springsylph - Tumblr blog

[springsylph]

quick arthur studies for practice

(photos refs from ArthurMorganisKing on pinterest)

[springsylph]

watching the debate like it’s the super bowl but it’s ten times more depressing

[springsylph]

+18, mdni. uhhh tiny gaz x f! reader thing?? i don’t know. wrote this on my phone and she’s unedited. also. the ending is getting cut short because i said so.

mentions of alcohol, fingering, pussy slapping (1)

thinking about introverted reader showing up to a college party with every intention of leaving once that stupid hello kitty clock on the shelf hits 11:30.

it helps that you enter the apartment with your headphones already on; most people weren’t willing to put in the extra work to talk to someone so obviously prepped to leave.

you get there at 11:15—no earlier—because you’ve got a 15 minute routine when it comes to shit like this. show your face, hide, and leave before the drinking games get rowdy enough to warrant having the police bust their knuckles open on the front door.

granted, you really did try to stick this one out. your closest friend—who, apparently, was much closer to the organizer of this thing than she was to you—had dragged you along with her after as a show of goodwill. something about getting you out of the apartment long enough for people to know that you have tits.

which, in hindsight, should have been a warning. the split of a train whistle just before it veers off the tracks.

the living room, painted with bits of a fiery orange from some dodgy led lights, has begun to sting your eyes. you’re plastered to the corner in a top that isn’t yours, trying (and failing) to breathe air that’s too hot, too sticky, drenched in a mix of sweat and some idiot’s cheap cologne. the cup you hold only catches glimpses of the music, pulsating in time with the wall. it’s basically empty, but you hold it like it’s heavy. most of the people around you are already too inebriated to know the difference.

the crash comes when someone taps two fingers on your elbow.

“headphones at a party?”

your reaction is slow. when you turn, your first thought is that you’ve seen his face on a pack of men’s underwear somewhere. he must be thinking something similar, because he leans up against the wall like he’s in it for the long haul before sizing you up.

“i’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t i? ‘round campus?”

you shrug to ward off the urge to shrink. “maybe,” you reply. “i don’t think my face is that memorable, but i appreciate the attempt at a pickup line.”

he smiles, then, like he does know you. brown eyes glowing like hot coals.

“not quite what i meant,” he says, “but i think you look plenty memorable.”

a squirmy feeling in your throat you thought you’d flattened a lifetime ago resurfaces. fuck—fuck. of course that isn’t what he meant. embarrassment is what begins to peel your sweaty back off the wall. you’ll have to apologize to your friend later, but the empty hallway is calling your name.

just as you’re about to excuse yourself, he slides a warm hand up to your shoulder, just a little too close to where it meets your neck. you shoot him a look, and he beams.

“loud in here, isn’t it?” he taps his ears. leans a little closer, even though the music isn’t that loud, and lowers his voice as if confessing some dirty secret. “truth is, i hate showing up to these things.”

your brows furrow. “…you do?”

he scoots a little closer, crowding you into the corner. “too many people i have to play nice with. the only reason i’m here is to make sure my roommates stay out of trouble.”

“oh. you—you live here?”

“unfortunately. but,” he divulges, “that also means i know the best hiding spots.” a decision is made—one final spark that sets the train ablaze. he slides an arm over your shoulders, thumb tracing absentmindedly over the strap of your top as his weight settles over you. “looking for some peace and quiet, right?”

you can’t tell if he’s being nice, or if he’s just a little weird. weird, only because he seems a little too perfect.

you have a tendency to resonate with weirdos. mostly to your detriment.

but—you’re not quite sure how you’d categorize this.

he’s got you sitting on his bed, back pressed to his chest with a hand shoved down the front of your underwear—no outside clothes on the bed, love—before you know what’s happening.

you gasp when the elbow he’s got hooked around your neck tips your chin up.

“kyle—”

“shh, shh. what’d i tell you, sweetheart?”

“f-focus, i—hck—know, but—”

he slaps a wet hand over your cunt, and your vision goes spotty. you’re not sure how long he’s been knuckle deep inside of you. between the grunting in the shell of your ear and the sound of your own arousal filling the small room, you’ve lost track of time.

kyle presses a firm kiss to the crown of your head before sliding two fingers back in.

“not so bad, is it?” he coos, allowing himself another kiss to your temple. “just needed a firm hand to keep you company, that’s all.”

he grinds the heel of his palm up against your clit, interrupting the lazy pace he’s set when you writhe against him. it doesn’t deter him like you thought it would, evident by the way his hand seems to pull your pelvis closer to where his cock has hardened in his boxers.

your hips jump when he curls his fingers over that spongy spot inside of you. mind fuzzy, ears ringing, you watch with him. entranced by the languid push and pull of his hand, the sight now blurry from the tears clumping your eyelashes together.

“no reason a pretty girl like you should be out here by herself,” he mutters. half to himself, maybe to you. he slides his sticky hand out, pulls the mess up to your bellybutton before plunging his fingers into your folds again. “fuck—and you feel divine—”

your walls tremble around him when the arm around your neck tightens ever so slightly.

“kyle, i—”

you what?

go on, tell him. he’s listening. there’s nobody here, except for the two of you.

“please let me cum, please please p-please—”

but kyle is in his own world, moves on his own time, with his own rules, and you’re under his jurisdiction.

you should know this by now.

he yanks his fingers out just as that cord in your belly has become nothing more than a thread before stuffing his digits into your open mouth.

he doesn’t have to tell you what to do. suck. but, as your tongue lolls out to swipe around his fingers, you catch his eye from over your shoulder.

you’re not too sure you know what you’re looking at.

[springsylph]

Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick 02/??

[springsylph]

+18, mdni. uhhh tiny gaz x f! reader thing?? i don’t know. wrote this on my phone and she’s unedited. also. the ending is getting cut short because i said so.

mentions of alcohol, fingering, pussy slapping (1)

thinking about introverted reader showing up to a college party with every intention of leaving once that stupid hello kitty clock on the shelf hits 11:30.

it helps that you enter the apartment with your headphones already on; most people weren’t willing to put in the extra work to talk to someone so obviously prepped to leave.

you get there at 11:15—no earlier—because you’ve got a 15 minute routine when it comes to shit like this. show your face, hide, and leave before the drinking games get rowdy enough to warrant having the police bust their knuckles open on the front door.

granted, you really did try to stick this one out. your closest friend—who, apparently, was much closer to the organizer of this thing than she was to you—had dragged you along with her after as a show of goodwill. something about getting you out of the apartment long enough for people to know that you have tits.

which, in hindsight, should have been a warning. the split of a train whistle just before it veers off the tracks.

the living room, painted with bits of a fiery orange from some dodgy led lights, has begun to sting your eyes. you’re plastered to the corner in a top that isn’t yours, trying (and failing) to breathe air that’s too hot, too sticky, drenched in a mix of sweat and some idiot’s cheap cologne. the cup you hold only catches glimpses of the music, pulsating in time with the wall. it’s basically empty, but you hold it like it’s heavy. most of the people around you are already too inebriated to know the difference.

the crash comes when someone taps two fingers on your elbow.

“headphones at a party?”

your reaction is slow. when you turn, your first thought is that you’ve seen his face on a pack of men’s underwear somewhere. he must be thinking something similar, because he leans up against the wall like he’s in it for the long haul before sizing you up.

“i’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t i? ‘round campus?”

you shrug to ward off the urge to shrink. “maybe,” you reply. “i don’t think my face is that memorable, but i appreciate the attempt at a pickup line.”

he smiles, then, like he does know you. brown eyes glowing like hot coals.

“not quite what i meant,” he says, “but i think you look plenty memorable.”

a squirmy feeling in your throat you thought you’d flattened a lifetime ago resurfaces. fuck—fuck. of course that isn’t what he meant. embarrassment is what begins to peel your sweaty back off the wall. you’ll have to apologize to your friend later, but the empty hallway is calling your name.

just as you’re about to excuse yourself, he slides a warm hand up to your shoulder, just a little too close to where it meets your neck. you shoot him a look, and he beams.

“loud in here, isn’t it?” he taps his ears. leans a little closer, even though the music isn’t that loud, and lowers his voice as if confessing some dirty secret. “truth is, i hate showing up to these things.”

your brows furrow. “…you do?”

he scoots a little closer, crowding you into the corner. “too many people i have to play nice with. the only reason i’m here is to make sure my roommates stay out of trouble.”

“oh. you—you live here?”

“unfortunately. but,” he divulges, “that also means i know the best hiding spots.” a decision is made—one final spark that sets the train ablaze. he slides an arm over your shoulders, thumb tracing absentmindedly over the strap of your top as his weight settles over you. “looking for some peace and quiet, right?”

you can’t tell if he’s being nice, or if he’s just a little weird. weird, only because he seems a little too perfect.

you have a tendency to resonate with weirdos. mostly to your detriment.

but—you’re not quite sure how you’d categorize this.

he’s got you sitting on his bed, back pressed to his chest with a hand shoved down the front of your underwear—no outside clothes on the bed, love—before you know what’s happening.

you gasp when the elbow he’s got hooked around your neck tips your chin up.

“kyle—”

“shh, shh. what’d i tell you, sweetheart?”

“f-focus, i—hck—know, but—”

he slaps a wet hand over your cunt, and your vision goes spotty. you’re not sure how long he’s been knuckle deep inside of you. between the grunting in the shell of your ear and the sound of your own arousal filling the small room, you’ve lost track of time.

kyle presses a firm kiss to the crown of your head before sliding two fingers back in.

“not so bad, is it?” he coos, allowing himself another kiss to your temple. “just needed a firm hand to keep you company, that’s all.”

he grinds the heel of his palm up against your clit, interrupting the lazy pace he’s set when you writhe against him. it doesn’t deter him like you thought it would, evident by the way his hand seems to pull your pelvis closer to where his cock has hardened in his boxers.

your hips jump when he curls his fingers over that spongy spot inside of you. mind fuzzy, ears ringing, you watch with him. entranced by the languid push and pull of his hand, the sight now blurry from the tears clumping your eyelashes together.

“no reason a pretty girl like you should be out here by herself,” he mutters. half to himself, maybe to you. he slides his sticky hand out, pulls the mess up to your bellybutton before plunging his fingers into your folds again. “fuck—and you feel divine—”

your walls tremble around him when the arm around your neck tightens ever so slightly.

“kyle, i—”

you what?

go on, tell him. he’s listening. there’s nobody here, except for the two of you.

“please let me cum, please please p-please—”

but kyle is in his own world, moves on his own time, with his own rules, and you’re under his jurisdiction.

you should know this by now.

he yanks his fingers out just as that cord in your belly has become nothing more than a thread before stuffing his digits into your open mouth.

he doesn’t have to tell you what to do. suck. but, as your tongue lolls out to swipe around his fingers, you catch his eye from over your shoulder.

you’re not too sure you know what you’re looking at.

[springsylph]

Poor boy

[springsylph]

I'm not super interested in a tough as nails, head held high, strong backboned reader. I'm already that bitch in real life. Give me the anxious, crying mess who needs her entire existence taken care of instead.

[springsylph]

just some bloke…

[springsylph]

sometimes you’re fine and sometimes you get a comment from someone on ao3 saying that they “hope you want to keep writing” and “people continue to find your work”

[springsylph]

There’s just something that will always be funny to me that Arthur Morgan. Wanted outlaw, murderer, thief, armed robber, a million and one other crimes that I don’t have all day to write down. Tried to do the sneaky arm thing to Mary. Then awkwardly played it off as a stretch when he got caught. He’s such a LOSER AND I LOVE HIM

[springsylph]

early morning wip wednesday bc i’m sore and miserable but i can’t sleep in

[springsylph]

IDGAF if the women in my fiction are empowering or aspirational, I'm an adult, I don't need role models, I want the women in my fiction to be interesting, and if that involves being pathetic, hypocritical, amoral, or trapped in a delightfully dysfunctional relationship so be it

[springsylph]

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH & KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III

[springsylph]

in my fishin era 🐟

[springsylph]

"I've changed, you changed me."

[springsylph]

gaz is the type of man to learn everything about you beforehand, so he's gonna be considered as a "soulmate"; he gets what he wants after all, but not like other tf141 members. he makes you believe it was fate, and its only his doings!

[springsylph]

this but it's kate and her wife roleplaying...

oh ho HO kelsi, my number #1 laswell enabler. apologies for the delay. a little unedited something something. 675 words.

cw: light gunplay, roleplay, mild degradation, fingering, restraints

"Fuck, Kate," you bite your lip and taste iron. Feel it, too. The cold drag of her sidearm over your hip. "What has gotten into you? Is that your gun?"

"That's Station Chief Laswell, to you." 

You frown at your faint reflection in the car window. "Station Chief isn't–"

It earns you a pinch. When you squeal, she kisses your shoulder. "Hush. This was your idea."

"I know, but we–"

Another pinch. "I said hush. Hands on the car. I won't say it twice."

You pout over your shoulder but obey. She chuckles.

Her other hand breaks away from toying with the zipper of your dress to grab the back of your neck and push down. It forces you to lean forward, and your ass meets her pelvis. She luxuriates in the feeling, grinding in a slow couple of circles before slipping a leg between yours. The hand on your neck guides you to slightly perch on her thigh while the barrel of the handgun helps her ruck your dress open from its high slit. 

"Am I in trouble?" You hesitantly ask.

"Yes," she breathes, hiking the garment to your waist. "This dress. You were explicitly told not to wear it."

"It just–fuck, Kate–!" your voice thins to a reedy whine as the air hits your bare cunt. It's chilly for all of a second before she adjusts her stance, bending you further until you have no choice but to press back on her thigh. The solid mass of her muscle meets your pussy, and the coarse texture of her slacks makes you hiss. You've been wet since that first glass of wine, and it's a miracle the material of your dress didn't give you away.

"And no panties? Need it that bad, hm? You were just going to give it up to anyone who found you like this?"

Fuck, you're losing the plot, fast. Both of you are, judging by how hard Kate works her leg against your core. The dulled, quiet slick noise of your pussy staining her trousers makes your stomach clench. Her breath is labored, and yours comes out in little pants. You can't remember if you're supposed to fight back or not.

The cold metal of her gun withdraws, and her empty hand returns, snaking around and underneath the bunched fabric. She swipes through your slippery folds and groans softly in your ear. Your head dips, forehead skimming the car. You press a palm over your mouth as she spreads your lips, then tucks two fingers into your hole with no fuss, no resistance. She works them in and closes the distance behind you, bucking shallowly. Your cunt squeezes, as needy as Kate said.

As if reading your mind, Kate pants in your ear, "Yeah, she needs it." She pumps her fingers a few more times before slowly pulling them out. She ignores your frantic, whispered complaints, instead sharply patting your swollen clit.

"You have the right to remain silent," She starts suddenly, wrenching you backward and the door to the backseat open. "Anything you say can and will–"

Still stunned stupid from your wife's fingers between your legs, you stumble into the car, eyebrows twisted in bemusement. "You don't arrest–hey! You don't Mirandize–!"

Kate hauls her weight over you and hooks the door shut with the toe of her shoe. She reclines on her haunches, loosening her tie. Under the dull dome light, she looks stern. Her scowl sends a shiver down your spine. "You said you wanted to roleplay, correct?"

You swallow. "Y-Yes."

"Yes, you did," She whips the silk off from around her neck and waits until your wrists come up in offering. "And I said I'd oblige you, if you didn't what?"

"Didn't get technical."

Kate tests the knot, fastening your wrists together, then unbuttons the top buttons of her shirt. "That's right. Because you tend to get caught up in thought, don't you, baby?" She smirks at your nod.

"Mhmm, you do. But don't worry, I'm going to empty that pretty little head of yours."