#outlaw/drabble

[pocketjoong]

Imagine you are there to support MATZ during their MV shoot. You're happily cheering them on and then during the short break, you're intercepted by Seonghwa who pulls you into a warded off area where they're supposed to change between shoots and throws you right into Hongjoong's awaiting arms. Hongjoong is quick to bring his hot mouth to your neck and promptly starts biting and licking while Seonghwa kneels in front of you and simply rips your panties off before he's devouring you like a starved man, he's helped by Hongjoong's fingers playing with your clit and occasionally scissoring your folds.

The two of them edge you until you're practically sobbing and when they finally decide they've had enough of teasing you, Hongjoong has you sucking Seonghwa's cock. And even though tears are blurring your vision and the pleasure has you almost closing your eyes, your eyes are trained on Seonghwa's neck tattoo. You can't help but watch the way his Adam's apple bobs as he tries to supress any sounds, and your eyes follow the bead of sweat that trails down his neck, smudging the tattoo here and there. That's until Hongjoong has had enough of you giving Seonghwa too much attention and the only warning you get before Hongjoong's dick is sliding into you is his fingers pulling out of you.

[wwrenwrites]

You know what would have been funny.

Jason Todd being lactose intolerant.

Like no one would actually expect this big-ass more than 6 foot of a man.

One of the best fighters in his family and the vigilante community. A big eater, a decent sweet tooth and is actually pretty good with spice. But has a fucking weakness for anything dairy.

Would say ‘fuck it’ if it comes to good ice-cream or gelato. But any good cheese in pasta?

Pain in the fucking ass.

Still good if it weren’t for the awaiting sleepover in his beloved bathroom. Which is absolutely hilarious cause it is only you who would figure it out when you notice the pattern of him being in the toilet for 20 minutes.

And him refusing to acknowledge it like you’re telling him he can’t indulge eating a greasy-ass 4 cheese pizza anymore? nor his go-to mac and cheese recipe he perfected with a good ole take-away of Wing Stop???

This would go on for months. No. Forever.

Till he dies again.

Completely convincing himself and you that it is just some stupid worm.

And that’s also a very Jason thing.

He would continually be stubborn and ignore the little lactose pills that would solve all his problems.

Cause he has pride.

A reputation, he says.

He’s a fucking ‘big boy’ he says.

Hell, his family doesn’t even know about it.

Not even Alfred.

So every-time there would be a family dinner in the manor. And the one time it’s Italian cuisine theme. Homemade pasta and different variations of salad. A big plate of fried calamari and special whole roasted chicken. Red sauce, white sauce, oil-base sauce. With complete sides and extra condiments, meaning plates of sliced cheese and shredded.

The fucking variety knowing Alfred.

And then there’s you, encouraging Alfred to add as much parmesan as he wants since you said “Jason loves it the most with that kind of generous amount.”

You knew he was glaring at you, even ignoring him when he pinches your ass. He scoffed at his other siblings who whined on him hoarding all the cheese.

Mind you it was good quality cheese. Imported from Europe, Alfred said. And you even told Jason, cheese from Europe won’t make you shit. You smiled with love to the side-eyeing handsome man; eating his share of plate clean.

[wordsbymae]

MINORS DNI

Title: The Outlaw King

Pairing: Male OC x female!reader

Summary: Reader is the daughter of a struggling noble who in an attempt to save the prospects of his family begins marrying off his daughters, he is successful for the most part, until his youngest remains. Viewed as lesser compared to her sisters in her appearance, the reader is left without any suitors. Until her father is forced to marry her off to an outlaw.

TW: Female reader, insecure thoughts, chubby!reader, midsized!reader, she's got boobs, reader herself doesn't act insecure but she would be described as insecure yes. Older sisters say cruel things without thinking of consequences, discussion of weight gain and loss, reader is seen to be not as attractive as her sisters, starving oneself is brought up, and the outlaw is a bit vulgar (he likes something to grab) and is accidentally cruel (he doesn't mean to be, he's just an idiot and a man). Reader is insulted by her sister.

NSFW: swear words, vulgar descriptions of sex, he's just horny for reader, I didn't try smut cause I suck at it, but I might try it in a separate fic, the word whore is used (sex workers deserve respect, I'm using it as a historical term), groping, smacking ass, discussions of non/con (it does not happen), implied consensual sex or as consensual l as arranged married sex with an outlaw can go.

If I have forgotten anything let me know!

Notes: Not gonna lie this is very much a vent fic. So it might seem a bit too specific for a reader's fic. There will be some triggering topics brought up so if any of the above is not your cup of tea please move along. Also please please please use your own discretion for this one, I would hate for my writing to reinforce insecurities in anyone or bring up bad thoughts about themselves. So once again please please please use discretion. No one is forcing you to read this.

Reader discretion is advised! Also, I hope I don't need to say this but I will just in case, I do not condone these sorts of actions!!! Or any actions in any of my work. This is pure fiction. Also, all my OCs and the reader are over the age of 18+.

Lots of love Mae xx

Alphabet

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"Are you sure you want to wear that dress?" your sister questioned, her mouth forming a tight grimace. Her ringed hands made their way to her tidy hips. Her dress was one of emerald green, its linen fabric delicately wrapped around her waist and cascaded down to the floor in waves. It was a beautiful dress and she looked like an angel in it. It had been your mother's. She had given it to you before she passed away, it hadn't fit you though, despite your late-night struggles to tame the fabric around your hips and breasts. You still remember trying to silence your tears as you nearly ripped the black silk ribbon designed to close the dress at the back. Your chest had been too big and the fabric too tight. So you had given up and gifted it to your sister. If the lands hadn't betrayed you maybe you could have asked a maid to take out some of the seems, but the famine meant you had no extra coins for silly things like thread.

"I thought it looked nice" you answered, voice soft and head bowed. Your hands had come up to your belly and they were currently pulling and twisting your fingers. Your dress was one of dull blue. It was a favourite of yours as it did not pinch your skin or constrict your breathing, nor did it leave marks around your arms where the seems dug into your soft flesh.

"It is dull and plain" your sister scoffed "how are you expected to catch the eye of a suitor if you look like that". she pushed past you towards your closet, ripping open the doors to find a more appropriate dress.

Her words left poison in your gut and tore at your heart. You had spent all morning twisting and curling your hair, putting dainty flowers in the braids. You had redone your rouge and kohl three times, to the point where tears of frustration nearly ruined everything anyway. You had thought you looked decent, maybe even pretty. But as soon as your older sister walked through the door, looking like Venus herself, you thought the flowers in your hair made you look childish and the kohl made you look tarty.

"It is important that we all look our best today. Papa invited nearly all the lords and their sons in the kingdom. Without our bride price, our people will suffer" she mindlessly rambled as she threw dress after dress from their home onto your bed. She had no need to remind you about the reasoning behind today's festivities. Your father's lands were the largest agricultural producer in the kingdom, but sickness had plagued the soil leaving the crop rotten. Without a harvest, your father was forced to buy crops from the other lords, but his coin was running low. In order to save his people from starvation until the famine resided, he was forced to marry you and your sisters off for your bride prices. Your father had cried bitter tears at the thought. He had no sons and you and your sisters were his everything. The only solace he had was his oldest daughter and her future betrothed would be the next lord and lady of the castle, allowing him at least one daughter to remain. You on the other hand, as the youngest, feared you may never see your father or sisters again once married. It was seldom a husband allowed his wife to travel away from her place by their side.

"Ah! This one, try this one!" your sister cheered, pushing a lilac dress into your arms. You recognised it immediately.

"Oh no, not this one" you stammered, already trying to push it back into her arms.

"What? Why not? Just put it on, the suitors shall be arriving soon" she snapped, her eyes looking at you with annoyance.

"I cannot" you stressed, begging her with your gaze.

"This is ridiculous. Put the dress on and be done with it." she insisted pushing you towards the changing stand

"It does not fit" you whispered, hoping she would leave and forget it all. She continued to push you.

"It does not fit!" you shouted, removing yourself from her grip. You turned towards her and watched as her eyes softened.

"It does not fit? Well, then I will tighten it more. Silly girl it is a simple fix" she comforted, her hands now gentle as she once more pushed you to the changing stand. Tears began to swell in your eyes as you allowed her to move you.

"It is too tight on me" you whimpered, your voice almost a whisper. Her hands, which had been softly undoing the laces of your dress suddenly stopped. You could feel the air shift.

"it is too tight?" She coldly asked, her hands gripping the laces. "Papa only gifted it to you last month! It fitted then! What have you done hm? Gouged yourself on the lager while others starve?" she hissed, her hands ripped away from you as she grabbed the dress in your hands. "Papa used coin that could have been better used elsewhere for you! For a silly dress that is as good as rags!" she roared, hands ripping and tearing at the fabric. You were sobbing now, watching as the pretty purple fabric was left tatted on the ground. When she was done, she looked at you with steely eyes. For a moment you thought she might hit you.

"Fine, stay in that tatty rag. Do not come crying to me when the men look past you" she sneered, leaving your room in a huff, slamming the door behind her. You fell to your knees as tears dragged black kohl down your cheeks. It felt like hours, but it had really been only a short few minutes before your father opened your door calling your name with cheer.

"Where are you my dear! My scouts have caught sight of the first Lord!"

His merriment was soon killed when he saw you on the ground.

"Oh, my love! Are you alright? What happened? No more tears now, that's a girl. Dry those eyes." he comforted, holding you in his arms as vengeful tears raced down your cheek. After a few moments, you choked out what had happened. A part of you thought that maybe he would punish your sister, reprimand her or, as a cruel part of you wished, banish her from the festivities. But your father loved you and your sisters equally, sometimes a little too much.

"I am sure she did not mean to. She is just worried because of the trouble that faces us. That is all." he explained patting you on the back.

"Come fix your eyes and I shall redo your laces and then let us meet the Lords, yes?" he cheered, helping you up to your feet.

After harshly scrubbing your face clean of the kohl and rouge and quickly putting some more on (only rouge this time, the kohl made you nervous), your father lead you down the corridors of the castle. You knew he was speaking to you about your sister, how he would ask her to apologise to you and that maybe your oldest sister (your favourite, she was rarely cruel) would gift you an old dress of hers (you knew it wouldn't fit either), but you drowned him out with dreams of what might come. Before this afternoon you had imagined that a nobleman would fall in love with you at first sight. That he would beg at your father's feet for your hand in marriage, that he would gift you flowers and jewels and you would discuss politics and arts. Now you imagined one of the noblemen scorning your sister, declaring her undesirable and a wretch, before he declaring his love for you and carrying you away while you laughed at your sister's misery. It was a cruel thought, yes, but it warmed you. You wished you could say you hated your sisters, but you still loved them, which is why it hurt so much when they made comments on your looks. Friening pity and worry, leaving giggles and snide looks your way. They were like sweet poison. You couldn't wait till distance made the heart fonder.

You and your father finally made it to the steps of the castle joining all four of your sisters. Your eldest sister gives you a smile, another a glance, and the other two, including the sister you wished would tumble down the stairs and fall flat in the mud, give each other a glance and then a giggle. Your father left you standing next to them as he made his way to your oldest sister, just in time for a bugle call and the thundering sound of horses racing through the castle square.

They have arrived.

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You wished they never came.

You had hoped for love at first sight. That you would catch a glimpse of a dashing man and you two would fall head over heels in love. That you would dance the night away in his arms and be announced his betrothed by morn. Then you wished that you would strike up a conversation with a lord, and you would discuss history and medicine and by the end of the night, you would be walking through the gardens with your arms intertwined. Then you just prayed one of them would talk to you. They favoured your sisters heavily, ignoring you in conversation to laugh at a quip your sister made or would speak over the top of you altogether. By the end of the night, you had drifted to the sides. Watching as your sisters danced in the arms of charming men you knew would be their husbands. Even your oldest sister had abandoned you. You had gone to her in the hopes she would comfort you, and she did. Until the middle son of a Southern Lord asked her for a dance, and then she was gone. She did promise to come back, but you watched as the two of them huddled together in the shadows. You were feeling miserable and jealous yes, but not enough to steal your darling sister away from a chance of happiness.

So instead you just hid in the shadows, counting the minutes until you could hide away in your room. It wasn't the first time something like this has happened. You had become used to being seen as the lesser sister during events and ceremonies. It wasn't like you were dull. In fact, you were intelligent, charming and funny, but when you were placed with your sisters it was like all that seeped away from you and you struggled to reach their level of grace and poise. Tonight hurt the most, however, because the survival of your people depended on you catching the eye of a suitor. Without all four bride prices, your father would not have enough coin to buy next season's shipment of food. Your people would starve otherwise. For the first time in your life, you actually started to believe the cruel comments your sisters would make. Maybe you really were undesirable? Maybe everything would be easier if you had your mother's face and not the rounded one of your father. You were failing your father and it was because of something so inherently you. There was nothing you could do to change it, it is who you are, and here a room full of men deemed it unworthy.

You had decided you were done. Nothing more to do but leave and hideaway in your room. You left quickly, struggling to hide the tears swelling in your eyes. Your father would come looking for you, maybe, but it was nothing an excuse of lightheadedness couldn't control. Once arriving in your room, you were quick to scrub the rouge from your cheeks and rip the flowers from your hair. With a screech, you threw them to the ground. You had spent a whole morning picking them. You were foolish to think they could elevate a face like yours. You then tore yourself from your dress and drove under the covers. Like every night since she passed, you wished your mother was here. Even though you knew she would just call your worries silly and ridiculous, or worse offer to help you fast. It often seemed like you were like a goose in a family of swans. While not harsh to the gaze, you were nothing in comparison to the other women in your family.

Crying yourself to sleep, you whispered over and over again that it wasn't fair.

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You watched as your sister waved at you from the window of the carriage before darting back inside. Your father beside you was cheering, with tears running down his rosy cheeks. Your oldest sister was linked in arms with her husband, both smiling and waving at the carriage as it disappeared from sight. Since the ball a week prior, all your sisters had been married. All their suitors declared their intent the morning after the festivities. A part of you had been hopeful, foolishly so, that maybe you had caught a suitor's eye. That they had just been too shy to approach you but had wanted you for their wife. You were terribly disappointed when no man stepped forward when your father called your name. It was humiliating too, watching as some men even took steps back. It broke the last bit of hope left in you. You had been terribly jealous, watching your sisters fawn over wedding dresses. You had just stood to the side, lightly touching scraps of silk that had been discarded on the floor. You had watched in envy during each separate wedding wishing that could be you, that someone wanted you enough to announce their loyalty to you. It made you sick to the stomach with the amount of guilt you felt feeling that way.

If you had been disappointed and miserable from the whole affair, your father was devastated. He was so close to saving his people, and yet he had failed. You remained by his side. He was torn between his love for you and relief that his youngest would not leave his side so soon but also shattered at the prospect of his people suffering. His once loving and kind attitude towards you suddenly became cold, and he often refused to look you in the eyes. He loved you, yes, but sometimes you think he blamed you. For what you weren't sure. Maybe for not at least trying on that lilac dress, or maybe not being as charming as your sisters were. A cruel and wicked part of you thought that maybe he blamed himself, for siring a creature like you.

He had since tried to discuss marriage with less favourable suitors. But the poorer lords could not afford the bride price he need and the older (much older) lords made you cry at his feet begging him to reconsider. He succumbed to your pleas. But at a price. He warned that if you continued to refuse his choice of suitors then by the last day of the month he would marry you to the next willing and able man who asked for your hand. And so your father declared to the whole kingdom your hand in marriage. That any man (noble or not) who could afford your bride price could come to his lands to ask for your hand. You had a condition of your own. They could not see you until the bride price was paid and you were lifting the veil in the church. You did not want to be humiliated any longer by shallow men. You were allowed to see them though, with you hiding behind your father's counsel room walls, peering through a hole created for your eyes.

So for the next week men viring for your hand arrived. You refused every single one. They were far too old, or far too young. They had had five wives previous and all had met a grisly fate by 'accidental drowning'. They kept asking your father what you looked like and made jokes about not wanting to be tricked into a marriage with a beast. Some seemed respectful and charming until they laughed at a poor serving girl tripping over their foot while your father was away from the room. One kept picking at his teeth, another had attrocious manners and sneezed all over your father. You refused all.

It was finally the last day of the month and your oldest sister was fusing over you. This whole affair made her fret, she had begged you to at least reconsider sending the last suitor away (the one who sneezed), but you were adamant, if not a little frightened. Maybe you should have lowered your standards. Maybe you should have given the sneezer a chance. At least before you had a choice, but now? Now it was whoever walked through the castle gates. You weren't hiding behind the wall today. It wasn't your choice. Instead, you and your sister took tea in the garden as you nervously wondered who your husband would be. Before everything had started, you had prayed for a charming, dashing, handsome man. But now you could only hope he was kind.

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Your husband-to-be was an outlaw. A rogue. A criminal and thief. Most definitely a murderer and only the Lord knew what else. To even think your father allowed this match brought tears to your eyes. But he had sworn that on the last day of the month, he would accept the first man to ask for your hand. You were sure he never thought it would be the infamous Outlaw King (why wasn't he just arrested or killed on sight? movie magic baby). He disgusted you, your betrothed, you had only seen him from afar, still refusing to let him see you until the wedding. But your sister had told you all. About how he waltzed into the castle and pushed past your father's guards to declare his intentions for your hand. He hadn't even asked! He had thrown the required price on your father's table and had only laughed at the sight of your father's wide eyes.

Your father could only nod his head and approve your betrothal. You remember your father meeting you in the gardens to tell you of your betrothed. Your sister had exploded into fury, while you had just sat still in shock. You had heard tales of him of course, an immoral and cunning man, leading a band of outlaws deep in the woods. He was said to be the bastard son of the King's brother. Left to fend for himself as a babe in the woods. That he was raised by a she-wolf and inherited her blood lust. He was handy with a knife and brutal with a sword. That every whore in the kingdom longed for his presence, for the gold and pleasure he provided. It was said he killed a man for just jesting he was as good with a sword as he was. He was a vile man and yet you were to be his wife. You had cried in your bed at the thought of him, of his vile hands touching you. Your sister had tried to console you but it was your duty to your people to marry him.

The day of the wedding left you frightened. You were worried about many things. What would become of you after your wedding? Of where you would live. Would you be expected to steal and rob like he does? Would you be classed as an outlaw too? all these thoughts helped distract you from the most worrying of all. What if he didn't like you? What if even a scoundrel like him didn't want you. Then you really would be a failure of a woman.

You don't remember much before the wedding, just your sister whispering in your ear about how to make it less painful, you hadn't been listening so you don't know what she was referring to. You remember your hands feeling the silk of your wedding dress as your sister laced the ribbon in front of the mirror. For a brief second, you thought you looked pretty. You also remember your father's grip on your arm as he walked you down the aisle before hesitantly passing you to the tall and stocky man in front of you. Tales of the Outlaw King will have you believe he was a lean figure with fair hair and blue eyes. A resemblance of the Prince he was supposed to be sired from. Instead, he was broad with deep brown eyes and dark scruffy hair. He had a wide cheerful grin and he looked far too excited for this sombre affair. He was so excited he didn't even wait for the priest to tell him to lift the veil, he just yanked it up and let out a low whistle at the sight of you.

"You sure are pretty huh" he grinned. A blush made its way up your cheeks and over your ears. It was the first time anyone had ever called you that. You could only stare at him before mumbling a thank you, you were raised to be polite after all, and then you turned towards the priest with palms sweaty. He spent the whole ceremony stealing glances at you and urging the priest to hurry up. Asking if all the formalities were necessary. The congregation was split between some being disgraced at his antics and others amused by his merriment, either in awe at his presence or his own men, shouting and hollering encouragement. However, when he pulled a knife on the priest when he tried to ask if anyone wanted to object, the guests all gave out a cry of hysteria, with only his men howling in joy. It was frightening to see the priest pushed up against the altar, your future husband's dagger at his throat. You gave a yelp at the sight and backed away slightly. You were reminded that he was not a nice man.

"You can skip that part father. Unless anyone has anything to say?" he joked cruelly, turning to the church with his arms open wide, dagger shining in the light of the sun beams through the windows. Your father looked like he was about to faint and your sister was being held back by her husband.

"No? Wonderful. Can we get this show on the road then father? I'm itching to be balls deep in my pretty lady by nightfall" he beamed putting his knife away. You yourself felt like you were about to faint. A heat rising from your stomach. You did not know if from disgust, fear or heaven forbid want. A cruel part of you whispered that maybe it was all a joke, a wicked ploy to have you believe he fancied you. But the look he gave you when he turned to smile at you, had those thoughts racing away. You could hear your sister hissing out curses, while your father groaned in defeat.

The priest, skipping a few steps, then declared you man and wife. You felt your husband's large hands grip your hips before dragging you to him, your chest bumping into his. He quickly brought you into a harsh kiss, his tongue prodding at your opening, you could only stand there still, your hands pressed tightly up against him. His hands made their way down to your arse before he gripped it tightly, a moan of satisfaction coming from your husband and a gasp from you. He took the opportunity to thrust his tongue inside. You could hear the cheers from his men and the polite, almost disgusted clapping of your guest. He tore himself away from you to turn to the congregation, giving out a howl of joy and throwing his hands to the heavens. His men went wild. Some began jumping up and down on the pews, while others began to slap the wooden material creating a deafening sound of thunder. One even had two swords in his hand, waving them around his head in joy. You had started to turn yourself to look at your father and sister but were stopped when your husband gripped your thighs to throw you over his shoulder with a yelp. He walked towards your family, you were in shock at it all and could only react with a squeal as he playfully smacked your bottom a few times. Stopping in front of your father and sister, you lifted yourself slightly up to meet their gaze.

"Don't you worry sir, I'll take real good care of her. Hell, next time we meet, there might be some ankle bitters running around" he laughed, giving a particularly hard slap to your arse. You gave a yelp and your father fell to his chair with a groan. Your sister was spitting curses, her husband desperately trying to hold her back from hitting your husband. Your husband only laughed with cruel mockery as he left your family, walking down the aisle into the fresh air of the world beyond.

You were plopped on the ground outside as dozens of wild cheering men pooled around you. Shouts of congratulations and well-dones were lifted into the air. Your husband was clapped on the back and brought into tight hugs. Every one of them had big smiles gracing their faces. Slowly they drifted away. You looked over their shoulders trying to find where the carriage was. Instead, a man leads a large bay stallion over to your husband. Your husband thanked him before turning to you.

“Up you go princess” he grunted, grabbing your waist and hauling you up on the saddle. You tried to get comfortable, but your dress pooled around you, making it hard for you to sit right or even see the stallion’s head. You turned to ask your husband if there was a carriage to take, but you were stopped by the sight of his hands tearing at your dress. You gave a shout of fear and using one leg you tried to kick him away. Instead, just grabbed it with one hand and ripped it with another. Scraps of silk lay forgotten on the muddy ground. His hand on your ankle was rough and warm, and it left tingles behind. After doing the other side as well, with you once again trying to kick in his teeth, your lower legs were bare. The removal of the excess fabric made it much easier for you to sit and you gave him a begrudging thank you. He just smiled at you and gripped your ankle tighter before running his hand up your skin, to your knee and diving it under the remainder of the dress before resting it on the meat of your thigh. He pawed at your soft flesh before giving you a smile.

“That’s alright princess” he cooed, before lifting himself up behind you. You tried to give him some more room, moving forward slightly. However, you were pulled back by his arm around your waist, leaving your arse pressed tight against his groin. You tried to move forward again but was once more pulled back.

“Come on sweet cheeks, don’t you wanna make your husband happy?” he sang, and you gave him a small hesitant nod. “Then sit that arse right here and let a man enjoy his wife’s company.” He teased, his mouth finding its way to your ear. He encouraged the horse forward, and he gave a groan as you were jolted back and your arse ground against him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that” he cooed. You could only blush and tense up, trying desperately to ignore his hardening member digging into you.

You turned your head to look for your family, finding them standing on the church steps. You gave a small wave and a little smile. Your eyes began to swell with tears as you watched your father fall to the ground in grief. His youngest taken by an outlaw. You turned around quickly not wanting to watch your father’s misery.

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"I saw you" he remarked, leading his horse into the forest.

You had been riding all day and you had yet to have a proper conversation with him. Instead, he would shout vulgar remarks to his men, telling them how desperate he was to sink into your warm cunt, or he would joke to them how the only reason he hadn’t torn the rest of your dress off and taken you roughly on the ground was that he didn’t want the sight of your soft, sweet flesh available to the dirty bastards. After each conversation and jest, he would give a laugh and then squeeze a portion of you. His favourite place to grab was your thigh. You would often be startled by his hand finding its way under your skirts, where it would run up and down before squeezing and finally leaving. The conversations and his touch left you breathless and terrified. You were sure this man would force himself on you and the idea of it left you shaking. After a vile comment made by him about how he would soon teach his pretty princess how to suck cock like a whore, which made you give out a sob of fear, he suddenly refused to joke with his men about you further. Even ordering one man to get off his horse and walk when he made a particular vulgar comment on how your breasts would look, bouncing on your husband’s cock. Since then, the group only spoke of other things, like robbing and killing. Your husband remained silent throughout. So, it shocked you when he remarked that he had seen you, his voice was much softer than you had previously known.

"Pardon?" you queried, slightly turning your head to him.

"The night of that big party you had. Me and the boys came to rob everyone blind, but then out popped you. You were wearing that bluey-looking dress, looking all pretty and shit. I liked the flowers in your hair, made you look real sweet. I guess you could say it was love at first sight. Couldn't rob everyone when I was thinking about you" he said, hand resting on his own hip and the other leading the horse over tree roots and rocks. You listened intently, thinking back to that night. Surely you would have seen an outlaw. You blushed at his words; a small smile fought its way to your lips. Until it was ripped down with his continuing story.  

"You ran off before I could nab ya, tried again a few more times during the week of all your sisters getting hitched. Kept just missing ya though. You were running this way and that, and sometimes you wouldn’t even leave the castle! I may be a fool in love but I’m not foolish to think I would be able to get past your guards and steal you away.” He chuckled as if he was relaying a funny little tale down at the pub. “But then your old man declared your hand free game! all it took was a little hard work robbing some rich fucks and next thing I knew we're getting hitched. My ma would be proud, I got you the honest way! who would have thought huh?" he beamed, giving you a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"you stole the money. And you still tried to kidnap me" you said in shock. Your eyes widened in disgust.

"so?" he questioned, he really saw no problem with his whole plan. Suddenly you turned a corner and in front of you was the Outlaw’s lair. It was remarkably put together. Houses and huts hidden under the canopy of the trees, some even in the branches of the tall trees, and bridges traveling throughout creating a roadway of planks and rope. It was amazing.

“Welcome home princess” he cheered, it did nothing to kill the fear inside of you.

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You listened to the continuing festivities outside the wooden walls. Your husband (whose name you still didn’t know) told you that his men would party into the wee hours of dawn. But your husband had other things on his mind than drinking, he had snatched you from the horse and carried you into his bed chambers, throwing you onto the bed. You had given a shriek of surprise and quickly sat up moving to the edge of the bed, just in time as he fell to the space where you once were. He gave a groan of frustration and lifted himself up to his elbows.

“Come here wife, I have dreamed of that sweet cunt since I first saw you. Let me finally have a taste for all my good work” he grunted before reaching for you. You jumped to your feet.

“I don’t even know your name!” you blurted out, thinking quickly about how to tame this man’s lust without touching him.

“Its Bingus” he remarked, face bored.

“Excuse me?” you asked, you weren’t one to judge but that name did not suit the man in front of you.

“Of course it isn't! It isn't exactly a name that inspires fear and respect” he chuckled as he also stood from the bed. You stood tense, standing close to the wall. He gave a sigh before answering your initial question.

“It's Alwyn,” he said as he slowly stepped towards you. He reached out with his hands, and you flinched slightly. He moved his hands up and down your arms, giving you slight comfort. “ Now that you know, I expect you to scream it loud enough to drown out those fuckers outside”

He grabbed your waist and lifted you up, placing you on the bed with him firmly on top. His body was in between your legs, and you tried desperately to push him off.

“Oh, you wound me sweet cheeks! All I want to do is show you my love!” he teased “and how can I not, with you laying in my bed looking like the prettiest whore there ever was"

You gave a cry of anger as your hand raced for his face. He easily grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand flat onto the bed next to your head.

"It's a compliment sweet cheeks! I mean it in a 'fucking hell my wife is so fucking hot, I'm about to blow my load just at the sight of her pretty tits' way." He consoled. “And what pretty tits they are. I mean look at them. I just want to bury my face in em” he groaned before doing exactly that. You felt his lips mouth at the skin of your cleavage, the rest hidden by your dress. The pleasure left you flustered, and you gave out a moan. He started to grind his pelvis against your clothed warmth. You could feel his hardening cock straining against his pants. But all the feelings, of pleasure, confusion, nervousness and insecurities overwhelmed you.

“Did you mean it?” you whimpered, grabbing his hair with your non-trapped hand, and pulling his face up.

“Mean what princess?” he cooed. Eyes and smile dopey with lust.

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”, you whispered, tears making their way to your eyes. He released your hand to gently hold your face.

“The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in all my days” he soothed going in for a kiss.

“You aren’t just saying that right? Right?” you sniffed, turning your head for his kiss to fall flat on your cheek, he lifted his head with a groan. You needed to know. Needed to make sure he wasn’t just lying to you to get you to willingly give up your honour.

“Now why would you say something like that huh?” he probed.  You looked at him with teary eyes. Begging for him to leave it and forget it.

“Well? What got my pretty lady worried?” he implored.

“I just don’t believe you” you sniffled, a rogue tear traveling down your cheek before his thumb swiped it away.

“Don’t believe me? Sweetheart I would be a fool to not think you are the prettiest, most gorgeous being I’ve ever seen” he laughed, once more going for a kiss. Once more you turned your head, this time his mouth finding its way on the pillow, he gave a grunt of frustration.

“How can you think I’m beautiful when I look like me?” you whimpered, tears following quickly. His head snapped up quickly. His eyes darkened. His gaze was harsh, but his fingers on your face were soft. His thumb gently wiped away the offensive tears.

“Who told you otherwise?” he snarled, his face twisting into anger. But when your face turned to one of fear, his eyes softened, and his face became gentle.

“Who was it, sweetheart? You tell me and I’ll burn their fucking house down” his voice soft and soothing, his thumbs moving their way to your lips, tracing their outline. You hesitated. It wasn’t like anyone at had ever out rightly told you, you were ugly or unattractive. But it was what they hadn’t said. In the way your mother would call your sisters beautiful and gorgeous, then turn to you and say you liked nice, just nice. How only your sisters were ever praised for their tidy figures and easy-to-manage breasts by the dressmaker, while she only ever tsked and sighed measuring your hips and bust.  It was in the way you had always felt left out, never feeling like an equal, sometimes not even feeling like a sister. Instead of telling him all that you just gave him a shake of the head and a sniffle. After a few moments of silence, he relented, maybe later he would ask and then he would get to burn something. But right now, he needed to change tactics.

“You know…I’ve always had a thing for girls like you” he encouraged, leaving sweet kisses on your rounded cheeks and jaw, before looking down at you once more. You looked at him with inquisitive eyes.

“You’re so, so soft, and there’s so much to grab and fuck me but your thighs? Heaven. And these tits? the way they bounce when you walk? Fuck, it's enough for a man to blow a load at the very sight. And the way your arse jiggles? I just want to bend you over and fuck the daylight out of you” he moaned, kissing up and down your neck. You became flustered, the only thing you could do was listen and hold onto his shoulders as he continued his assault on your body. It was going so well too, you had started to think he really did see you as desirable, as someone worth loving. Until he opened his big stupid mouth again.

“So what you’re not as thin as your sisters or some other women? I like my women well fed and fuck sweetheart look at you! You’re as well fed as a heifer in spring!” he cheered, his eyes bright with joy and his mouth smiling wide. You on the other hand were frowning. Giving a cry of anger you pushed him off you and jumped from the bed. Angry tears began rolling down your cheeks as you looked for something to bash him with. Ah, a broom! Grabbing it you turned to swing it at him, Alwyn shouting in confusion and shock, only narrowing missing a stick to the face by leaping from the bed. You tried to swing at him again, but he grabbed the broom and pulled it forward, you along with it. He held you in his arms as you raged against him, sobs crying out.

“Hey! Hey! Come on princess, what now!” he exclaimed trying to soften the blows to his chest from your hands.

“It’s not fair!” you wailed, “It’s not fair!” Finally tired from all the excitement you slowed your assault, leaving you to sob into his chest, hands covering your face. You could feel his hands awkwardly rub your back. You hated him.

“What’s not fair?”  he whispered.

“It’s not fair they look the way they do, and I’m left looking like this” you choked, “it's not fair they are called as fair as a swan in flight or, or as pretty as a sunflower in summer or as beautiful as Venus herself. And I’m left to be compared to a heifer! A heifer!” you broke down into more bitter tears by the end of your rant. Your tears left damp splotches on his shirt. He deserved it.

“ A very pretty heifer” he encouraged, making you growl in anger and restart your war against his chest.

“Ok! Ok! You don’t want to be called a heifer! I get it!” he exclaimed grabbing your wrists together to stop you.

“But you are as pretty as a sunflower, or as beautiful as a goose” he soothed, hands resting on your hips and fingers rubbing small circles.

“Swan” you sniffed.

“Right. As beautiful as a swan” he took a pause, “I thought they were the same thing? Aren’t swans just baby geese?” he questioned, head tilting slightly to the right.

“No!” you giggled; tears forgotten as you smiled watching as his own grin made its way to his face.

“Right, okay, so swans are swans and geese are geese?” he asked, a large smile gracing his lips. You giggled as you nodded your head.

“Okay, I get it now.” He nodded. “I don’t like swans. They are too pretentious, with really fucking long necks and stupid-looking faces. I like geese better” he remarked.

“I thought you didn’t know what a swan was?” you smirked, tears now drying on your cheek.

“I didn’t, I thought swans shrunk as they got older to be geese” he replied, face one of pure glee. This left you laughing deeply, your head falling back and a massive smile on your face.

“There’s my pretty girl” Alwyn cooed, watching you with pure love in his eyes. “I don’t know who ever made you feel this way about yourself, but they were fucking idiots. I mean look at yourself. As beautiful and as radiant as the first morning rays over a snow-covered mountain” he soothed, leaving a light kiss on your lips. Tears welled in your eyes but this time of joy.

“You’re pretty good-looking yourself. One might say handsome” you shyly smiled. He gave a chuckle before answering.

“Oh I know I am sweetheart.” He teased. You brought your lips to his and brought his hands to your arse, allowing him to squeeze. A moan came from both of you. But you still at one more question. Slowly removing your lips and giggling as he pouted you stared at him for a moment.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“When you said you fell in love with me?” you whispered, terrified you would break the spell between you two. Your fears dissipated as a dashing smile graced his charming face.

“I’m not a praying man, but I swear to any god that lives in heaven that it was the truth” he marvelled, hands resting once more on your hips, fingers falling into a familiar routine of small circles.

“I think I like you too” you softly spoke.

“Good to know princess.” He smirked, hands now rubbing up and down your sides  “So how about you spread those pretty thighs for me and I find heaven for us both?”

he really did get to be balls deep by nightfall

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

Hey guys it's mae!

I just wanted to have a quick discussion about the above topics just cause I want to make myself clear. I completely and utterly understand that it is not healthy to expect your partner (if you can call what these two have a relationship) to 'fix' your insecurities, that is something only you can try and work on. And yeah I don't think anyone will ever be without insecurities and therefore it is natural for partners to help each other through that. But you have to make the first step, even if your partner is the one to encourage you. I wrote this because of personal reasons and as a way of venting (don't worry it's mainly the feeling of my situation rather than based on any particular events). I see this as a fantasy and thus it does not relate to expectations of reality, you guys should view it as such too. There is nothing wrong with fantasising about someone rushing in and 'rescuing' ( i put them in inverted commas because he legit kidnaps the reader) you but I think it's also important to view yourself as your own hero. If anyone is struggling with body image issues and insecurities feel free to dm me (just remind me to post it privately I forget) and we can have a chat. I am not a licenced professional or anything but I can send you in the right direction. I know what it's like being told your entire life you're not good enough looks-wise. Anyway! I just wanted to make that crystal clear cause I do see people idolising a partner with the sole purpose of fixing their insecurities without putting the work in themselves or even helping their partners with their own insecurities. Also, you don't need a partner to be happy! It can be achieved, but this one goes out to us lonely bitches who just want to slow dance with someone.

All the best,

Mae xx

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x13 Witch Hunt

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 844

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Regina was no stranger to grief–after all, she’d lost both of her parents as well as her first love–but nothing could have prepared her for the overwhelming, all consuming, oppressive grief of losing a child.  Granted, Henry wasn’t dead.  He was hopefully living a full and happy life with Emma in New York, and that was certainly some comfort, but still the grief of knowing there was no way of ever seeing him again was so crushing she felt like she could barely breathe.

It was the main reason she’d come back to her castle.  She just wanted it all to end, and she knew exactly how to do that.  Putting herself under a sleeping curse might be extreme, but hey.  It was better than living out the next forty or fifty years with this overwhelming sadness.

“Make yourself useful,” she tossed over her shoulder to the man who had followed her like a stray puppy, or perhaps a guard dog.

Regina’s broken heart swooped at the remembrance of discovering Robin Hood following her.  What was wrong with her?  Why did she have this strong, overwhelming reaction to him everytime he showed up?  Yes, he was handsome, but she’d had dealings with plenty of handsome men through the years.  What was it about this bandit that affected her so?  She didn’t need this distraction.

And so, she’d resorted to her default when she felt flat footed–sarcasm and snark.

She did her best to ignore him as she went about gathering the supplies she needed for the curse.

She should have known he would make that impossible.

“What is that?” he asked, suspiciously eyeing the bottles she’d amassed.

“Nothing that concerns you,” she said dismissively.

He pulled an arrow at her, actually pulled an arrow. “I won’t ask you again. What is that?”

Regina’s anger flared–anger at him, anger at herself, anger at Pan, anger at the witch who’d stolen her castle, anger at the whole damn world and everyone in it.  She raised her hand and choked him.  “How dare you threaten me in my own castle!”

He struggled against her hold, but the defiance never left his eyes.  “Even if you choke the life out of me,” he gasped, “this arrow will still leave my bow, and trust me, I never miss.  Now what manner of dark potion are you making?”

In an instant the anger drained from her, leaving nothing but the emptiness–and something feeling almost like shame.  Why did it bother her so much that this man jumped to the worst conclusions about her motives?

It was something that didn’t bear contemplation.  She was so tired, so heartsick, she just wanted it to be over.  She let him go.  “A sleeping curse.”

“The kind you used on Snow White?” he asked.

“That spell came from Maleficent,” she answered, mixing ingredients. “I finally learned how to make one of my own.”

“A spell?  This is why you wanted to come to the castle?” he asked.  “That was your plan? To use it on the witch?”

“The witch?” Regina asked in surprise.  Truthfully, the idea had never occurred to her.  “I don’t care about her.”

“Then who do you plan to use it on?”

Regina stopped for a second, letting the pain, the heartbreak, wash over her once again.  She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing things were different, wishing, in a rare moment of brutal self reflection, that she’d been different.  “Don’t worry.  No one you’ll miss.  No one anyone will miss.”

“This is about your son, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice tender, understanding.  “I can’t let you do this.”

And she couldn’t let him stop her.  With a lazy wave of her hand, she stuck his feet to the floor.  “Then it’s a good thing you don’t have a say in the matter.”

He tried to dissuade her, speaking of his own heartbreak, his own guilt at his wife’s death.  He spoke to her of second chances and new reasons to care about life.

For a moment, a single moment, she almost wavered.  Her traitorous heart leapt at the hope, the possibilities his words brought to her.  What if…what if he was right?  What if there was still a possibility of a…if not strictly happy, at least content…life for her?

But as soon as the hope sprung up, it dissipated.  It was too late for her.  Too late for hope.  Hope was for the heroes, for those who still had their loved ones at their side.  Her hope was gone, and she was never getting it back.

“This isn’t an end,” she said finally. “It’s an eternal middle.  This curse can be broken by the only true love in my life and the only reason I would even want to wake–my son.”

“Regina, listen to me!  This is a mistake!” He tried one last time.

“Don’t worry,” she said, resisting the allure of his voice, “I’ll keep my word.  I’ll lower the protection spell so that Snow and Charming can be victorious, but then, then I go to sleep.”

NEXT CHAPTER->

[starrystevie]

bee!! this follower celebration is such a genius idea and I say, yet again, you are so creative!! <3333 but okay, for my ask:

let’s do an aesthetic/moodboard with a roll for ship, vibe, and era? 👀

lex ily! thank you so much for sending this in, i had a lot of fun putting it together <3

ship: steddie | vibes: dark red | era: modern

"i told you i was a bad idea," eddie whispered from where he was perched on the windowsill, bruises blooming on his throat, smoke pouring from his lips in to the night air like the secrets and lies between them. steve kept his face still like a stone statue of a greek god as he searched for his discarded clothes, the piercing shrill of sirens bouncing off the apartment walls. he fought against the urge to give eddie one last kiss on his swollen lips and lost. and as steve watched frozen in place as the police barged in, the last image he burned into his memory was eddie with a crooked grin and hands in the air that belonged on steve instead.

roll for prompts: accepting!

[islandiis]

BLINDSIDED !!

send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

There are two men pinning him down by his ankles and by his wrists.

The sky is clear and the air is cold, and the grass he's been forced down into is certainly preferable to the abrasive rock that forms their land. A little ways off, there are people he knows - a farmhand and his girlfriend, both skirting eighteen. They keep their heads carefully turned away from him, despite Leifur's hissing and screaming. One of the men snarls him to shut up, and Leifur spits at him.

It is the fucking Norwegians, this is their doing. Leifur liked Tór, despite - he understood now - their initial meeting being an invasion. Tór gave him food. Deep down — despite failing to understand the intricacies of their existence, nor the political plays that these mortals weaponise — Leifur does not wish to believe that this is Tór's fault. It is the people, the Norwegian people, who came here to conquer and to pillage. Under Tór's instruction, yes, and yet...

Could Tór stop this, if he so wished? Could the Góðar?

It is King Olaf who sent Stefnir, King Olaf who sent Thangbrand to the Góðar, King Olaf who - now - has taken several of his people hostage in Norway. It is King Olaf threatening to take their life, should Iceland not convert.

He is aware, too, that the Góðar speak endlessly about Norway. That's all they ever seem to talk about: Norway, Norway, Norway. Friends, that's what they are, and they have to stay that way. It is because of Olaf. No decisions are ever made without the King's presence looming. He doesn't understand why, but he doesn't understand a lot of things. He thinks King Olaf is evil, and he cannot understand why his countrymen simply bow their heads to him. After all — is he not mortal, too?

"Fuck you," he hisses at the men, jerking his wrists against the restraints — ineffectually. Few men would be so heinous as to treat a child this way, but Leifur is no mortal child. He is an immortal boy, physically only five or six — but right now he is a rabid animal, the explosive embodiment of all the great fires of their land. He unleashes a barrage of curses a boy of his age should certainly not know, and he attempts to bite at one man's wrist. "Fuck you! You don't care about Sturla. You never cared about Sturla!"

"You don't even fucking know Sturla, boy."

Leifur spits at him again, then throws his head back against the ground and screams.

His countrymen all know him as a strange boy, coming and going as wildly as the winds of their homelands — and behaving just as erratically. His presence tends to inspire a variety of reactions: some find him endearing, while some find him offputting. They all find him familiar, though, even those he has never met before. He is, after all, the land they walk on and the water they drink. Regardless of how they may find him, he will be exist as they born and as they die.

"Stefnir destroyed everything!"

"And Stefnir is never coming back here."

"And now they've taken Sturla, your 'friend'. Coward!"

The man's chest heaves with rage, and for a moment he looks ready to strike the boy. "You question my fortitude as a man?"

Leifur stops thrashing momentarily to hold the man's gaze, violet eyes all but coring the man from the inside. "I don't question it. You are a coward."

Finally, the man grabs his hair and slams the boy's head back into the earth. Leifur doesn't seem to care or even really react, continuing, "And everyone who Thangbrand got are cowards!"

So, this boy is nothing more than a heathen, is he? It is unusual for one so young - and so isolated - to feel so strongly against the Christians. It was easier to understand it from the farmhands or the sons of the Góðar, but this boy who simply roams, who exists outside the bounds of their society? He doesn't even engage with the Góðar as he should. He may be their land, but he is disrespectful — a lucky little boy who does not know to appreciate what he has. It is infuriating, listening to him whine about the King and the political affairs he takes no interest in. Many of the Góðar are displeased, of course — but law is law, and blood is blood.

"You speak ill of the King and he will have your head, child."

"At least my head won't be bowed. I'm not a coward."

[sunflower-butch]

Just gonna drop this and run <33

The Righteous Hand of God || Wild West Ronance Drabble || 1003 words

(inspired by Hell’s Coming With Me by Poor Man’s Poison)

_________________

Red eyes. A flash of fangs.

The tang of blood in the air.

A dead man, with Robin’s fangs sunk into his throat.

These were the images that flashed through Nancy’s mind as she sat at the bar, blue eyes focused on Robin Buckley’s rhythmically swaying form. The outlaw had her head thrown back with laughter, boots stomping as she and the rest of the patrons of the saloon danced. The band was playing some jaunty tune.

Nancy scowled at the sight. She scowled even deeper at the way her chest panged with desperate want to join Buckley on the floor. Her grip on her now empty glass tightened, a soft crack only her ears could hear the only warning that it would soon break.

She couldn’t watch this any longer.

Nancy stood and smoothed her skirt, leaving the bar behind. Her footsteps were light as she made her way upstairs, through the upper floor to the balcony that overlooked town.

It was quieter up here, and she could get a breath of fresh air. She could still hear the muffled music below, the tap of boot heels and click of spurs. The wind whistled like a warning. The sky was scarred crimson—the sun was setting. Crimson.

Blood.

Fangs.

Red eyes.

Robin Buckley, the outlaw. Robin Buckley, the vampire. Robin Buckley, the monster. Robin Buckley, Barb’s killer.

Nancy’s sensitive ears picked up another sound—footsteps that followed her own. The scent of honey and sweat and leather—maybe a little whiskey—confirmed the person’s identity. Robin’s calloused hand rested on Nancy’s shoulder, and she tensed.

“Nance? What’s wrong, darlin’,” the outlaw asked, her voice a deep rumble that Nancy could feel in her chest.

“Don’t call me that,” Nancy muttered. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“What?” Robin questioned, voice thick with hurt. Her hand withdrew, hovering uncertainly.

“You’re not who you say you are,” Nancy murmured, surprised at the steadiness of her voice. She didn’t feel steady. She felt ready to keel over.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked. She placed her hand on Nancy’s cheek instead, and Nancy allowed her to turn her head, blue eyes matching soft stormy gray.

Nancy’s expression hardened into something fierce and angry, while Robin’s softened, concerned, fond almost. Nancy shoved her hand away.

“I saw you,” she began, one hand on Robin’s chest while the girl stared at her in wonder and fear and confusion. Like she was a god. Like she was something to worship.

The background noise faded to nothing. Nancy focused on Robin.

“You killed that man.”

Robin’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Nance, it’s not what you think—“

“All this talk about monsters, and you’ve been hiding that?” Nancy seethed, no longer in control of her anger. She shoved Nancy back, something cold and angry settling in her stomach. “You’re just like me. You should look in the fucking mirror for once, Buckley,” she continued, shoving Robin back again.

Robin didn’t protest. Her face fell, pained—but that fucking wonder stayed. The girl dropped to her knees like a prayer, one hand gripping Nancy’s skirt.

“I haven’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it,” Robin murmured. She sounded genuine. She believed her words. “He was a criminal—a violent one.”

Nancy didn’t know when she pulled the weapon, but she held the pistol now in her shaking hand. She met Robin’s gaze evenly. Blue turned to gold—a blazing desert fire, the setting sun on judgement day. Robin’s own flashed red, unreadable, uncertain—but pleading. Desperate.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. You killed an innocent,” Nancy whispered. She touched the barrel of the gun to Robin’s chin, wondering if the metal was cold on the outlaw’s suntanned and freckled skin as she lifted Robin’s face. It was a cold weight in her hand. “And I’m going to bring you to justice.”

She held her breath a moment, trying to steady herself. The name stung as she spoke it, dragged from her lips. “Barbara Holland.”

Robin’s eyes widened in recognition.

“It wasn’t me, Nance,” Robin, staring pleadingly up. She gulped, but she didn’t move away. She didn’t even try to fight. Nancy could hear her steady, calm heartbeat. She should have been angry. Maybe she was, but for the wrong reasons. Robin should be scared. Nancy should have already pulled the goddamned trigger.

Nancy’s hand was shaking violently, and she couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger. Her throat tightened painfully.

“Then who was it?” she managed, voice dripping with venom.

Robin choked—a sob maybe? Panic? Nancy couldn’t tell. It frustrated her. “I can’t say,” Robin whispered. Nancy got the sense that if her gun wasn’t holding Robin’s face up, the outlaw would have looked away. It only fueled Nancy’s fury.

“What was it you called me?” Nancy scoffed, a bitter note, eyes watering with the words. Her heart ached. Her rage burned. “The righteous hand of God?”

Robin raised one hand, a gesture almost reverent. She gripped Nancy’s wrist with unbearable gentleness, stilling Nancy’s trembling and guiding the barrel downward. Stormy gray eyes never left seething gold as the gun pressed to Robin’s chest. Nancy’s grip went white knuckled.

This was it.

She knew this was coming, didn’t she? This was her life’s purpose for years. She had spent years traveling, learning of Robin’s whereabouts. She was always going to hunt down Barb’s killer. Hunt down Robin Buckley.

Fangs. Blood. Red eyes.

Fangs. Blood. Gold.

Robin’s eyes became Nancy’s mirror. She searched those gray depths for any trace of a beast. Any hint of violence. All she could find was warmth and care and a hint of fear—and a deep, drowning sadness that threatened to drag Nancy under.

She saw her own face reflected back. Blazing gold eyes and face twisted into ugly fury. She had seen this before, hadn’t she? Reflected in a different set of eyes. The memory hit her like a gunshot.

Barbara Holland.

Robin didn’t kill Barbara.

Nancy knew who had. She remembered now.

She knew what she had to do.

A bang echoed through the saloon.

[bowsnbots]

—Takes a look at the huge piece of paper in his hands. Really looks at it. Squints at it. Brings it close to his face.

"DAG-NABBIT, I WAS S'PPOSED T'BE FUNNY."

[rcdempticn]

peyton is basically an oc of an oc at this point , she's soo far removed from the original material its almost alarming

[pocketjoong]

Pairing: Prince!Hongjoong x General!Seonghwa x reader

Genre: Smut. Drabble.

A/N: This was actually not matz x reader (it was more of two of my ults x reader), but since I only post, ateez, I changed things up a bit. I blame @justhere4kpop and @nebulousbrainsoup for this (thank you for attacking me with my biases earlier today)

Imagine you meet prince!Hongjoong and general!Seonghwa at a ball that's been hosted by Hongjoong's parents to celebrate the Light festival. During the ball, you dance with both the males and you can't help but be enamoured by both of them. As the night advances, you find yourself being dragged away by Hongjoong into a smaller room, which has a raised platform on which there's a piano. You find Seonghwa seated on the bench in front of the piano. He smiles at you and starts playing a tune, allowing Hongjoong to pull you into his arms for another dance. The two of you dance for a while until you find yourself smushed on the bench between the two men, their hands roaming all over your body.

You whine when you feel Hongjoong's hard cock pushing into you slowly. Seonghwa's fingers dig into your thighs, making sure to keep your legs spread for the prince.

"Fuck, you feel so good, love," Hongjoong breathes, lazily thrusting into you.

The only thing that leaves your lips is a high-pitched whine, causing Seonghwa to laugh. "Oh, our princess is a complete mess already. And we've not even started yet."

The older male's lips travel the length of your neck, teeth grazing your skin. One of his hands creeps up to your chest, his fingers kneading gently, teasingly tugging at your nipple, knowing how sensitive you are. You whine once again, your own fingers tangling into Hongjoong's blonde locks as he picks up the pace.

With Seonghwa's mouth all over you and Hongjoong's cock stretching you wide, you can't help the moans that leave your lips. You don't even bother to keep quiet, knowing that the room you're in is far away enough for anyone to accidentally come across the three of you.

“Ah– too much– fuck,” you gasp, your body arching up against Seonghwa's chest due to the overwhelming pleasure. You're so close to release when you feel Hongjoong suddenly pull out, ripping your orgasm out of reach. "Why did you stop?”

Seonghwa hushes you softly, turning you around slowly before he wipes your cheeks. He can't help but coo at your teary eyes and swollen lips, he can't help but lean down to press his plushy lips against yours, immediately slipping his tongue into your mouth, tasting the champagne that you'd been sipping before you were pulled away from the festivities.

Carefully, Hongjoong covers your hand and pulls it down to Seonghwa's hard length. "Put that hand to use and take care of our general while I'll make you fall apart on my cock, yeah, love?”

[troublcmakcrs]

//it's insane how literally every tweek ship is so good except for creek

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

okay all ive got is

‘he’s sleep deprived again isn’t he’

‘yea’

‘….’

‘you lure him in i sit on his chest till he sleeps’

‘already on it’

OOOH YES THANK YOU FOR INDULGING ME MAY

Kori didn’t make it a secret that she was looking at Jason as he went at the punching bag.

“What are you thinking?” Roy asked, climbing over the back of the couch. He always did that.

She tilted her head in Jason’s direction, finally looking away from him to look at Roy. His hair brushed over her shoulder when he knocked his arm against her.

“When was the last time you saw Jason get some sleep?”

Roy frowned. “I don’t exactly watch him sleep, Kori. That would be weird.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that not what you are?”

Roy laughed, bright and genuine and loud enough that Jason spared them a glance before continuing to batter the punching bag.

“Touché, princess.” He leaned back, studying Jason’s sloppy punches. “I don’t know. Last time I saw him sleep was a couple of day ago. He fell asleep at the desk in that dingy motel, so I woke him up and told him to go to bed.”

“Did he?”

“Not a clue. I came back from the bathroom and he was gone. I assumed he went to his own room, but…” Roy scratched the back of his head and shrugged as he trailed off. “Looking at him now, he’s definitely sleep-deprived.”

“Yes,” Kori agreed, turning away from him to continue observing Jason.

"He's not going to listen when we tell him to get some rest," Roy pointed out.

"He won't," she confirmed, getting up and walking over to their friend, determined to put an end to this before he hurt himself. "Jason!"

He finally stopped taking swings at the punching bag. He reached up to brush sweaty bangs from his forehead and looked at her. "Yeah?"

"You need sleep," she said, and before he could protest, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along to the couch.

"Kori-"

Roy quickly leaped up and pushed Jason down onto the couch. Then he climbed on top of him, straddling his waist so Jason couldn't get up without throwing him off the couch.

"Guys, come on. At least let me take a shower."

"Nope, can't do," Roy said, and he slumped forward until his head was tucked under Jason's chin. "Now shut up so we can all get some peace and quiet."

Jason huffed, but Kori thought it sounded more like a laugh. She knew she was right when Jason brought a hand up to smooth over Roy's hair.

"Yeah, okay," he mumbled. His eyes slid over to her and the corner of his lips quirked up. "You wanna join too?"

Kori shook her head. "Somebody needs to watch over you two."

Jason's smile widened even as his eyes fluttered closed. "I wouldn't trust anyone else to do so."

[wordsbymae]

King of the Outlaws (Alwyn) Alphabet 18+

Hey everyone! Hope your weekend was lovely! I'm planning on doing part 2 for Alwyn and the reader but in the meantime, while I watch a documentary, I thought I should write up his alphabet. Alwyn is a clear fan favourite so I hope this lives up to the hype.

Also, I hope I don't need to say this but I will just in case, I do not condone these sorts of actions!!! Or any actions in any of my work. This is pure fiction. The yandere aplhabet is not mine!

TW: This one is gonna be pure filth. Fem!reader, insecurities, insecure thoughts, smut, implied murder and violence, implied corruption kink, reader has got big boobies :), term whores used as a historical term, oral sex. Please use discretion!!!

Minors turn away now, please!

Let's get into it!

Part 1

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I think I have a thing for strong, beefy, tough, rough and somewhat aggressive yanderes being kinda dumb and just so in love with their darlings. Cause this man is all that and more. He is still cunning and witty, being able to plan the perfect heist or the perfect kidnapping. He is an expert manipulator, liar and pickpocket. He can run across rooftops like it's nothing and can outrun any guard after him. He's vicious with his daggers, silently assassinating anyone who is in his way and he is an expert swordsman (not in the way he knows the names of the moves just in the way he knows how to kill someone quickly and cleanly). But!!!!!! he just becomes this dumb, obsessed puppy whenever you're around.

Above I said he was an expert at kidnapping people. Yet, he failed every single time when he tried to take you and you had no clue. He would get distracted when he was meant to steal you cause the way the sun hit your hair made you look like you had a halo and he just forgot he was meant to yank you away. Or his men were meant to do it but at the last minute, he thought they would hurt you so he just tackles them when they go to do it. Also, he could have very easily stolen you from your room (despite what he said) but he would get stuck just lovingly staring at you from the tree he was meant to use as a ladder to your balcony. By the end of the week his men know he doesn't want to kidnap you for ransom and that he's obsessed with you instead, I see them encouraging him and trying to lift his mood, coming up with plans like "we can kidnap her father and threaten to kill him if she doesn't marry you" or " what if we threaten a noble to ask for her hand and at the last minute we swap you at the altar". he just groans and lays his head in his arms. He thinks he's never going to marry you and each mug of ale makes him think that the first plan isn't too bad at all. Until it's announced any man, noble or not, can ask for your hand as long as they can afford your bride price. To him, it's the ultimate jackpot. If he is able to get enough money (easy for him) he can marry you the honest way, and he can kid himself into believing you wanted him.

If people thought he was violent before it was nothing compared to the bloodshed he caused during that week. He went absolutely feral, robbing every single wagon, caravan and traveller who was stupid enough to journey through his woods. He does not care at all about the suffering he's causing (he used to let some people go, but now he's killing anyone who even thinks of hesitating to give up their coins) he is just thinking of you, sweet, beautiful you. I'm not gonna lie and say that his thoughts of you before he got betrothed to you were wholesome and pure. This man is a slut in the fullest meaning of the word. His thoughts of you are 90% centred around sex. He hasn't seen you naked yet (that happens the week before the wedding when he's hiding under your bed as you change) but he doesn't need to. He's more than happy to imagine you kneeling in front of him in that pretty blue dress of yours, your tits practically spilling out from the fabric and you're just looking up at him with those innocent eyes. he can only hope you would need him to help you through it. That you would need him to instruct you to unbuckle his belt and to edge his pants down and take out his cock. he could only hope you would whimper at the sight of it and look to him for guidance. That he would get to praise you as you would begin to leave soft kisses on its head before hesitantly taking it in your warm mouth.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

He was so cocky when he got the money, he didn't even think your father would refuse, so yeah he just waltzed into the castle and demanded to be seen by your father and even got some of his men to keep the guards happy (by fighting them all). He's then ripping open the doors, throwing the money on the table, falling into the chair in front of your father and begins discussing what colour theme he wants for the wedding (but he's happy to let you pick). The thing is he had no idea that you had made a deal with your father. He had no idea that your father was forced to say yes to him (always a man of his word), he really just thought your father was impressed with him. I think he gets quite sad to find out your father didn't say yes because he was blown away by his charming personality and good looks. You might have to reassure him and sook him for a few days.

All in all, to anyone else he is not a nice person, charming and slightly whimsical yes, but still an outlaw that would happily slit a man's throat if it could him a penny. To you? He is the sweetest man alive, constantly wanting to touch you and talk to you and do things for you. he is the ultimate dream man.

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

Since he didn't 'abduct' the reader, just replace the abduction with forcibly married.

A = Affection (How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?)

To him love is sex, but sex isn't love. The only intimacy he has ever had with women is through sex, and while he was never in love with them, it is the only way he really knows how to show his affection. He wants to prove to you his love through physical touch. Not only that but he is obsessed with your body as well, very much on his knees kissing your ankles sort of stuff and worshipping you. He is always trying to get up your skirts, constantly touching you and trying to convince you to have sex, anywhere and everywhere (he tried to convince you to do it while riding once, you thought it was a joke and he had to awkwardly pretend it was too). H

e is very possessive as well but he is a bit of a strange one, he wants to show everyone who you belong to, so he will try to fuck you in front of his men. He is more than happy to talk about your body and your sex life to them and will only stop if it makes you visually uncomfortable. but it is a fantasy of his to just take you on the large table in the planning room. You on your back, legs open wide, just cock drunk as he thrusts into you, showing you off to everyone. He will keep your dress on though and will probably kill any guy who seems to be enjoying themselves too much, but his ultimate fantasy is making sure everyone knows who you belong to and how much you love getting fucked by him.

B = Blood (How messy are they willing to get when it comes to you?)

He was willing to kill anybody and everybody to get the money to marry you so yeah bloody. But very cruel as well. Tortue sort of stuff. he takes pleasure in killing and he is very good at it. i do see him being very quick with his killings, you have to be when assinating or during a robbery, but when it comes to you and someone tries to steal you from him or worse, your father tries to send men to 'rescue' you, he is going to be very cruel. blood and screams everywhere. just so they know not to fuck around with him. he also wants you to know that he is willing to do that for you and will encourage you to watch, instead, you very understandable run out of the screaming either crying or very anger at him. he just goes to find you arms open wide, blood everywhere trying to hug you. You would be the most mad if it was your father's men and i see him getting a bit frustrated because hes trying to prove to you how much he loves you and you dont understand.

C = Cruelty (How would they treat you once abducted? Would they mock you?)

he is very sweet to you in his own way. he won't be cruel deliberately but as we've seen he doesn't think before he says things or even does things. hell call you things he thinks are cute (like heifer, goose or whore) and even be a bit forceful (throwing on the bed, picking you up, not letting you outside the woods, etc), or even does things that the reader is uncomfortable with, (making her sit on his lap in front of other, touching her stomach, asking for her to sit on his face, putting his hand up readers skirt in front of his men and making her come in front of them, bragging to his men he has the prettiest princess and that they can only dream of a cunt like hers) but he never goes out of his way to be cruel or to mock. especially during sex or when you're opening up to him. Some people like being called mean things during sex but not this reader, this reader needs lots of support so being called a slut or whore or a dirty girl during sex will probably lead to some tears or anger. she doesn't see herself like that and would hate for him to see her like that. he thinks those names are 'cute' but learned very quickly to not call her them unless he wanted a broom to the dick.

on the other hand, he is very quick to reassure the reader and support her. at the time of writing this I haven't written part 2 but he has had a little insight into her own self-esteem and he can see it isn't very strong, so he will be quick to notice body checking or disinterest in food or staring too long at some of the leaner women that run with his crew. hell shut those down real quick, but sometimes the reader doesn't show any signs until she's hiding away crying, but because he's obsessed with you, you don't get a lot of time alone so he knows very quickly when that happens and is quick to help ease things.

D = Darling (Aside from abduction, would they do anything against your will?)

This one is tricky because I don't plan on the reader being opposed to him, I mean (and this going to sound bad) the reader was so desperate for someone to love her and for someone to desire her (whether they liked her personality as well or not) that when he started to show romantic (but mostly sexual) interest in her she was so happy and relieved someone (anyone) liked her that she was like well ok cool I guess I'm married to this guy then. and yes she does actually fall in love with him (he's been in love obsessed since the first sight). what I'm trying to say is that the reader very rarely says no. I mean look at their first sexual encounter, she never out rightly says no (even though the absence of a no doesn't mean yes) she doesn't actively struggle nor fight back with the intent to cause immense damage or to run away, she is happy to let him show his desire for her when he reassures her he is actually attracted to her and not just pretending to be.

So he never has had to force the reader to do anything, while she might protest a little ( and depending on his mood will drop it or continue pushing) but if he continues to push she is happy to let him. also as their relationship develops he's less likely to push things as the reader's confidence has grown and he doesn't want to get hit with a broom. But if she had fought him since the wedding? actually, try to hurt him and say nasty things or try to flee when they stopped for breaks on the way to the woods and really tried to fight him in his bedroom? I'll leave it up to your imagination but he's never been told no before.

E = Exposed (How much of their heart do they bare to you? How vulnerable are they when it comes to you?)

he will tell you everything, and it'll be the oddest secret and timing as well. He'll be fucking you from behind, hands gripping your hips and deep moans and high-pitched whines filling the room as you feel his heavy balls thud against your clit, and then he's grunting out how this reminds him of the turkey he once stole from a farmer back in the day and how he got into a fight with the turkey and how the turkey won and then how they become best buds until he got hungry and killed it for dinner. You have no idea how it reminds him but you really don't want to know.

also, he'll whisper to you in the middle of the night when he doesn't think you're awake that he doesn't think he's good enough for you, the bastard so of a lowly knight married to a lady. he talks of how he is terrified some lord is going to catch a glimpse of you and steal you away from him or worse you'll freely go. its the only time you've ever been scared of your husband when he whispers how he will never ever let you go and if you try to leave he will butcher your father's people before stringing your family along the castle walls, then he'll find whoever you runaway with, watch as he disembowels them and then how he'll fuck you next to their corpse. he says all this before kissing your head and going back to sleep. he still thinks you're asleep while you're there thinking how lucky you are to actually love this man and that you want to stay with him, for your family's sake.

F = Fight (How would they feel if you fought back?)

ahhh reader never actually fights back with the intent to hurt or escape so I don't really have a plan for this.

I said before that if the reader from the get-go was rude, and mean, fought him to hurt him and objected to his charms for sex he would not like that at all, but I'm taking this one from our reader's actions, not a hypothetical reader. I think this reader would only play fight or pretend fight like half mad half joking, and boy would he love it. he has spent his whole sexual adulthood fucking whores, whom he didn't really have any affection for.

don't get me wrong he was kind to them but he still took what he wanted without caring for their pleasure (i gotta humble you guys he's a man from a historical time period do you really think he knows where the clit is, or that it even existed?), he would go rough and fast chasing his own pleasure like a greyhound after a rabbit. but with you, he changes tactics, at first he planned on rolling you onto your hands and knees, flipping up your skirt and just driving his cock in, but then you got all sad and sappy and he got a bit affectionate so he was a bit gentle and slow and actually tried to get you off.

but he still is a man who likes it rough and fast so when you start to play fight with him, he is imagining pulling you down onto his cock while he lays on his back, hands tight on your hips as he harshly bounces you on his throbbing member. he would love to watch your tits bounce and he would love to tease your hardening nipples as he praised you for being his dirty little slut (first (and only) time he called you that you slapped him- you were born a lady so you got pretty mad) who just couldn't go one day without his big fat cock driving in and out of your cunt. you on the other hand are just having an innocent play fight over the last date biscuit.

G = Game (Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching you try to escape?)

he is a very jolly sort of person who would enjoy making sex a game. since the reader never plans on leaving and honestly doesn't see anything wrong with her husband or the shrine he has of her in the back room, he also thinks there's nothing wrong with threatening to kill her family if she ever left (even if she was 'asleep' when he said it). so while he is silly and a bit ridiculous it isn't a game to him, instead its the life he's always wanted ( a pretty woman sitting on his cock while he sucks on her nipples)

H = Hell (What would be your worst experience with them?)

when he says he has a surprise to show you and it's a half-dead man tied to a chair that you barely realise is the man who grabbed your arse in the marketplace. he'll use this as a good reason why not to leave the woods without him.

you had hoped for a puppy

I = Ideals (What kind of future do they have in mind for/with you?)

he is a simple man. you on your knees wearing nothing but jewels he stole for you, mouth open wide, tongue out, eyes begging for his cock while he pats your head and calls you his good girl.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?)

yes, he does get very jealous and he most definitely lashes out. but it's almost always his fault. he'll be the one to fuck you in front of his men, he'll be the one to sit you on his lap as his fingers fill you up while his men watch with greedy eyes, he'll be the one to brag about how sweet and supple your breasts are and how glorious they look with his seed spread out over them. So what was he expecting when a few of his men's hands wander to their own members when you walk past or a few greenhorns who don't know not to touch get a bit close and daring after listening to your loud moans all night. he gets very angry and very bloody. and hes down a few crew mates after that.

K = Kisses (How do they act around you?)

like he'll starve without touching you.

L = Love letters (How would they go about courting or approaching you?)

courting? he didn't even give you a choice in marrying him, there was no courting. unless you count him following you everywhere and listening to your pleasure yourself as he hid in your closet the week before the wedding, he does.

M = Mask (Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?)

yes, but if anything, everyone else gets the real him, cruel, violent, rough and a real killer, while you get the sweet, kind and charming him.

N = Naughty (How would they punish you?)

sex but in a fun way. like I said reader is more than happy to stay where she is so she never fights him on anything but he may 'punish' you if you decide to tease him or if you have been a bit cruel to yourself. he will either make you sit in front of a mirror as he fingers you and makes you repeat kind things about your body after him or he will edge you until you apologise for giving him blue balls.

O = Oppression (How many rights would they take away from you?)

none, except freedom of going somewhere and not being followed by a killing machine puppy.

P = Patience (How patient are they with you?)

very, we saw that in their first real conversation when the reader kept turning her head and he kept missing her cheek. while he was frustrated he was still very patient and would have allowed the same thing to happen a few more times by finally holding your face still. unless your teasing him with your tits, as long as you don't bend over in front of him and show him how hard your nipples are from him right now, you could do anything and he would wait patiently, so yeah teasing sex is a no go but telling him long-winded stories or getting a bit mad at him and giving him the silent treatment, he won't snap or anything

Q = Quit (If you die, leave, or successfully escape, would they ever be able to move on?)

hahaha, all the woods burnt down, and your family castle in ruins.

R = Regret (Would they ever feel guilty about abducting you? Would they ever let you go?)

no.

if anything he might feel like he's not good enough but hell be damned before some lily-livered lord tries to worm his way between your legs. he might not be good enough but neither is anyone else. so no not really and no never ever letting you go.

S = Stigma (What brought about this side of them [childhood, curiosity, etc]?)

just who he is really, I know some yanderes can have multiple darlings over their lifetime or whatever but he never had this side of him till he fell in love with you. I think its' really true love. but he also loves the idea of possessing something that nobody like him ever could imagine processing, an outlaw marrying a noblewoman. it's like the peasant boy's dream to have a lady begging for their cock, he's corrupting this woman who is so much better than him with his lowly peasant seed.

T = Tears (How do they feel about seeing you scream, cry, and/or isolate yourself?)

he would feel terrible, mainly since he made you cry by calling you his pretty heifer.

U = Unique (Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?)

ahh nothing I can think of.

V = Vice (What weakness can you exploit in order to escape?)

his lust but come on why would you want to leave him?

W = Wit’s end (Would they ever physically hurt you?)

no no no no no, only in play or in sex and always if you allow it. hypothetical reader? yes

X = Xoanon (How much would they revere or worship you? To what length would they go to win you over?)

he adores you, he's on his knees worshipping every inch of skin he touches. he killed people for you so yeah he would go to very long, very bloody lengths for you.

Y = (How long do they pine after you before they snap?)

he saw you and then very quickly decided he wanted to keep you forever, so really as soon as he heard you make a funny joke about dogs

Z = Zenith (Would they ever break you?)

no, can't break what is freely given to you.

[behindthelabels]

Wednesday 100 #2

Challenged myself to write for one of my WIPs. This is from the next chapter of Past the Pointe of No Return, an OQ fic I should have finished ages ago.

Regina’s summer has been such a waste. Once again, she threw everything away after a loss. Not for as long, yet it’s somehow harder to bounce back. She’s not eighteen anymore, and her body protests the workouts so much that she wonders if it’s even worth it. 

Robin is a godsend, her saviour, the one who tells her, “You are stronger than you know.” and “You can’t stop, you’ve told me that how many times?” 

He keeps her honest. She doesn’t want to give it up. It just seems easier to stop dancing, than to fight for it and fail.

[neverpeace]

the harlow tags

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙖 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘 ♡︎

characters: sub!gallagher x nb!dom!reader

warnings: usage of aphrodisiacs, exhibitionism, slight dumbification, thigh riding, dry humping, begging, cumming untouched, gallagher being an old man loser, just a mini drabble guys. nothing big (i say as i write down 1,7K words)

notes: @lufenianwol you knew exactly what you were doing when you sent me gallagher’s leaked idle animation didn’t you, you gayyyy🫵🏳️‍🌈 (im gay too😔)

sigh…

another day, another long work of hunting down criminals or outlaws who came to penacony uninvited and detaining them. the most time gallagher could ever get to de-stress were behind the bars, mixing up a drink his customers asked for or when with you. you were a fellow bloodhound, a high ranking one too, so never had enough time to spend some quality time with your tired lover.

but today, you wanted to be a little mischievous. and what was that on your mind? you slipped just a teeny weeny bit of aphrodisiacs into his usual alcohol in his personal flask of course! just a little. maybe a pinch or two. a bit of a sprinkle of magic as a gift.

or maybe even a whole mini bottle. but you won’t say it until your tired lover comes crawling over to you, huffing and puffing, whining whimpering as he begs for your help at “restocking” some of the alcohol at the backrooms.

at the other end of the bar, you watch with a barely hidden smirk whenever your lover takes a sip from his personal flask during his break times. each time he does, getting more and more intoxicated in the taste. you purposely chose one that tasted delicious and soft on the tongue, a way to reward him for his hard work of running after criminals and preparing him for what was about to happen.

he started out strong, as expected of a bloodhound officer. barely felt it, focusing on work, wiping a glass or two, mixing up a drink. but the more he drank from his flask, the more you noticed it. the little stuttering over his words, the slight flush in his cheeks, the jumpy way he reacted whenever you passed by him with a hand on his waist or lower back. that bulge in his pants. that damn delicious bulge that you love to bully.

shaking your head, snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you focus back on work to wipe the bar clean and serve the customers drinks and desserts of their liking. you and gallaher were a good pair to serve amazing cocktails after all.

finally, the rush hour had ended, meaning fewer customers. the fewer there are, the more noticeable gallagher’s show of being affected by the little sprinkle of magic became. at first, he tried to play things off as signs of cold, or just the warm and low lighting of the bar being the reason his cheeks are pink. hell, he even coughed a few times to make his act believable. believable to the nosy customers but never to you.

“[n-name]…” the man barely manages to muffle his whimper when calling out your name, low lidded eyes, hazy vision and slightly shaky hand tugging on your necktie. you hum, turning to him with a raised brow as if you weren’t the reason behind this panting mess in front of you.

“yeah? what’s up?” you ask, putting down the bottle on where it’s supposed to be as your hands come to rest on his waist. the rush hour just ended, the bar still had a few customers but they were either too drunk to care nor engrossed in their own sob life stories to share you two a glance. and gallagher was damn glad for it too.

“w-we, ahem, need to head to the backrooms. we’re running out of some beers and fizzy drinks in the fridge” he quickly clears his throat, hoping that no one had caught onto his little stuttering. you did, of course. you would catch onto anything your lover says or does. even the tiniest things. such as how he was trying to make it seem like an innocent half-hug when you could feel his cock twitch in his pants as he pushes his crotch against yours, hoping to conceal it while also giving you a little heads-up.

as if you needed the heads-up.

“alright. you can go first, i’ll come after you once i wipe my hands” you nod your head, watching as your lover disappears behind the door with a sign that read “staff only”. it was cute how gallagher was so trusting of you, never even thought for a moment how you could have been the one to drug his flask of alcohol. though, judging from his cloudy eyes and stuttering, you could guess that he could barely even think to begin with. how adorable of him.

soon enough, you follow after the steps of your lover, walking into the “staff only” part of the bar and later onto the door with the sign “backrooms”. the pretty decent sized dark room where the bar keeps their ingredients and drinks. the same exact room where your lover pushes you against the wall the moment you entered, shaky hands fumbling with the buttons of your button down shirt as he humps his hardened cock against your crotch.

“woah woah, puppy. easy now. what’s going on? i thought we needed to restock on our drinks?” you ask, feigning innocence as your hands rest over gallagher’s shaky ones, stopping his fumbling and managing to catch his attention for a minute. he looked so dumbfounded. bottom lip on the brink of bleeding due to his chewing, panting, cheeks flushed a pretty red as his dilated eyes try to focus on you. you swore he looked like he was almost on the brink of crying with how damn pathetic he looked.

“c-can’t… [name], please, help me… ‘s so hot, tight. stupid pants mmngh!” gallagher only moans, tripping over his own words in a jumbled mess as he tries to find some sort of relief for his poor aching cock. looking down, you could briefly make out a dark small patch at the front of his pants. he was so drugged that he couldn’t even tell that he was staining his own clothes with his precum. so cute.

you only hum in response, not bothering to do as he pleads as your hands rest on the fat of his ass, massaging them gently. he only whines, slurred words of how he wanted your hands on his cock falling out as he squirms in your hold. lowering yourselves down to the floor of the room, you shift gallagher on top of you to ride your thigh instead. flexing the muscles in them to make it easier for him as he whimpers at the feeling.

immediately, the man started to hump your thigh. salacious mewls falling out of his lips as he doesn’t even try to silence his loud noises, only dumbly trying to relieve himself as he rubs his clothed cock on your thigh. you could see the dark patch in his pants getting bigger, darker the more he rides your thigh. if he had his dick out, he would probably leave a mess all over your clothes.

“shh shh, puppy. the door isn’t locked, remember?” you chuckle, reminding him of where the two of you were getting naughty at. it was so cute to see his eyes perk up at the sound of your voice. more specifically, whenever you called him puppy. he really did lived up to that nickname, looking like a cute pup as he bites down on his lip.

one of your hands travel up to his chest, opting to play with his perky nipple as he let out a loud squeal at that. his chest was always so sensitive, making him let out the most delicious whimpers each time you roll, pinch or tug at the hardened nub. being so mean to not slip your hands under the opening of his button down shirt at the front, playing with his nipples over the harsh fabrics of his clothes instead. he just wanted your touch on him to relieve the ache pooling in his belly, would you be so mean to deny him of his wishes?

apparently, you would. the hand on the soft fat of his ass moving to rest over his hip, helping him hump his cock on your thigh as your other hand continue their brutal assaults on his chest. poor gallagher, can't even form a single word as his pleads fall out of his swollen lips in a jumbled heap of mess. you could barely make out your own name from it. the words sounding so muddled up as if the bloodhound officer couldn't tell the difference between reality and his drug induced feelings.

"[n-naaammmeee]... sniff pleasheee fuunnghh fucck!! p-pleashh pleaash pleeaasshee♡︎!! ungh!! guuunnhg♥︎♥︎! p-pretty pleaaseee♡︎?" gallagher whines helplessly, stuffing his flushed face into the crook of your neck as his movements become more sloppy and frantic. he was so close to cumming already, it was just so cute to see how easily someone who is apparently always in control to crumble over with just a little bit of thigh riding. and some sprinkle of magic added to the mix.

in an attempt to muffle his loud moans and stuttering of his breath, he hastily lowers the collar of your own button down shirt just a little bit more. just enough so he could bite down over the old, healing bite mark of his so he could attempt to muffle his pathetic noises. you only coo out in a mocking tone, calling him by that nickname again as you tug on his nipple through his shirt as debouched cries of your name falls from his lips over and over like a mantra. gallagher sounded like one of those old, broken down radios that only replay a single song that sometimes is in the bar.

with a final thrust and a meek little bounce on your thigh, gallagher releases into his clothes. the magenta red hue of his pants turning a darker shade as his cum pools into the materials of his pants, staining it as some of the translucent liquid drips down onto your pants. you could just wash them out later.

"done with your little show, puppy?" you ask, the hand on his hip squeezing a bit to snap him out of his hazy mind. instead, you got a shake of his head, his stubble lightly tickling the skin of your neck in the process.

"wan' more... wan' you♥︎" he mumbles, delirious and drooling, as he humps his still hard cock against your crotch, indicating what he craved so desperately. maybe next time you should check the dosage you put into his drink if he's gonna be drugged this heavily by such a small amount.