baby” 

Y/N does as he’s told, and Stefan's finger enters him easily. Once Y/N has adjusted, he adds a second one which enters easier than the first but causes Y/N to groan. The vampire moves aiming for the sweet spot. It's not long till he finds it and Y/N doesn’t stop moaning.  

He slides his fingers out then slides in again adding a third finger. 

“Please Stef, I want you”  

And who is Stefan to deny him he pumps his fingers a couple more times before pulling them out completely. He grabs a condom and rolls it onto his own cock. He spreads Y/N's legs a little further, so they’re wrapped around him.  

He lines himself up with Y/N's hole “ready?” 

“yep”  

Stefan pushes forward slowly sinking in, he pauses to let Y/N adjust to him, when he thinks Y/N has adjusted, he pushes the rest of the way” are you okay?” 

Y/N nods “move” 

Stefan takes the hints and moves pulling nearly all the way out then thrusting back causing them both to moan. Stefan repeats the motion getting quicker each time.  

Stefan Searches for one of Y/N's hands then intwines their fingers together. 

“C-Can you move faster?”   

Stefan bends pressing a kiss to Y/N's forehead before doing as he’s asked. The room fills with the sound of moans, it’s hard to tell who’s making what sounds. 

“Y/N I'm so close”  

Y/N groans at his reply “me too” 

It's not long after that Stefan spills over with Y/N following him not long after.  

--  

“Stefan, I love you, but I need a shower” Y/N groans as Stefan presses a kiss to his temple 

Stefan huffs a laugh “nobodies stopping you” 

Y/N glares “What the point of being a strong vampire? if you’re not going to carry the love of your life to the shower after giving him a life changing orgasm” 

The vampire hums “you’re right, let go then” 

[secret-fungi]

The only one my arms could ever hold

Wordcount: 1400 ish

hard core fluff

pairing lou/ivo

An/ song they listenin to despite not at all being apart of the world or setting idc i think it's pretty and sweet and that it fits them. wow

tags: @liviusofpella @agattthaa

A half-forgotten melody stuck in her head as the two lingered in the afterglow, unbothered by the obligations that sat piled up outside his room. Neither one of them were in a hurry to leave the other as she listened to his heartbeat he traced a line up and down her spine, cold, gentle fingers that made her squirm deeper into him, but he didn’t seem to mind at all, continuing his movements lazily with a small smile on his lips.

“Do you want to talk about it?”  he asked, eyes still closed. Fuck. she thought to herself.  “about what?” she mumbled. “You’ve been wound up all day.” he said “You don’t usually cuddle,” he adds after a beat, as if that was a damning fact that gave her away. “You run cold.” She reasons. His low laugh shook his chest, it rumbled against her ear. 

“Okay.” he said, voice still husky from a while ago. “if it’s weird I-“ she started, already moving away from him. “That wasn’t a complaint.” he interrupted, looking at her through his lashes. The expression on his face made her freeze where she was, looking down at him as he smiled strangely.

“It’s better like this,” he adds. For a moment she stills, before once again she settles back into him, resting her chin on her forearm that she rests against his chest she looks down at him. “Hmm.. yes.” she agrees, in return a barely noticeable smile forms on the man's lips, and in it, she knows that he’s caught her.

She didn't mind, she found. Strangely enough, it made her heart speed up get caught in her throat, and sent a pleasant buzzing feeling down to her toes. It was nice to be known… and it was better to be known by him. 

“Was it a bad day?” she asks. He hums, his smile only growing as he says “No, only long, how was yours?” “Better now,” she said. The lazy smile on his lips stretched until it was a full grin, his eyes opening fully to look down at her, something so soft in his eyes that she wanted to hide from it. 

But if he wanted to say something, he didn’t, only giving a small nod in agreement as they laid in silence together, never pausing the gentle movements his hands made. She reached to play with the ends of his hair, a small smile inexplicably forming on her lips as she thought to herself things she wouldn’t admit. 

There was a sense of finality, in him and the emotions he evoked, the way he looked at her and the way he spoke. Like roots in the ground, he dug into her, making a space in her heart for him and the more he did the more she wished to run. She wasn’t ready, she screamed to herself. Her last had come too soon. She added, but everything else in her sagged in relief that he had come at all. 

She was told that forever always comes in the people we don’t expect, and sometimes it comes in the people we wished it hadn’t, because more than anything, love is a lesson on coming out of yourself and learning to be wrong. 

And she wished it wasn’t him but with that same breath, she would be disappointed if it was anyone else. She didn’t think it would be the same, even if someone else knew her just the same. 

He was well on his way to falling asleep to the soft humming that she didn’t realize she was making when her tongue was faster than her brain.

“Darling, I-”  she starts then immediately cuts herself off, too late to go unnoticed by the man. A grin stretched onto his lips the moment she started the word. “Yes?” he asked, peeking one eye open to look at her. “uh…” she mutters, only making the man smile wider. He looked like he had caught the canary, patiently waiting for her to continue. She wanted to act as if it was on purpose, that it was casual but her plans fell through when he laughed, and then so did she. 

“Why are you laughing?” she asked “Because you look like you’ve been caught,” he said with a grin. “Next, I will only call you  Mon ver de terre” she said, making his laughter grow louder until she finally sat up, tired of his teasing grin and the knowing look in his dark eyes. 

“I like it,” he said easily, pulling her back into him, trailing kisses down the curve of her neck and onto her shoulder. “Darling i mean, I could go either way with being called a worm,” he said 

“You’re strange.” “as you keep reminding me,” he replies with a smile. She parted her lips to explain herself only to find she didn’t really need to, and so she stayed in his arms for a while until they finally managed to get up. 

“There’ll be checks,” he said. She hummed in agreement. “You could stay,” he says, and after a beat, she responds. “Okay.”

When it came to the social aspect she always struggled, He was keen and quick and when she looked over his shoulder to see his reasoning she found herself lost most times, struggling to find his hidden motives and meanings in the blunt, clear actions he took. She was told he said as he felt and didn’t keep things hidden, and while he’d proven that to be true she still struggled to understand what he hid in his words. Like when he said something and stress it, emphasizing a meaning she didn’t understand, or now when he kissed her forehead and made her forget that she had a bad day in the first place. 

“I have that song.” he said as they walked. “hm?” she asked “The song you were humming, I have it,” he said, already shuffling through his collection before the song started playing, and as soon as it did he held out his hand.

She looked at it for a while before he pulled her into a lazy dance himself. “I’m a horrible dancer.” “I can have Hector set up classes” he offers with a smile. “No, that’s not needed,” she said quickly. He laughed once again, his breath tickling her neck. “I think so too,” he replied. 

  “I think you’re biased,” she replied. “I assure you I am known to be fair and unbiased,” he replied with a grin. “I don’t wish to question you, Monsieur Prior, but…” she said.  “No. no, I’m rarely wrong about these things,” he said, twirling her under his arm, not paying any mind to her slightly clumsy movements that ended up with his toe under her heel. 

“You are too forgiving,” she says as she laughs. “Not at all, love,” he replied with a grin as he watched her freeze, then relaxed once again in his arms. 

If you asked him, Ivo always thought his apartment was rather cold, but as they swayed and laughed in nothing but more than the bare essentials it wasn’t as severe as he always thought it to be. 

For some reason she couldn’t explain, she started talking, maybe because she couldn’t stand the silence, maybe because she felt safe, maybe the need to acknowledge her feelings, to hear him acknowledge them, despite knowing he knew them got the best of her. for whatever reason it was, she did it. 

“I’m fond of you.” she said, making him chuckle at the delayed confession “I’m very fond of you, too,” he replied with a smile. “Okay,” she replied, making him laugh harder. “You must be hungry.” he said, and for once she was glad a man attributed her behavior to her just being hungry. 

Lou had a tendency to run away after being too honest, she didn’t like to sit with the truth she admitted, it was enough that she admitted it why did she have to watch you respond, too? But she wanted to stay and watch him respond, she wanted to see if he was happy she cared. To test if her feelings were a bother he didn’t want, one last look over the edge before she jumped. 

But as they swayed, Lou knew she was caught. 

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Study Bunny (Prodigal Son One-Shot)

Martin Whitly x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: You ride Martin's thigh.

CW: daddy kink, medical talk, possessive behaviour(ish)

Prodigal Son: @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Martin was far too perceptive for his own good, you thought. He always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking even before you did. It was a little uncanny, to be completely honest. If this was the twenty-four hundreds or something, you would have been concerned that he’d implanted thought reader chips in your head or something. 

“Oh, my dear,” he’d said one day when you’d questioned him about his ability to know what you were thinking- not about the chips. “I’m just exceptionally good at reading people.” 

You weren’t really sure whether it was people in general, or just you. He did spend an awful lot of time with you, after all. It made sense he’d get used to you enough to read your face. 

Anyway, you were thinking about all this while perched in his lap in his study. Martin was peering over some anatomical diagrams in preparation for a surgery he had in the morning. You’d been planning to leave him alone to his study, but you had found yourself in his lap somehow anyway. That sort of thing had a tendency to happen, you’d noticed. 

What could you say? Martin was a convincing man. And quite cuddly. How could one resist such temptation? 

“Dear, you’re staring again,” Martin commented without looking at you. You blinked twice, clearing your brain from the fog that had been seeping through the corners. 

“Was I? Sorry,” you replied sheepishly, dropping your head onto his shoulder. Martin chuckled, and you saw his cheek muscles move with his smile. He sighed and put the paper down on the desk. He turned his attention towards you and placed both his hands on your hips. 

Your breath hitched ever so slightly, and the sharpening of Martin’s gaze let you know that he did not fail to notice it either. 

“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. You know, I’ve noticed you tend to have heightened feelings of arousal and hormone spiking around the mid-month mark.” 

You blinked. Did you? 

“Yes, my dear. Interesting, I know.” 

You felt his fingertips press a little harder into your hips, and the resulting whimper it pulled out of you was as embarrassing as it was telling. Martin chuckled- a wolf’s grin on his lips, and dragged your hips just slightly against his thigh. 

You bit your lip, taking the initiative and rocking yourself ever-so-slightly against his thigh. Martin grinned wider if that were possible, and leaned back in his chair so he could appreciate the sight in front of him. 

You rolled your hips harder, delighting in the jolt of pleasure ricocheting up your spine. Martin let out what could only be a possessive growl and pushed his knee up for you to rut against. 

“That’s it. Fuck, my love. Stunning,” he grunted, voice like gravel. “Watching you fuck yourself on my thigh like this? Fucking gorgeous, my dear.” 

You whimpered, pleasure shooting up your nerve endings and setting you alight. Your muscles were aching with strain, but the pleasure far outweighed the delicious stretch and burn. 

Martin started bouncing his knee, sending jolts of pleasure into the mix, giving you a different sensation to take your ecstasy from. 

“Mm, maybe I’ll have to conduct a little study on you- when do you reach your hormonal cycles? How do we measure when they’ll be coming up?” Martin leaned in to whisper darkly in your ear, saying, “when are you most pathetic for my cock? Hmm? Yes, I know, dear. Pathetic little thing just wants to cum.” 

You were getting close now, having him speak to you like this and with his hands on your hips rocking you against him- you would never have lasted long, anyway.

“Would you like that? Daddy’s little study bunny? Oh, look at you. Yes, I know,” he growled possessively, eyeing you hungrily, all thoughts of his upcoming surgery forgotten. “Fucking cum for me, my love.” 

And cum you did, whimpering and moaning as your hips jerked against him erratically, releasing with such vigour that your whole body shook atop him- much to his delight. 

“That’s it. Oh, my good little dove.” 

You panted, dropping your head back onto his shoulder and letting out a giggle as the endorphins flooded your system. 

“Fuck, I love you,” you panted. 

“I love you, too, my dear,” Martin replied, pressing a soft kiss to your sweaty forehead and turning back to pick his papers back up. 

“I’ll just finish these notes and we can retire for the night,” he said, already losing himself in the papers. You nodded, yawning tiredly. 

“Sounds good to me, beloved.”

[writingmysanity]

Shadows and Waves [Prologue]

TW: illusions to torture, weapons

Word count: 365

The distant click of a heel bounces off of the stone walls, accented by the ever present drip in the corner of the room you're in. Sagging against the restraints, you fight the urge to watch the door, waiting for tell-tale echoing clank of the lock. You don't look up until the screech of metal screams into the space, demanding your attention. 

That door has always needed fixing. 

Now, you realize, it has been kept like that for a reason. He is torturing you with the knowledge of what is to follow. 

Your head lulls back to stare in the direction of the door as the last of the echoes fade away. Standing there– tall, domineering and painted with shadows– he waits. Wincing at your movement, you shift on your legs in an attempt to help with blood flow as they've become numb again, ignoring the creak of the chains rattling around you. When he still doesn't move, you smile up at him, cracked lips stinging at the motion, but it only makes you smile wider. You are sure the look is bordering deranged. Your body is fighting against your seclusion and lack of sleep, able to do nothing but listen to life continue around you while none of it can touch you. 

“Father,” you acknowledge, trying to not find amusement in the way he shifts against his will, reacting to your voice. Your head  lulls to the side as your smile reaches your eyes, making it harder to make him out from where he stands. “If I knew to expect you, I would have cleaned up,” you rasp, throat tight and scratching. 

Huffing in irritation, he stalks towards you, the glint of his dagger flickering in the candle lights and slashing out in front of him as he walks. As he reaches you, he snatches your head by your hair, pulling your head back roughly, forcing your gaze to rest on the ceiling as he presses the tip of the blade to your throat. 

“Where is he?” he snarls, earning a snort from you.

“Who?” You aren't stupid, but you want him to say it. You want him to admit it. 

“Your demon king.”

_______ taglist: @thehistoriangirl @maliciousbrekker @ell0ra-br3kk3r @roxaya @brekkers-desigirl @chickencouncilrep @daughterofautumn @sophierequests-trashblog @rainbowpitofdoom @thesleepy1

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me a message or ask or something.

@ell0ra-br3kk3r i am so sorry this took so long to get out, it kept changing on me! and that it is so short. the chapters will obviously be much longer!! <3

[itsyagurlchip]

٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭ ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰Scent Fantasies ٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭ ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰

✰⋆⁺warnings: fem reader (!) reader is a cat yokai(!) fluff(!) odd actions(!) if you can call it odd(!) cussing prolly(!) idk i wasn't keeping track!)

✰⋆ I just wanted to be gay for a min okay? (*chokes on raph ice cream thingy*) it's super short, but heartfelt. Btw if you want a better ref, reader is sorta like a golden retriever person; bc thats how i feel everytime i see april on screen. I hope you enjoy ❤️❤️

✰⋆⁺ You reminisce through the smells and sight of that damned thing. Luckily this is a normal thing and you definitely weren't embarrassed by the end of it.

You were searching through April's closet searching for one thing, and one thing only. It was sacred to you, no one knew what power it had over your emotions. This item could- Oh, there it is!

That oversized hoodie. The first one you ever created for her. The fabrics were expensive, the design was a bit cheesy, but April loved it all the same.

She didn't care about the amount of hearts you out on the breast pocket. She absolutely loved that black cat, sown into that forest-green background. She hadn't minded that you changed the boring white hoodie aglets to shiney neo chrome ones.

You carefully brushed your claws over it, minding to avoid creating holes in it.

And the whole thing just smells like the wash and perfume she uses. You snatched the poor thing from its hanger and stuffed it to your face. Using muscle memory, you walked towards her bed and plopped yourself right on top.

You could tell it was worn, by the dingyness at the ends of the sleeves, the pilling around the cuffs.

April, with her beautiful smile, would wear this for her sad days. Or even when she wasn't shy enough, she'd do so on public dates.

God- her smile. It just does something to you that you could never explain into better and enough words. Nothing could ever compare to how that girl made you felt. Your tail swished back and forth, sticking high in the air.

The way she talked, or the way she walked. How her lips quirk upwards at a horrible pun, or how her feet step to the beat of a song as she sits in a chair.

Whenever she talked to you, or when she pecked you to sleep. Where her hands were as you kissed, or when she held your face lovingly. You took another breath in and held the hoodie tighter.

You couldn't help but kick your feet, helplessly falling in love all over again. Your chest thrumbled out a pathetic giggle, your smile getting wider by the millisecond.

Hearing the door open, you slowly lift your head towards the person this whole thing was about! April chuckled at your doped out face, your wiggly smile, the occasional jiggle or kick your body would give.

"Hey baby girl, you okay? ha- you look dizzy" She smiled softly, looking down at you.

All you could do was nod, before promptly failing to keep your head up any longer. You hummed deeply, spoiled by the smell of the hoodie. April reached down to touch your head, helping you (somehow?) relax even more.

Not even a second later your were nuzzling your hand and purring like crazy. Suddenly, you pounced on her, taking her by hip, and nuzzling her chest. Your tail was curling around one of her arms.

April, despite being on her back, pulled you closer. She noticed how blissed out you seemed. The dilation of your pupils, the way you sighed so lovingly, how your fur seemed to relax even further with every brush of her hand.

ah.

"You got stuck in those scent fantasies, huh?" You nodded quickly, a mewl spilling out, looks like you rendered yourself non-verbal. "If you wanna cuddle just ask- okay?"

Its like weren't even hearing her, she could tell. It was always hard to snatch you from those clouds, but April never minded.

After all, she loved you just as much.

(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و tags: @kittykittyanon @radicallxser @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl @ziipzeepzop-eez @amorvincitomnia-14 @spongejuice. if you would like to be added, check my blog.

[trekkingaroundasgard]

A Virtual World (Clint Barton x Reader)

Summary: Out on a mission, the reader is ‘unplugged’ too soon and ends up injured. Prompt: “how many fingers am I holding up?”

Gender: Neutral (nickname: Neo)

Tags: powered!reader, enhanced!reader, whump, injury, canon typical violence, established friendship/relationship (can be read either way)

Words: 1.3k

Note: I mean to post this on day 1 but didn’t get around to it. Anyway, this was requested by the lovely @captainsophiestark and I hope you enjoy it!

“How we doing, Neo?”

Clint’s words warbled in your ear, distant and distorted as he appealed to the small part of your conscience still tethered to your physical body. This deep in code, you could no longer call that plane of existence the ‘real world’. Here, now, you were a part of the digital, uploaded and integrated into the core of the system. You’d always hear when Clint called, though, whether you were separated by a table, continents or an entire virtual reality. How could you not when it was him?

Stretching your senses out, you touched the piece of code which controlled the security cameras. It was seconds that you didn’t necessarily have but… Well. There was no choice, really. The mission was important, of course it was. You wouldn’t be in the middle of a war-zone stealing back stolen missile launch codes if you didn’t believe in the cause, if you weren’t willing to die for it. But you hadn’t gone to die and you certainly wouldn’t let your partner meet that same fate if you could help it.

The lines of code warped, small in places to to start before suddenly taking on an entirely new shape. The gaps between ones and zeroes and all manner of other complex code grew wider, the emptiness giving way to something more solid. Where you’d been alone in the darkness before you were now surrounded by five figures.

Little more than visual manifestations of input data, your brain interpreting the digital blueprints in the same way a display monitor might, you knew that they could not harm you. It didn’t stop you from ducking away from a fast and heavy blow. Behind you, another figure stumbled away – the real target of their attack, a black and blurry shape, unmistakably Clint Barton.

He fought back hard. Each strike was carefully placed, controlled so to conserve energy, but they were herding him into a corner. Without backup, for all his skills, Clint wouldn’t stand a chance. Even with you physically there his odds wouldn’t have changed – hand to hand had never been your strong suit – but you had other, more useful talents.

You’d felt it the moment you had tuned in to the security cameras: a secondary wavelength interfering with the CCTV signal. Five connected nodes on the same frequency, an encrypted wavelength which rose and fell like a breath of tainted air on your peripheral. You reached for it, the warning centres of your brain lighting up as you made the connection. Wasting no time, you pushed a surge of power into the system and snapped your conscience back before the feedback loop could fry your processor.

The shadowy forms doubled over in pain, clutching their skull against the high pitched screaming in their ears. It lasted only a few seconds but it gave Clint the opening he needed, precious moments to retake control. He took the grunts down before they even realised it was happening.

“Stay focused, Neo. Get those codes.” A breath, then Clint added quietly, “But thanks.”

You’d have smiled if you had a body to control.

Spiralling deeper downwards, the source code became more and more complex. You’d never seen anything quite like it. Digital landmines limited your path, warring subroutines from a hundred different programmes all forced to work together making it difficult to find a clear route through the files you needed.

Even deeper still, the system began to push back. Firewalls weren’t hot – you were so far removed from your physical body that all concept of sensations like heat, ice and gentleness had vanished – but the strain on your mind was unimaginable. The effort to keep digging down was almost too much.

You saw it in numbers, the piercing pain your body was enduring. The strain between your biological nerves and internal wiring, the overwhelming pressure behind your eyes. You couldn’t feel it, couldn’t recall what it felt like to be bound by a physical form, much less one in pain, and yet you knew. You knew it was agony.

Time was running out.

The data packet was close. You could see it on the horizon – or whatever digital equivalent existed there. Between it and you stood a mountain of code designed to fight back, to stop you from accessing those codes. But you were close, so close that you could practically feel it. Your synapses buzzed in anticipation, clearing space, preparing to eject you from this reality as soon as the transfer had finished.

Ultimately, the defences were strong but you were stronger.

The code parted to reveal a door and you reached for the handle, ready for whatever might be on the other side. You could practically feel it underhand (though neither the knob nor your hand had and physical substance). The door was heavy and you leaned on it with all your might, forcing it ajar.

As the light from inside began to spill out, suddenly, everything went dark.

---

All networks disconnected. No external systems found. Internal systems crashed. Troubleshooting. Rebooting.

Time elapsed: 1 hour 03 minutes.

External system located. Identified. Quinjet. Faulty pathway. Unable to access Quinjet. Biological system identified. Accessing.

Access denied. Rebooting.

Time elapsed: 2 hours 08 minutes.

Biological system identified. Accessing.

Error. 3 critical biological pathways corrupted.

Seek assistance. All other systems accessed.

---

Pressure. Heat. A clammy hand on yours, squeezing it tightly.

You tried to snatch it back but your body was too slow, to weak.

“Hey, hey.”

The sound waves hit your ear drum, unwelcome input. Too loud. Too much. Your implant attempted to adjust the levels but it only made it worse. At least, until you came round enough to recognise the source of the words. Clint. Suddenly they weren’t so unwelcome.

“It’s me, Neo. You’re alright. Look at me.”

“Can’t…” you croaked, the admission like sandpaper in your throat.

Firm but gentle fingers touched your chin, lifting your face and turning you towards him.

“Hey,” he said again with the hint of a smile. “Focus for a second. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Clint…”

“Come on. How many?”

“I don’t know!” you hissed, finally able to snatch your hand back. However, the moment you did, you immediately regretted it. Without the grounding warmth of his palm against yours, without those strong fingers clutching yours, you were adrift. Lost in the darkness, drifting in the place were cache went to be wiped.

Clint hesitantly took your hand again and this time you didn’t pull away. The other cupping your cheek, he asked, “What’s happening? You forget how to count or something?”

“I can’t open my eyes.”

“They’re already open, Neo,” he whispered. “You’re looking right at me.”

“Clint…”

“You’re gonna be alright.”

You felt him begin to shift, panic rising in the back of your throat. As quickly as it came, though, Clint’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. “Hey. I’m here. It’s alright. We’ll get you back to the Compound and they’ll rewire your implant so you can see again. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“What happened at the base, Clint?”

He swallowed, guilt dripping from every word. “One of the bastards got away. Slipped right by me. Didn’t catch him until it was almost too late. He yanked you away from the terminal before you could disconnect properly and… You were out cold for hours. I thought I’d lost you.”

Leaning back into him, you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. Smell was apparently not one of the 3 critical pathways fried by your implant. Turning your face into his neck, you muttered, “It’s not your fault.”

“Sure feels like it.”

You pinched his side, or at least as rough an approximation as you could make. “Stop it. You said it yourself. They’ll fix this. Everything’s gonna be ok. Just… don’t leave me until it is?”

“I’ve got you, Neo. Always. For as long as you need.”