#I just want the riches to get another farm

[in-flvx]

This stupid ass dragon keeps victimizing me. First its weirdly hard to kill, then I can't take the bones and scales bc I already carry too much, and when I come back the sceleton is just gone and it's soul finds me the exact second I'm attacked by something else. And I still can't find the bones

[lazyjellyfish300]

12 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 ~ 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑻𝒘𝒐

Synopsis: It's the classic Hallmark tale: what happens when you, a business woman from the city, arrives at the family owned O'Hara Christmas Tree farm your greedy boss wants to demolish, and finds much more than you bargained for that fateful night you get snowed in?

CW: x FEM!READER, SMUT(unprotected p in v ,oral (f receiving), creampie, breast play, touch of mirror kink) enemies to lovers ish, DUBCON?(You're both a bit drunk), alcohol, touch of angst, mention of pregnancy

Words: 4.4k

A/N: a little late, mb but I hope it's worth it!😩 I'm on vacation rn but I'm dedicated to making this happen even if I'm a lil behind lolol

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

12 Days of Smutmas Masterlist 🎄🎁

You certainly weren't in Kansas anymore. Or so the saying went. This time you found yourself somewhere in the Catskills outside of Nueva York. Your high heels crunched on the gravel as you stepped out of your Uber, taking in the grand Christmas tree farm in front of you. 

"O'Hara Ranch" was welded in iron lettering on a black sign above the entrance. You whistled as you took in the expansive acres of balsam fir trees, dusted in a thin layer of snow straight out of a painting. 

It was no wonder your boss was so dead set on this place. You became keenly aware of the biting chill of the countryside as you huddled your arms closer around you, your pink blazer doing little to keep you warm as you started to quake in your Jimmy Choos with your laptop case and singular carry-on in tow.

---- 

Miguel grunted, scratching his lower back as his large, sturdy boots squeaked a little on his kitchen floor, eyes almost as dark as the warm beverage in his mug, looking out in silent disapproval at the black Escalade that pulled up, dropping off what he was certain was another employee from that pesky developer.

Some poor soul who had to be the shot messenger for a CEO who never strayed out of the wealthy privileged fairytale land they lived in, thinking that multiple commas would be enough to get him to sign his life away. 

When would they ever learn? He thought. He puts down his mug on the counter then strides over to the door, placing one of his hats on his head before he goes outside to greet this new imposter. 

---

You shuddered as you reached inside your pocket, taking out the flimsy scrap of paper that contained the phone number for the ranch and dialing it again, hoping to reach this Miguel, or whoever it was you were supposed to meet. 

"C'mon..." 

You shouldn't be surprised if he didn't pick up again. It was no secret that you were the bad guy in this situation straight out of a Hallmark film. 

Corporate business lady visiting a Christmas Tree farm that's been in the same family for decades, beloved by all the locals, who forced them to sign over their American dream to a greedy land developer and demolish it to the ground for a lavish mountain resort, and 2 weeks before Christmas no less. 

Just as the call goes to voicemail, a four wheeler's engine interrupts your train of thought. Just like out of a movie, you take notice of the very tall, dark haired, very handsome rider who sat astride it.

His long sleeved grey shirt did nothing but accentuate his rippling arm muscles, layered underneath a Carhartt vest, complete with a baseball cap and salt and pepper five o clock shadow on his sharp, steely jaw. His lips were plump and relaxed into a subtle frown, complete with thick brows and dark wavy hair that complimented the pair of rich brown eyes he possessed that compared to the slice of Earth he owned. 

"Miss...?" He asks your name with an equally deep beautiful voice to match in slightly bored formality. You could tell it was painful for him to be polite to you like this, if you were the corporate imposter like he thought you were.  

"Yes, hi! You're...M-Miguel, right?" 

His expression remains unmoved. "That would be me." 

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Gorgeous property by the way! Really, it's much much better in person than the pictures-" 

"Right." He replies stiffly. "There's really no need to be so gracious.  I figure you're here for one thing and one thing only." 

"Uh-" you reply, a little thrown off by what he means. 

"And the answer is no. I understand you've got a job to do, but I've told your boss over and over again: no. Five years ago, it was a no. Last month, also no. Come back in a week, my answer will still be no. Thank you." 

He revs the engine, getting ready to speed away. 

"Wait! I really do need you to sign this! From the mayor?" You waved a pink colored document which caught his attention for once. 

Miguel turned off the engine, hopping off the four wheeler and strode towards you. He shoots you a superstitious glance before his eyes flicker to the paper, slowly becoming more enraged as he scanned along the fine print:

 Notice of Eminent Domain. 

That bastard. There was a reason Miguel didn't vote for this prick. The new mayor was part of this recent wave of money hungry idealists in power who wanted to turn the humble town he grew up in into another rich touristy playground. 

Usually, these folks couldn't wait to sign the dotted line, get their check, and be on their merry way, but this Miguel was taking his time reading every last stipulation in the document. You notice the snow is coming down harder and harder, your teeth chattering wildly as you did your very best to stay calm as the relentless cold tested your endurance. Finally, Miguel hands you back the paper with a sigh, 

"Still not signin'. Sorry for wasting your time." 

"Miguel." You felt your patience snapped in half by now. Between traveling all morning, your boss's incessant emails, and the cold ass weather, you had just about had it up to here. 

"I'm sorry. But any complaints you have will just have to be taken up with the big man later. I came with a job to do and I have every intention of doing it." 

"That so?" Miguel straightens up, flexing his height over you. 

You were emboldened by this point through all the bullshit you had endured. "It is very much so. I'm not leaving this damn farm without a signature, and that's final." 

"Hm." Miguel nodded his chin, as though he was calling your bluff before he swiftly turned around, walking back towards the awaiting four wheeler. 

"Oh no you don't!" You huffed as your icecubes for feet magically thawed off of pure adrenaline and spite as you began to sprint. 

"What the-" Miguel looks at you quizzically then his brow furrows when he sees you darting towards his four wheeler. "The hell you think you're doing??" 

You ignore him and climb on, Miguel snickering a little bit at the prim and proper lady from the city now straddling his seat, slightly disheveled with a wild look in your eye from dealing with corporate messes all day. 

"Get down." Miguel says sternly, coming up to stand next to you. 

"No." You answer simply, smoothing your blazer. 

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be." Miguel's tone becomes more warning now. "Get off my property, woman." 

"Sign my document, then." You fold your arms. 

"You're a brat, y'know that?" Miguel folds his arms too, incredulous at your undying persistence, more like annoyance. "So childish." 

"Name calling? And you say I'm the childish one." You turn your nose up at him.

"I'm not the crazy lady jumping on a stranger's four wheeler that she doesn't even know how to drive." Miguel grumbles. 

"You'd be surprised." You glare. 

Both of you just sit there in silence, the snowfall has  escalated to just short of a blizzard by now. You're trying but failing to conceal just how damn cold you are as you shiver and shudder. Miguel's mind brews with some ideas before he speaks. 

"Alright." Miguel sighs "I'll sign your damn document. But I need to show you the place first. Just so you can get an idea of just how sick and twisted you people truly are: tearing down a place like this that's been in the family for generations." 

"What?" You blink, not expecting this change of events. "But I mean- but..." You glance at your wrist watch. "It's almost 4 pm. I was supposed to be on the road a half hour ago." 

"Not in this storm you're not." Miguel tsks his teeth. "They always close the canyon when it snows. You won't be able to go anywhere until the morning. But hey, if you wanna call an Uber and wait four hours for him just to be turned around at the bridge, then be my guest." 

"You-" You shuddered and groaned, exasperated at the fact that Miguel appeared to have the upper hand this time. You were stuck playing by his rules. 

"Fine." You resign, throwing your hands up. 

Miguel smirks at this surrender in you, getting on the four wheeler behind you. He's aware the space between your bodies is now very thin, his chest just barely grazing your back as he leans forward, placing his hands on both handlebars. 

You try not to make it obvious that you can't breathe and realize you might be in way over your head being stuck overnight with a man four times handsome as he was stubborn as Miguel drives you rapidly towards his ranch. 

---- 

"Home sweet home." Miguel hums halfheartedly as you enter the elaborate living area of Miguel's mountain home. Several brown and white cowhide rugs were spread over the polished wooden floors, a large pair of antlers hung over a luxury stone hearth, with an inviting leather couch in front of it. 

A short time later, you're absentmindedly staring at some photographs on the wall when Miguel's voice startles you. 

"Had enough snooping?" 

"I wasn't snooping!." You whirl around, pretending to avert your gaze. "I was admiring the antlers." 

Miguel scoffs. "You're a terrible liar, you know." 

"Who is that?" You ask, voice a little more gentle. You kind of wish you never asked when Miguel's eyes soften with the slightest tinge of melancholy. 

"My daughter." He answers then clears his throat. "She passed some years ago." 

"Oh..." You look at him then back at the photograph of the cheery bright eyed girl in it. "I'm so sorry." 

"Thanks." Miguel answers shortly, crossing over to the bar on the far side of the room. 

"I can see why you don't want to leave." You admit, crossing your arms and running your palms up your arms as the glow from the fireplace worked quickly to rid you of any lingering chill from outside. "For what it's worth..." 

Miguel scoffed again. "You don't need to play the sympathy card to win points with me." 

"I- No Miguel! Of course not!" You look at him in horror. "Really, you think I take pride in doing these things to folks like you? You think I'm some souless corporate ghoul that drinks blood of the innocent?" 

"Yes." Miguel stays deadpanned, with the faintest glimmer of amusement. 

"Oh shut up." You blow air through your lips and stride over to where he's standing by his bar. "What do you have to drink around here anyways?" 

Miguel smiles, the bourbon in his glass had made him feel a little more comfortable by now. He glanced outside, eyes slightly widened in surprise at the complete blizzard that was unfolding outside the frosty window. 

"You might wanna go for something a bit stronger than that." Miguel nods in the direction of the window. 

Your fingers move away from the canned margaritas in the mini fridge. You realize bourbon is also the answer tonight when you lay eyes on the absolute winter wonderland outside. 

You had never seen so much snow in your life, as a seemingly infinite stream of snowflakes littered the staggering blankets of pure white that would be nearly waist deep should you venture back out. 

Even though the night was completely black, the shimmery powder stood out, illuminating the December night among the silent and formidable evergreens. 

"Damn..." You whispered. 

"Damn is right." Miguel polishes off his bourbon. "Another round for me too, when you get a chance." He slides his glass towards you across the polished wood. 

"Please?" You quirk a brow at him. 

Miguel chuckles, the sound deep and a little breathy. The feeling it left you...quite unexpected. "Yes, please."

You hum and fill his glass a quarter of the way after you pour your own into one of the small shot glasses you spied below the countertop, throwing the liquid fire back in one ragged gulp. 

Miguel laughs at the face you make and little cough you let out as your eyes water. "Miss Corporate can't handle a little country bourbon?" 

"Miss Corporate can handle herself just fine." You give him a small harrumph. "Miss Corporate wishes to remind Mr. Country Man that she is still here strictly on business and she has no problem decking him in the face should he continue to mouth off." 

"Hmmm business, eh?" 

"Mhmm." 

"Oh, I think we're way past that." Miguel smirks as he leans forward a little closer towards you. "You're having a drink with your evictee. Can't imagine that's not frowned upon." 

"I've had drinks with clients before." You huff, hastily grabbing the bottle and pouring another shot as if to prove a point. This one went down with less resistance, albeit still just as fiery as the one before. 

"Cálmate."(Calm down) Miguel goes to grab the bottle from you just as you're about to pour a third when the sudden move causes the bourbon to splash a little, ending up on your thousand dollar blazer. 

"You... idiot." You roll your eyes as Miguel snorts. 

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." Miguel steps towards you, trying to help. 

"Nope, you've done quite enough." You huff, trying to disguise the warmth the alcohol was quickly dispelling all over your body. 

"I insist." 

"Miguel, fuck off!" 

"Come here, dammit..." 

And you're not sure exactly what happened, but in that moment his body was pressed up against yours and your faces were mere inches from one another.

This was dangerous now. You knew it, and he knew it, but for Miguel, he was at risk of losing everything anyway. Who could blame him if he wasn't going to make the most of this...convenient situation that presented itself to him. It didn't help that you were quite easy on the eyes as well. 

He pauses as if holding his breath, those deep, deep eyes completely swallowing you up where you stood, the faint sting of the bourbon you can detect on his lips that he wet ever so slightly. 

"M-Miguel, I really shouldn't, I-" 

And you can't remember exactly what drove your lips to meet in that heady first kiss, or how his touch moved from your face, to your neck, whether you were the one who guided him, or his hands wandered on their own accord to the sensitive swells of your breasts, but here you were, up against this tall, rugged farmer you thought you hated only 20 minutes ago, breathing and panting into his mouth and kissing him like your life depended on it, completely contradicting everything you ever said. 

He began to rock his hips against you, hands now on either side of your head, caging you against the wall. You could tell he loved being bigger than you, finally something he had to humble all the sass you loved to throw at him earlier. A not-so-secret attraction you had for him all this time you feebly tried to disguise with disdain. 

Miguel felt it too, and God, right now he couldn't get enough of all the little whines and sounds you were making. How desperate you got just from a little deep conversation and bourbon. This night was swiftly traveling in a more heated direction, and if he wasn't mistaken by the subtle rolls of your body against his aching bulge in his jeans and the hunger laced in your fingers as they tangled in his hair, you had no intention of stopping. 

"Not so feisty now, are you?" He groaned as he started leaving heated kisses along both delicate junctures of your neck. "Sure you're not gonna change your mind  and go back to stealing my farm, hermosa?" He teased. 

"Oh, fuck off..." You grumbled and then bit your lip, back arching involuntarily when you felt him just barely tug your delicate nipple with his teeth. "Aaah Aahhh, Miguel..." You threw your head back.

Miguel smirks and takes that as permission to lay you back completely on his bar, gently tugging the waistband of your business slacks while he switched between both tits and lapped them with the pointy tip of his tongue, until both buds of your nipples were bumpy and hard from all the attention. "You can still stop at any time..." 

"N-No more asking..." You managed to sputter out as you felt his fingers begin to wiggle against your clothed heat that was steadily soaking from the inside. "Just- fffuck, Miguel, so good...just fuck me..." 

"Mmmm..." Miguel groaned in satisfaction and yanked off your pants, followed by your panties without another word. 

Pure ecstacy rolled off the tip of his tongue and dripped between your warm folds as he began to slurp your pussy up like hot cocoa. Miguel strategically left your high heels on, smirking as he glanced over at the mirror on the wall, seeing the pretty businesswoman half naked and back arched so beautifully, moaning as he ate you out on his bar. 

Despite never knowing your body before, his tongue just seemed to find and hit all the right spots, even the ones you were too impatient to look for when you laid in bed all alone. He sucked, and he spit, rolling your clit so perfectly between his lips and leaving no inch of your pretty pussy unbathed by his tongue. 

He alternated between tongue fucking you where his thick nose squished against your clit, hands slinking up the soft flesh of your hips, encouraging you to grind on his face. When he paused and brought his face up to look at you, you swore he was never more handsome than when his face was shiny with your slick, dripping with the evidence that he could make you wetter than any man you'd ever been with.

And other times, he loved to just stare into your eyes with that same, beautifully mesmerizing gaze that was almost too intense to where you'd have to turn away, only for him to whisper, "ah, ah, mirame..." (Look at me) , while his thumb slowly rubbed over your swollen clit, and his middle and ring finger noisily and wetly massaged your squishy walls. 

"Miguel, baby, so good..." You moaned and you sighed, face twisting into a smile as you bit your lip. It felt so shameless to indulge right now. Your career hit the road the second you decided to kiss him but right now you weren't complaining. Logic took a permanent vacation leaving you with nothing but raw, carnal need. All that mattered right now was spreading your legs for this man, being his whore, riding his face and taking his cock every which way he'd have you tonight. 

Your eyes watered as you felt that familiar feeling swelling in your belly, thighs shaking more unsteadily than before. Your back slightly arched from where you laid on his bar but the pleasure Miguel kept injecting into you with his sinfully delicious tongue kept you right there.

"M-Miguel...I'm gonna cum." 

Miguel went even harder, nuzzling his nose even further into your dripping heat, savoring the dribbling honey running between your thighs and dripping into his mouth. He added his fingers again, fingers normally rough and taut and calloused from all that work he did on the farm became soft, intentional, sensual, and deliberate as he coaxed your pussy closer and closer to releasing all over for him.

Your thighs began to quiver around his head, clamping down, however Miguel would gladly suffocate every time for the cause.

"R-right there, Miguel..." 

"Right here, baby?" He groans, swirling his finger in circles over that tried and true spot on your clit, another gush of your juices wetting his fingers before the flood, and Miguel leans over to clean it up with his tongue. 

Every touch now feels amplified in electricity, bordering on overstimulation as his tongue glosses over your soaked folds, something changing in your brain chemistry as he licked up every bit of your arousal as though it were frosting from a bowl. 

"Still with me?" Miguel whispered, leaning in and making out with you as he scooped you into his arms, leading you over to the couch, the entire room painted in an alluring orange glow from the fire next to the warm yellow lights from the tall Christmas tree. 

You groaned as you tasted yourself on his soft, messy lips, the ember of desire burning hotter than ever in both of you. "Y-yeah..." 

Miguel smiles as he sets you down next to him, reaching over and pulling a fleece blanket over your shoulders. His thumb gently brushed the corner of your mouth as he took you in. The most sobering moment between you all evening. One where the alcohol had some time to sink in and both of you were riding out the end of your high together. A new kind of closeness beginning to set itself alight between you as you wordlessly began stripping off the rest of your clothes and you reached for his. 

"Can I?" You asked and a low groan rumbled from his chest. 

"Please." 

You weren't sure, but somehow despite his sass, his generosity and sole focus on making you cum with no assumption on his part that you would be obligated to do the same for him made you even more determined as you peeled back layer after layer, until he sat there in all of his naked glory in front of you. 

He was absolutely beautiful. The salt and pepper pattern from his stubble on his jaw was repeated in his happy trail, leading to a nice, thick, bush around the base of his thick, veiny, cock (More fun for you when you'd be riding him into next week later on).

The tip was just barely a hint of red as it bloomed with precum.  His legs and arms were hairy as well, stomach soft with just the right amount of pudge but everywhere else was solid pure muscle that could only be found on a man who worked hard in the elements, dark hair tousled a bit that fell in his eyes from your passionate fingers earlier. 

The throbbing ache pounded, the glistening sheen between your thighs was all the lube you needed as he pulled you into his lap. Miguel's eyes remained completely locked on you, softening a bit as he felt himself start to push inside you. 

He had suspected sometime around while you were moaning his name and he was lapping up your arousal like an oasis that this whole encounter was deeper than a hookup, and now, he realizes he's sunk: hook line and sinker as your pussy just grips and squeezes him. He sighs as his hands find residence on your hips, taking pleasure in kneading the soft fat. 

"Take your time...." He whispered as he noticed you struggling a bit under his sheer size, his girth slowly spreading you more open. Somehow though, the stretch felt more rewarding, more sinful as you became fuller and fuller of him as you just allowed yourself to relax. 

Miguel's cock bottomed out inside of you, an experimental twitch of his cock reminded you on all fronts that you were stuffed to the brim. He adored this, he loved being so close to you like this, loved the satisfaction that the woman who supposedly hated his guts at first was now completely putty in his hands as you wrapped effortlessly around him. 

"So damn warm..." Miguel purred as he began bouncing you in a slow rhythm. "Ah, ah, mas despacio, por favor(more slow please)..." He teased, grip tightening as he slowed your hips. "I wanna enjoy you like this for a while." He grunted and groaned, loving the way you just responded with more dripping slick around his base as he leaned in to suck on your tits while keeping himself buried inside. "If I'd known you felt this good I would've dragged you out of that fucking snow a lot earlier." He murmured before his lips puckered over your nipple. 

"Please, Mig..." You rolled your eyes but returned a chuckle with a sigh, gently rolling your hips while his cock remained warm and snug inside you. "I'll admit when you pulled up on that four wheeler, it was kind of hard not think about you bending me over the seat.." 

"Yeahh?" Miguel groaned as he churned his hips, drawing his cock in and out of your sea of wetness. "Shouldn't have told me that, now I might need to make that happen..."

As he spoke, his pace increased faster and faster. 

"Aaahh, Miguel...Miguel!" Your threshold was being tested on how much you could take, but nearly fell apart altogether when he added his thumb back to your clit while continuing to fuck up into you ruthlessly. 

"Come on baby, with me...let go."  

And your highs came in waves, yours first followed by his like a bursting dam. His cum overwhelmed your tight hole, causing it to dribble down the sides in filthy display but you loved it, shoving yourself back down on his cock with naughty enthusiasm. Miguel smirked at you, eyes still slightly dazed from euphoria. 

"Good to see you're not wasting any, baby." 

And before you knew it he picked you up, yelping slightly then giggling when you took the initiative of squeezing your thighs tighter around his waist, cock still softening slowly inside your silky pussy, but beginning to pulse back to life as you and Miguel began making out passionately while he took careful steps with you cradled in his arms to his bedroom. 

Perhaps by now you didn't have a job anymore, the future of Miguel's farm was still uncertain, surely you'd be the talk of the entire town come a few months later when your tummy would be swelling with the evidence of every steamy thing that took place tonight inside this snowed in ranch. But, for now, you had much harder, longer, thicker things on your mind as round two became three, then four, with a surprise fifth in the middle of the night and a sixth in the morning. 

When all is said and done, you could always just blame it on the snow. 

[luludeluluramblings]

Yandere! Batfamily x Smalltown! Neglected! Meta! Reader x Yandere! Superfamily

A/N: taking a moment to jot this down while in my head, because we gotta know what the Sups think of Reader. (Also because I watched the 1978 Superman movie like crazy as a kid and this whole series is spiraling into the longing for departed childhoods)

A/N: will probably edit this later; I’m still fleshing out some things

A/N: Also, we get a romantic yandere here!

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

To start with, Reader actually adores the Super family.

Jon is Reader’s third favorite person in Reader’s life. (Damian is livid about this fact.)

Reader will beg Bruce to go visit the Kent farm.

It’s as close to their hometown as Reader will ever get to see again. (Reader will willing give affection and call Bruce ‘dad’ just to go.)

And, Bruce can’t say it’s not safe,

Especially, since Clark met Reader and was utterly charmed.

(There is no way Reader can be Bruce’s kid, Reader is way too perfect and sweet.)

(Bruce literally carries the DNA test around to shove in Clark’s face when he start that conversation up again.)

Reader likes Clark, but he’s still Bruce’s friend first. (Which makes things awkward after Reader gets locked down by the Batfamily.)

Reader likes Lois too. (Until after lockdown, then things feel weird. But, Reader is capable of ignoring the weird feeling.)

Lois is extremely friendly with reader, just knows how to coax Reader into talking without it sounding like an interrogation. (Years of journalism and interviews.)

Jon, as stated, is Reader’s favorite.

Reader hugs him, calls him terms of endearment, ruffles his hair. Thinks he is precious and sweet. (Reader is not as affectionate at the manor, mostly because they don’t think the Batfamily cares.) (Wrong, they want that shit so bad. Please, hug them and love them. Even the less extreme yanderes crave it.)

And, Jon is here for it.

Reader gives older sibling vibes and Jon eats it up. (Damian may try stabbing him with kryptonite, but it’s worth it.)

Reader’s not as fond of Conner though.

He’s just another big city rich boy to Reader. (Reader does not care he’s a clone. Doesn’t bother them. Reader’s a meta that makes it rain and snow. So what if he has two dads?)

Conner, on the other hand, straight up Romantic Yandere for reader.

Sees himself as the black sheep in the Super family, where Reader is the lone white sheep in the Bat family.

Reader understands, he knows they do. (And, yes, it’s true reader does actually understand. Which makes the infatuation sooooo much worse.)

(Tim gets pissed about Conner liking reader. Thinking Reader is stealing his best friend away. But, then gets pissed when Conner tries to steal reader away from him after Tim goes full yandere.)

Kara is already in the future at this time. But, if she did meet Reader, they would be platonic soulmates. (Until Kara tries to take Reader to the future with her.)

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Farm-boy x Reader

'City Boys ain't worth nothin'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, NON-CON, mentions of exs, p-in-v sex, mentions of religon, mentions of conservatives, bondage, mentions of marriage, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of divorce, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names, sub-par writing of southern accent.

(AN: Had fun with this one!)

Sitting on your porch, you sip from a cup of sweet tea provided by your lovely Aunt May, when you hear the sound of a truck approaching. A cloud of dust can be seen flying up from the dirt road as the beaten-up yellow pick up from the McCall farm rolls up the edge of your aunt's driveway. A freckle faced, redheaded boy parks the car, and hops out, his face and arms already red from having been working in the sun all day. You huff, but call out to your aunt. "Aunt May! That McCall boy's here!" You yell, a twinge of annoyance in your voice.

Ever since your parents split up, you moved from the city to live with your aunt May in this godforsaken hick town. You've always seen yourself as a city-girl, and just the thought of spending even a month on some dusty farm in the middle of nowhere made you want to gag. Despite the fact you've been here for several months now, the feeling has not gone away. Aunt May is nice, but you miss your friends, and you would rather die than go to another country-bumpkin harvest festival or Sunday service. Your predicament isn't helped by Joey McCall, the youngest son of the McCall family. From what you've gathered, the McCall's have been the largest family in this county for years. While not necessarily rich, they are well-known as salt-of-the-earth people, always willing to help. The McCall family has six kids, with the oldest four already married and starting their own families in the county. It seems that's Joey's goal too.

Everyday, even before you arrived in town, Joey was hired as a farmhand for your aunt, tending to animals and mucking the horses. He took pride in his work, and it only furthered his position as a town darling. When you arrived, despite your arrogance and clear disgust at your new life, he feels that you just need to see how great it is to live in a community like this. Joey hadn't really ever felt anything serious for the girls from town, and some would even say he didn't seem like the romantic type. This was far from the truth, as it was plain as day what he wanted when he would go doe-eyed at the preachers sermons on marriage, and god's purpose for it. He hasn't relented since he met you. Flowers, offering you baked goods, offering to do your chores, whatever you need to get him on your good side. Frankly, you can't stand him. It's not that you hate him persay, but you want nothing to do with this community of red-necks, and you would NEVER sink so low as kissing one of these country bumpkins sons.

Joey hops up the porch with a grin, adjusting the strap of his overalls as he approaches you. 'Aunt May, please hurry up and give him his chores already!' You think, trying to suppress rolling your eyes. "Mornin', stranger!" He teases. "It's a nice morning, sun's not too hot neither..." You nod, trying to simply wait out the conversation. He waits for you to speak, and when you don't, he sighs, but is happy to do the talking. "I'm glad I ran into you, I hadn't seen ya the last few times I visited. I-I sure hope you're not avoidin' me!" He laughs awkwardly, his grin faltering a little when you don't deny that this was your intention. He clears his throat, and quickly turns around, grabbing something from his back pocket. He thrusts his hand out, and a bundle of mixed flowers and weeds rests in it, still covered in dirt. You look disgusted at the half-dead bouquet.

"I don't want that." You say. His hand shakes a little, and he rubs the back of his neck with his free-hand. "Yeah, I understand. I was actually riding Maisie this morning, and by the time I saw these out in the field, she'd trampled right over em' with her hooves." He tosses the bouquet away over the porch, and it falls apart immediately upon impact with the ground. "It was stupid a' me to think ya'd like em'. Worth a shot though!" You open your mouth to retort, but before you can your aunt finally comes to the porch.

"Mornin' Ma'am!" Joey greets, and she responds sweetly, before pointing out a few things round the farm from her spot on the porch she'd like him to get done. He nods, and after grabbing the toolbox he'd always leave by the stairs, he sets off. You decide you've had enough off outside for today, and head back inside, placing your now empty glass on the counter.

Several hours go by, and as you flick through the channels on the tv, (most of which are static due to the terrible signal out here), you hear your aunt call you from the kitchen. As you enter, you can see she's finishing preparing lunch, a salad bowl to her left and a knife in her hand. Her free hands steadies some lettuce on the cutting board. "Hiya kiddo', how's your day been so far?" She asks. You don't hate your aunt, and lie to protect her feelings. "Fine. Just fine." You lean against the counter. "That poor McCall boy has been out there all mornin', hasn't even come in to ask for a glass of water." She sighs. You roll your eyes. "Be a dear and bring him this sandwich, would ya?" You want to say no more than anything, but when your aunt raises her brow and gives you that look, you quickly take the plate and scurry out to the barn.

As you approach, the sound of hammering and heavy breathing can be heard. As you enter, you see Joey trying to patch the gate on one of the horse-stalls. It seems he sent the horses out into the field, as the barn is empty save for you and him. "My aunt wanted you to have some lunch." You say coldly, placing the plate on top of a turned-over bucket which you considered to be the only place clean enough for it. Joey looks up, eyes wide in appreciation. "Well, thank ya' very much! I'll admit, I've been getting might hungry sittin' out here tryna' fix this darned gate." He huffs. He thinks it's a problem with the hinge. You let out a 'hmm', in response, and begin to leave, when Joey abruptly hops up and grabs your wrist. As soon as he sees your face change to one of disgust and shock, he recoils.

"Sorry to spook ya', I just wanted to ask you something before ya' ran of like ya' always do..." He places the hammer down, and his hands come to fidget at his side. "There's a party being held soon, outside the church. It's a picnic on the lawn sorta' thing, we have one every year. It's a real big deal." You raise an eyebrow. "I guess what I'm tryna' ask is if you'd considering going with me? I could show ya' around, help you meet some of the other townsfolk. Hell' ya' could even meet my sisters! I bet ya'd get along swell." His smile become shy, his freckle disappearing into his skin as a bright red blush covers his face. He hopes you think it's just a sunburn. You sigh, and shake your head. "I'm sorry, Joey. I don't think so..." You say. He frowns, but quickly nods. "Nah, I get it. It's kind of a big event. Maybe we could start with something smaller, maybe just the two of us? Say- I know a real nice spot north of the creek, I could take ya down there, a-and we could-" You let out a loud groan, and stomp your foot.

"No, Joey! It's not that I don't want trampled flowers, or I don't want to go to some big event with all you hick's, it's that I don't want you!" You exclaim. His face falls immediately, that light in his eyes extinguished like squashing one of the fire flies you'd see in the fields on a hot evening. "What..." He mumbles, shaking his head a little. "I don't want to date some small-town guy, okay! I don't even want to be in this town. I have a life back in the city, where I belong. Shit, I've got a BOYFRIEND!" You yell. His sadness at your rejection falls for a minute, and he seems to freeze his panicked breaths. "Ya- Ya' gotta' beau already?" He asks, his voice trembling as he swallows heavily. "A beau? What the hell does that mean, some kind of country talk? Yes, I have a boyfriend, and a very handsome one from the city at that." You sneer, turning your nose up at the boy.

"He pretty?" Joey mumbles, licking his lips as his gaze falls to the floor. You raise an eyebrow at the odd question. "Yes, he's very handsome." You respond. "S' got a lotta' money?" He asks. You nod again, not bringing yourself to be able to speak at Joeys sudden change in demeanor. When Joey does finally look up again, his face is no longer blushing red, but red with shame and embarrassment. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "W-well, it ain't gonna work out. I know how boys from the city are. They only want one thing from girls... that's what the preacher says." He points out the barn door. "You know Peggy, from the grocery store? She went and ran off with a boy from the city once. H-he knocked her up and left her alone, no where else to go. She came back to town, and she eventually married my brother Samuel. She always says he's the best thing that happened to her. He saved her..." Joey whimpers, his fist trembling at his side. You scoff. "Please, boys from the city have plenty to offer-" He cuts you off. "MORE THAN ME?!" He yells, a sob cracking his voice. "Have you done it with your pretty beau? Has he made you feel good?" You gasp, shocked at his vulgar question. "I don't have to tell you that..." You exclaim. "I'm not asking, I'm tellin' you to tell me." His voice is now filled with an equal tone of contempt, though you don't think it's direct at you, but rather the image of your boyfriend he's conjured up in his head. "He has. We've had sex before, he was my first." You say, swallowing nervously as you try to stand your ground.

"Then lemme ask you one more thing..." Joey huffs. "Is he gonna' marry you? Get ya' a nice house, some pretty dresses, keep ya' safe?" You shrug. "Uh, we're only twenty, we don't need to think about that." Joey shakes his head. "Cause'... Cause' that's what I'd do for ya'. Get you a nice ring, somethin' to match all your pretty dresses and clothes from the city. I'd build ya' a house right on my ma and pa's land, make sure we're still close to the family, but still give us some privacy..." He swallows harshly, taking a few steps towards you. "But most of all, I'd make sure you were safe, safe from any city boy who'd try to get off in ya' and then leave." He's now only a few inches from you. "And I intend to do that." He whispers.

You gasp as his calloused hands grab your wrists, turning you around to face the barn wall. He frees one of his hands up and moves to the stall door he was working on, bumping it open with his hips and shutting it behind the two of you. "L-Let go you brute! Get off of me!" You yell. He rips the red patterned bandanna he usually wears around his neck to keep the sun off, and quickly shoves the cloth in between your pretty, soft lips. As you try to kick, your feet only seem to bounce off the boys firm chest. "That's one thing about us farm boys, we're pretty strong. Firm, ya' know?" He whispers. He forces you to turn over, and you sit on the floor of the stall with your back to the wooden wall of the barn. Joey fumbles around, looking for something. His hand brushes across a rough rope for leading the horses mixed into the hay of the stall, and in just a few moments your hands are bound up to a horse feeder, just above your head. You whine through the gag, tears beginning to fall down your face. He shakes his head.

"Nah, c'mon now... don't cry. It's gonna be okay, I promise ya'." He whispers, brushing away one of your tears with the pad of his thumb. "Don't be scared, I'm not gonna do anything that hurts ya', I just wanna prove to you how good I can be. I realise, I can give you all the things that I said earlier, but... but I know the one thing that city boys have given you." Your eyes widen when you understand his words. He smiles softly. "I know the pastor says we should wait till' marriage, but I kinda need to convince ya' to marry me, and I know now to do that I have to prove that I can give everything some city boy can, and more." His hand comes to rest on your knee, before he uses the palm of his hand to bunch up the fabric of your pink skirt, now smudged with dirt. "Sorry about the location, didn't want anyone to see us. I-I'll buy ya' another dress after this, one even prettier, okay?" He says. Hiking up your skirt, your trembling thighs are visible to him, and the sheer lace of your panties allows him to see you without even taking them off. "Wow, I've never seen something as pretty as this..." His fingers trace the top of the lace, brushing your outer lips slightly. Despite your fear, the contact with a sensitive spot makes you whimper through the makeshift gag. "Maybe I don't wanna get ya' a new dress, maybe I want to see ya' in more of these." He laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck.

His rough hands try to pull down the fabric around your womanhood, though your resistance makes it hard. Eventually, he groans and simply rips the lace in two, tucking it into the pocket of his overalls. "Surely, since this is damaged now, ya' won't need it." He mumbles. He toys with just the fabric in his hands for a moment, his curiosity evident, before he turns back to you. "I'm gonna get a look at ya', okay? See what exactly a pretty girl like you is workin' with." He roughly slots himself in between your knees, making closing them impossible. His large fingers part your folds, giving him a full view of your moist, aroused pussy. He bites his lip, letting out what can only be described as whimper. "G-geez, darlin'. This is definently better than them' health videos they used to show us in the schoolhouse..." He sighs. Joey's face falls for a moment, suddenly insecure.

"I guess you'll be wanting to see me now, too." He removes one hand from your inner thigh, and unclasps the shoulder straps of his overalls. "I-I'll admit, I know there's a little more to all this, but I only really know the basics, so I'm gonna show ya' what I know how to do. Rest assured though, I'm a quick learner." He stammers. His hand is shaking, and it takes several seconds for him to even undo one button on his overalls. Eventually, they fall, resting just below his wait. He lifts his button up shirt slightly, revealing a pair of briefs, and a very prominent bulge. He blushes as he looks down at it, and your eyes widen at the size. "Y'know, I've never had to deal with these before I met ya'. But, sometimes I go home and thinkin' of you is the only way to get em' to go away." His face is even redder with shame. He pulls the briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free. It's thick, and veiny. Somehow, it's freckled, much like his face. He spits into his hand, shivering as he rubs it down his length. "Sorry I don't have something better than my spit. I know it's kinda' gross, but, we are doin' it in a barn." He pulls his hips forward a little, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance, which against your will is now soaked with arousal. "See, I've already got you wet, I can do whatever that boyfriend back home can do for ya'." He says.

"Listen, I know ya'd said you've had sex with him, but I know it can still hurt a little. So, I promise to be real gentle with ya'." He stroke your face with his free hand, and presses his chapped lips to your forehead in a tender kiss. "I'll never get over how much softer you are than me..." He whispers. He begins to hump his manhood against your entrance, biting his lips each time he angles away from you instead of penetrating. "Huh, this is a lil' harder than I thought..." He seems upset at the idea he is under-performing. He takes his hand, and with a solid grip on his member, he pushes the tip just past your hymen, making you squeak into the gag. Before he's even fully got the tip in, his legs are shaking at the feeling. "Oh... Oh lord..." He stammers, fighting the urge to put himself in you all at once. He musters all his strength to pull out, then go back in, just a touch deeper this time. After a few thrusts, he's almost bottomed out in you. Despite your shaking head, your pleas for him to stop, muffled by the gag, soon turn to wanton moans. He places his hands against your hips, allowing him to work himself in and out of you. "God, you're so wet, a-and it's tight... God, didn't know you'd be this tight." He shakes his head though, and leans forward. "Not bad though, not a bad thing, darlin'. You feel so good around me, do I make you feel good too?" In a moment of weakness you nod, prompting him to grin widely. He's so overwhelmed in the moment, from the pleasure and happiness, that his eyes begin to swell with tears. He quickens his pace, almost sobbing now. "My pretty darlin', taking me so well. Making me feel so good, such a good girl. Not city boy could give you what ya' need, not like me..." He huffs. He angles his hips up just a bit, so his tip smacks against a spot deep inside you.

At this, you practically convulse, making him continue once he notices your reaction. "I'll make you finish, don't worry. That's what a good beau does, makes you finish..." He groans, his pace now rapid as he hammers at that spot. Both you can him feel a coil forming in your stomachs, ready to burst. "Hah, I think I'm gonna cum to, you wanna' come together?" His minds fills with thoughts as he thinks more on this while chasing his high. "I already said I-I would marry ya', build ya' a house. We could add on an extra room, for a baby." Your eyes widen in panic at the thought. "Don't worry, I wouldn't leave ya' if you got pregnant from this. That's what that city boy did to Peggy, remember?" He moans. "I'd help ya' the whole way. Build our little one a crib, get them clothes, and I'll bet you'd still be beautiful, if your worried about that." He assures you. You can feel his cock twitching inside you, as as the coil inside you bursts, you feel yourself cumming around him. He gags, inhaling a breath at the feeling. Soon, you feel him convulsing to, a warm liquid filling your caverns as he groans. "God, you're milking me, taking all my seed. So good for me... C'mon baby, just let me stay in a little more, fill ya' up." He groans. After a few seconds, he finally pulls out, and pants, wiping some sweat from his brow. He makes sure to close your legs, wanting to keep in all the seed. He chuckles a little. "Y'know, I'm sure that seed'll take pretty quick... my dad says all the McCall boys are fertile..." He pauses .

"That's why I've got so many siblings."

[xclowniex]

I really need people to realize that scammers are gonna scam. It's already known that scam bot farms exist. There is literally one in Asia (forgot where as I read the article last week) which kidnapped people to scam people through dating apps. It is not out of the equation that there are people using Palestine to scam people, whether it be Hamas, another Iranian proxy or Iran itself, notorious scam groups or individuals not tied to any scam group.

It's also important to understand that people can and do create fake profiles to make a profile seem more legit. Unless you yourself can verify an account which is "verifying" people asking for money, do not trust them, and even then, if you can verify an account doing verification, it is not outside the realm of possibility that said account is not doing a good job at verification.

It is important that civilians in Gaza get money and donations, do not read this as me being against it, people just need to be more aware of bad actors who simply want your money for the sake of getting rich.

[messenger-of-babel]

Dillon and Kitty

Summary: You take Dick home to the farm for a breath of fresh air. It's perfect, but there's something weighing on his mind. (Dick Grayson x fem! reader)

Word Count: 3.5K

Notes: A little self indulgent, I'm homesick and got hooked listening to country again so this popped out. I loved writing country reader (but that might be the self indulgence hehe) I might make some others in the same theme. Reader wears a dress and is alluded as female, no other warnings tonight.~ Second to last post of this challenge, I didn't think I'd even get this far. Thank you for your support so far. 🥺🥺

Also for anyone wondering- the title is a reference from Gunsmoke, an old western. I got reminded of it while listening to Toby Keith and in the show Dillon and Ms. Kitty have this 'will-they-won't-they' relationship that tugged at my heart so I put a bit of that ache in there too. 🫣🫣

Enjoy Sweethearts~! xx

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You loved being out of the city. You loved being back in the sky for once, and the fact that you could walk away to a quiet spot in your house and not be bombarded with the sounds of cars and arguments on the city streets. You'd gladly trade your heels for a pair of work boots if you could, give your father another pair of hands on the farm. You could take your coffee under the big oak tree by the back porch that had seen you and your siblings break bones and scrape skin, instead of the cramped fire escape that was covered in rain more often than not.

You might have only gone back for a small holiday, but you couldn’t help the thoughts that wondered just 'what if' you did come back. You know that your mother would fuss over it happily, and your father would grumble but not protest. They had sent you away to have a better chance at life, so that you could go wherever your dream wanted to take you. You weren't sure how dream like Gotham could be, with its bleak skies, crime, and constant bustle. Your friends who still lived out by here laughed at you, but you knew that if you had never left, you never would have made your dream come true.

More accurately, you would have never met the man of your dreams, Dick Grayson.

You had both run into each other at a charity event, something you had gotten to attend through your degree in place of your professor. You felt out of place in the ballroom, filled with the rich and elite. You were no stranger to the upturned noses and lingering stares of city folk when you came in to shop with no time to change, still in your work clothes and with dust covered skin. However, being regarded like you were tracking mud across the polished floors when you were in your finest, was new. You knew these events were a big deal, everyone trying to get a ticket to the famous Bruce Wayne's extravagant gala, to taste the high life for a night.

You would be lying if you said that you hadn't been interested in the concept, the high-class events that seemed to be something out of a fairytale. No one would’ve blamed you for wanting to look inside, except the other party guests it seemed. You weren't dressed in anything racy, renting out a modest dress that matched the jewellery you had. Your roommate had done your makeup for you, and you did your hair yourself. You knew that you cleaned up nice, but it appeared that the country air clung to you still.

Socialising had become a nightmare, with people hesitant to even talk to you. The ones that did wavered in confidence when you said that you were still a student, your professors name doing little to ease their worries. You had no family name to shield you, no massive corporation at your back. You quickly realised that they weren't talking to you, because you couldn't do something for them. Even though you had no intent on working with rich assholes like them, the feeling of being useless quickly crept into the back of your mind. So much so, that you were stuck in that thought until you roughly collided with someone, and felt the barely sipped glass of champagne you cradled spill all the way down the front of your dress.

"I'm so sorry," are the first words that come out of your mouth, hands flying to the other person. You look up, hearing a soft chuckle and the blood drains from your face. Dick Grayson, the first adopted son of tonight’s host. He must recognise the panic on your face, because he laughs quietly and wraps a large palm around the crook of your elbow and pull you to the side. You expect to get scolded, but he takes you to a corner away from prying eyes and pulls out his pocket square.

"Here, use this." he says softly, smile on his lips. You take it after an apprehensive second, beginning to dry the fabric the best you can. "I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, that's completely on me." he says, eyes crinkling with worry. You shake your head in protest, swallowing hard.

"No, no, I wasn't either. Did I get your suit?"

He holds his hands up, "No, no, you're fine. Didn't get a drop on me." he smiles. "So don't worry." his eyes flit back down to the stain creeping across your front. He winces studying the wet patch. "Can I replace the dress for you?" he offers. "Get you a new one as an apology."

You shake your head violently, mind racing. He said is so casually, as if it was loose change to him.

"Oh, no. This isn't even my dress, it's a rental." you wave him off. "I'll just get it dry cleaned, and if that doesn't work, I'll just pay the fee. It's nothing for you to worry about."

His head tilts slightly to the side, strands of ebony hair tickling his forehead.

"You don't own the dress?" he asks, and your shoulders slump. You nod, expecting him to turn up his nose. The wealth in this single room made your head spin, and you watched his face. he was going to shrug you off and take his pocket square back, re-emerge into the sea of glittering people with silk lined pockets.

"It looks like it was made for you."

That makes your eyes widen and your cheeks burn with heat. He lets a pearly grin slip forward, making little lights dance in his eyes mischievously.

"Thank you." you stutter out, hands smoothing down the fabric.

"At least give me your details," he persists. "I'll pay for the dry cleaner and the fee if it comes to that. It was my fault, don't worry."

You smile hesitantly, mind wandering. Was he going to hold this over your head? Make you pay him back with favours that cost you more than you could afford?

"But I do have a favour to ask."

There it was.

He must have sensed the tension in your shoulders and the flicker of fear that ran across your face, because he raised his hands and softened his expression. "Feel free to say no of course."

You make your mouth move, tone hesitant. "What is it?"

"You wear it on our first date."

Your jaw drops open a little wider in shock, and a shit eating grin spreads across his face. You give a single, stunned nod and he beams wider. "Excellent. I'll be in touch. I'd stay longer, but Bruce will be insufferable if I disappear and make him handle all those vultures alone. I hope you can understand." he sends you a sympathetic and sheepish gaze, keeping eye contact with you as he drifts away into the crowd.

Two days later when you went to pick up the dress from the drycleaners, it was gone. You had panicked, calling the store to apologise, but oddly enough they couldn't find the dress in their system anymore. Tired from a long day of chasing, you found a tied package at your apartment door. Unwrapping the paper on your bed, you couldn't help but smile pulling out the dress you wore to the gala, freshly cleaned. Alongside it was a navy jewellery box, carrying a matching necklace. The piece of paper inside was written in a hastily scrawled handwriting, messier than you'd have expected from his pedigree.

I told you the dress was made for you. Call me to make plans.

-Dick

That had started the beginning of your relationship with the man who cheered you on relentlessly while you chased your dream. You called home so often that your mother had fallen in love with him too without even meeting him, while your father grew continually irritated with the way Dick's name became a household one without ever setting foot on the property. So, after a year of dating and having gone to meet his family multiple times (where upon meeting Bruce, you could tell where Dick had adopted many of his mannerisms) he was finally coming to see the place where you had grown up.

The second your car had rolled through the gates and hit park; your younger siblings were running towards you at full pelt. Correction, Lacey, your pocket rocket ten-year-old sister threw herself at Dick for a hug, while your quieter teen brother, Marcus watched from the porch.

"Are you Dickie?" Lacey had all but shouted at him, making him look at you. You stifled giggles behind your hand as he looked down at her, gently pulling her off before crouching. "You must be Lacey?" he asked with the soft smile he reserved for kids. She giggled and grinned at you, beaming.

"He knows my name!" she squeals, before giving you a big hug herself.

You laugh and send her back to your brother who was keeping his distance, sending a shrug to Dick as you go to unload the car. You can hear the fly screen rattle and the voices of your parents, signalling the start of a very active dinner. "Welcome, city boy." you smirk at him, leaning over to give him a peck on the lips. He pulls you close and kisses you back, hand cradling your neck before he parts.

"Good to be here." he smiles.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The week had flown by and he had settled in well, while your body fell back into your old routine like clockwork. Your father had been sceptical of Dick at the beginning, but Dick had proven himself rather quickly, offering to help out. He wasn't afraid to get dirty, he didn't tear up or complain when he got a scrape or a bruise. Often times it was your mother that would fuss over him when he came into the kitchen sporting a new bump or injury, and he'd look down with surprise like he hadn’t even felt it. He was good with Lacey and even quiet Marcus warmed up to him, spending his afternoons in the stables with Dick showing him how to care for the horses. The horses were the animals Marcus had loved ever since he was a child, and when Marcus let Dick saddle up one of his to take a small ride around the paddock, you knew he was part of your family now.

You couldn’t deny that he looked good in work gear, it was like a weight was off his shoulders. His eyes seemed clearer; soul less burdened. It was only when he came out to meet your family that you realised he his lips naturally curved downwards in Gotham, his eyes blue as the sky but lost in someplace further than the horizon he stared out at. He looked good in denim and with reigns in his hand, gentle with the horse as he caught your gaze and steered her over to you. He was in a spare pair of work boots your quickly growing brother no longer fit, and a sweat broken work hat on his head. You had to stop the tingle in your hand and cheeks catching sight of him like that. When he looked at you, you finally felt like his eyes were looking at you.

"Hey, handsome." you call, pushing off from the paddock fence. "I see you've made a good impression on Marcus."

He grins down at you, dismounting swiftly like he had been riding all his life. "He's a good kid." he smiles, and you kiss his cheek.

"Come on, dinner's almost ready." you say sweetly before turning to your younger brother, still on his horse. "And that goes for you too, mister!" you holler, making Marcus flip you off in the distance.

"Teens." you grumble, making Dick laugh as you head to the stables.

You help Dick unsaddle, making sure the tack is put away properly. You look over at him, frowning softly as you see the expression on his face. It's the same shadow he wears in Gotham, the weight of something invisible constantly pressing down on him. "Hey, you okay?" you call with a kind smile, making him look up quickly. You don't see the phone in his hand that he slips back into his pocket, only the tight grin he sends back to you.

"Yeah, fine."

You walk back to the house in silence, and your mother already has dinner waiting for you. Everyone proceeds as usual, but you can't help looking at Dick seated across from you, with a soft frown on your face. He seems out of it, and when he meets your eyes it's guilty. The tension is thankfully not felt by other members of your family, allowing you to follow him when he slips out.

You find him in your childhood bedroom, where you've both been sleeping. "Hey, you okay?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe. he has his back to you, fiddling with something in his pocket. What he says next steals the breath from your lungs.

"I can't do this."

It's like the rug has fallen out from beneath your feet you and you straighten yourself quickly, closing the door behind you so no one can hear your conversation. "Dick?" you ask, softly, heart racing. "What do you mean?"

He sighs and turns to you, eyes normally so bright now swirling with emotion. "I think...I think we should break up." he says, voice barely pushing the words out.

"You don’t mean that." you shake your head, hand coming to your temple. This has to be a dream. Or a nightmare. "Why? what's wrong?"

"I just...I have something I need to do back in Gotham. I can't...I can't give you the life you want. I don't think we'll work out." he sends you an apologetic smile like your eyes aren't filling with tears, lip wobbling.

"What made you think that?" you ask, trying to hold it together. To not let your emotions control you and push him further away. "Was it...Was it my family? This life?"

"No, no, nothing like that." he says hurriedly. "I just think, god-" he runs a hand through his hair, sucking his teeth. "I just don't think we're compatible."

"And it took you until meeting my family for you to say that, huh?" you say, arms crossed and unable to hide the hurt tone. He winces, wringing his hands.

"I have to go." he says softly.

"Why?" you demand again, voice raising. "God damn it, Grayson, you can't just tell me you want to break up suddenly. That's not fair. Tell me. Tell me if it's something I did. You've been distracted on your phone, just tell me if it's work or another woman-" you cut yourself off when you see him grimace and your breath stops in your throat. You hadn’t been serious when you said that. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He raises his hands in defence, making you scoff. "Please, listen." he pleads, making your blood rush to your head.

"You've actually been talking to another woman? Are you kidding-"

"It's just Babs, I swear-"

"Barbara Gordon?" your voice shrilly rings at the mentions of his ex. "Oh yes, because texting your ex-girlfriend makes me feel so much better." you spit, holding your hand out. "Be honest for once. S how me." You seethe, and after a hesitant moment he unlocks his phone and places it in your hand with a defeated sigh. You swipe to his messages, heart shattering as you read her contact’s name still with an orange heart beside it.

"There's something I need help with. You need to come home."

You hate reading how readily he replied, running back to his ex the second that she says she needed him. the way she called him home, like he hadn't been with you so naturally you even had the audacity to think that maybe he could find a life here too. A home. Somewhere peaceful, away from the hustle and bustle and having to constantly be on his guard. To be able to steal kisses under the shine of the stars instead of the invasive flash of the paparazzi.

He takes the phone from you, unable to meet your eyes. Dick doesn't feel like he deserves to.

His heart breaks as he walks past you, shoving his things back into the bag he packed. He can feel the hurt radiating off you, making his own heart break. He wants to tell you that he hasn't been talking to Barbara, not that way at least. That he did love you, with every part of him. He loved your family. He loved the gruffness of your dad and the way he'd check in on Dick periodically, grumbling about him being a city kid but still making sure he didn't get too banged up. He loved your mothers cooking and let Lacey play with his hair. He loved Marcus and his passion for his animals. He loved you.

He loved you in finery he bought you and he loved you with dust in your hair and callouses on your hands. He loved you in jewellery and he loved you in chaps, loved you in heels and the dirt caked work boots. That's what he told himself, but if he was breaking your heart this way, he wasn't sure if he was ever truly able to love you.

 If he loved you as much as he fooled himself, he wouldn't be leaving with no explanation, wouldn't be breaking your heart at your parents’ house, your safe place. If he loved you, he would tell you that he was Nightwing, and he would never be able to come out to the countryside with you. That he had a duty in Gotham that had him risking his life every night.

He wished he could tell you who he was, and he yearned to. When he looked into those heartbroken eyes of yours, he wanted to take you into his arms and spill his heart out and kiss you stupid. He wanted to tell you everything, about him, his family, about Bruce. But he couldn't, his own lips freezing in fear. His throat bobs as he swallows harshly, looking down in guilt. "Alfred is bringing the car. He'll be here soon." he says softly.

The words he really wants to say is:

Please love me. Please don’t hate me. Please forgive me.

He grabs the last of his things and pushes past you before the burning to comfort you overtakes his logical mind. He knows he has to go back. Indulging himself in you and your sunlight was something that he couldn't afford. He couldn't afford you to get hurt, to get wrapped up in his world. It was a first for him dating a civilian, and he was terrified. That fear built up over in his mind, and he knew it. He knew he should give you a chance, but it was the safer option, the lesser of two evils. He could suffer the pain of losing you, or he could suffer the pain of you finding out who he was and hating him.

His heart shatters as he hears the sob of you, beginning to break down as he leaves.

He passes the faces of your family, curious but silent. He feels their eyes follow him, a brand of shame tracing him and his path out. The cold is biting, nipping at his skin but he doesn't feel it. All he can see in his mind's eye is you undoubtably being comforted by the worried hands of your mother, crying out in heartbreak and not even getting to know why.

By the time that Alfred arrives, he can see the silhouette of your family on the porch, Marcus and your father. He can hear your father yell at him as he gets into the car, but he can't make out the words as he shuts the door and Alfred begins to roll away. He slouches against the door, head in his hands. Alfred looks back, studying him.

"Did you tell her, sir?" Alfred asks softly, the older man's fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Dick had promised that he'd tell you, let you make your own decision before continuing to be involved with him. Alfred liked you and had reassured Dick countlessly that you would likely be nothing but accepting is he did reveal his secret identity. yet as he stares at the slumped man in the rearview mirror, a pang of disappointment shoots through his heart as he pieces together what's happened. Dick tries his best to stop the tears, but they prickly to the forefront anyway.

"No. But there's nothing left to tell her." Dick mumbles defeatedly, staring out the window with dull eyes.

but there was, three little points he never got out of his mouth.

I'm Nightwing.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

[teecupangel]

(sorry in advance, I've been stewing over this for so long that this will be a long one xd)

I was re-reading your fics on ao3 again (sue me, im starved for desmond time travel content) and whilst reading Eagle of Alamut's description i realised '...wait a damn minute, it is true! all of Desmond's knowledge on past is from his ancestors!' (not everyone is as big of a nerd as shaun). Cue weeks of relentless daydreaming over Desmond in Reneisance Italy trying his damnest to lay low... but: 1) he does not know what is socially acceptable at the time (clothe and behaviour wise)

2) the animus likely shielded it's users from the more... er.. unsaviory historical accuracy (child marriage, smell, violence and mistreatment towards the poor, women, disabled)

3) politics, culinary arts, medicine and money value from that era are not common knowledge (or even fully known to todays historians)

4) Ezio was not known for his subtility...

...so while desmond may know who to strike in order to protect Ezios family from getting executed, what places he may know to avoid if he wants to avoid attention from the italian brotherhood.

He does not know what he was getting himself in to when he decided to travel back in time.

I can just imagine him thinking that he can finally retire and live his life, but then BOOM here comes the shock of sociatal injustices! religious violence! inequality! horrendous mistreatment of beggars and disabled people! and as a good man raised in the 21st century he obviously can't, in his right conciousness, just turn his back on these issues, on these people.

So here he is, in Rome of all places, doing his best to atleast stay hidden from the Auditore's, and consequesntly, the Italian brotherhood's, detection, as he stalks the bright rooftops of Roma as histories (probably) very first assasin turned vigiliante!

I can just picture him at one point or another, getting mistaken for a Spanish assasin and his only attempt at 'confirming' (read: encouraging misleading rumours), is to use the very little languistic knowledge the American education system has bestowed upon him. cue him very awkwardly trying to immitate a Spanish accent/ speak in Spanish. or just, you know, say the only words every student knows, 'Feliz Navidad'.

It would be so funny if Desmond’s Spanish are based on:

1) what little remains of Ezio’s Spanish (maybe on par or even worse than his French)

2) Basic Spanish that he learned on the Farm

3) Spanish songs he heard

So people think that Desmond is eccentric.

And Rich.

Because Desmond wants to help people but he doesn’t want to be seen as an Assassin so…

He becomes a supposed rich Spanish (Arabic would have sent a red flag to the Brotherhood) noble who came to Rome to live a life away from his ‘family’.

Why is he ‘rich’?

Well, killing nobles and other ‘evil doers’ will flag the Brotherhood as well so it would be better to just…

Leave certain incriminating evidence in the doors of their enemies and let them duke it out. Hey, if some things go missing while they’re too busy with their enemies, that’s just collateral damage.

Also…

Sometimes, things go missing when some people get into accidents.

It’s easy to buy the impoverish area in Rome. It’s a bit challenging to get doctors to treat them.

Until Desmond flashed the right amount of money, of course.

Desmond manages to stay under the radar by being part of the upper echelon.

An eccentric foreigner who helps the poor and sick out of the goodness of his heart.

Or… because he apparently believes that the way to heaven is through good will and not… paying the clergy.

Desmond knows that being seen as completely good is a bad thing as well so he lets rumors spread that he’s an opportunist who heals the sick and protects the weak to receive their loyalty. He gives them salary to become his guards (not that he needs any) and people whisper how loyal the poor are to someone who gives them bread.

And to hammer in that “no, Ezio, I am absolutely not connected to the Templars BUT I’m also not going to be a good ally, just leave me alone!” plan he has, he becomes a patron of the art.

Sexually progressive art.

The church hates him but tolerates him because Desmond does ‘donate’ (jokes on them, he donates what he stole from the church) and the artists love him because he commissions stuff with the same thing over and over again “whatever you want to paint/sculpt/work on but I want the Borgia men getting fucked in the ass while Lucrezia Borgia watches”

He’s not rich enough to actually be a threat (especially after Ezio starts wrecking shit up) and he keeps to himself most of the time.

But, of course, life always has it out for Desmond and he comes face to face with a wounded recruit at the edge of his property and…

Well…

He only wanted to heal him then send him on his merry way.

He didn’t expect Ezio to come barging in thinking said recruit has been kidnapped by the eccentric ‘possibly sexual deviant’ Lord Miles.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Bandits

As a game of heroic fantasy that centers so primarily on combat, D&D  is more often than not a game about righteous violence, which is why I spend so much time thinking about the targets of that violence. Every piece of media made by humans is a thing created from conscious or unconscious design, it’s saying something whether or not its creators intended it to do so. 

Tolkien made his characters peaceloving and pastoral, and coded his embodiment of evil as powerhungry, warlike, and industrial. When d&d directly cribbed from Tolkien's work it purposely changed those enemies to be primitive tribespeople who were resentful of the riches the “civilized” races possessed. Was this intentional? None can say, but as a text d&d says something decidedly different than Tolkien. 

That's why today I want to talk about bandits, the historical concept of being an “outlaw”, and how media uses crime to “un-person” certain classes of people in order to give heroes a target to beat up. 

Tldr: despite presenting bandits as a generic threat, most d&d scenarios never go into detail about what causes bandits to exist, merely presuming the existence of outlaws up to no good that the heroes should feel no qualms about slaughtering. If your story is going to stand up to the scrutiny of your players however, you need to be aware of WHY these individuals have been driven to banditry, rather than defaulting to “they broke the law so they deserve what’s coming to them.”

I got to thinking about writing this post when playing a modded version of fallout 4, an npc offhndedly mentioned to me that raiders (the postapoc bandit rebrand) were too lazy to do any farming and it was good that I’d offed them by the dozens so that they wouldn’t make trouble for those that did. 

That gave me pause, fallout takes place in an irradiated wasteland where folks struggle to survive but this mod was specifically about rebuilding infrastructure like farms and ensuring people had enough to get by. Lack of resources to go around was a specific justification for why raiders existed in the first place, but as the setting became more arable the mod-author had to create an excuse why the bandit’s didn’t give up their violent ways and start a nice little coop, settling on them being inherently lazy , dumb, and psychopathic.   

This is exactly how d&d has historically painted most of its “monstrous humanoid” enemies. Because the game is ostensibly about combat the authors need to give you reasons why a peaceful solution is impossible, why the orcs, goblins, gnolls (and yes, bandits), can’t just integrate with the local town or find a nice stretch of wilderness to build their own settlement on and manage in accordance with their needs. They go so far in this justification that they end up (accidently or not) recreating a lot of IRL arguments for persecution and genocide.

Bandits are interesting because much like cultists, it’s a descriptor that’s used to unperson groups of characters who would traditionally be inside the “not ontologically evil” bubble that’s applied to d&d’s protagonists.   Break the law or worship the wrong god says d&d and you’re just as worth killing as the mindless minions of darkness, your only purpose to serve as a target of the protagonist’s righteous violence.  

The way we get around this self-justification pitfall and get back to our cool fantasy action game is to relentlessly question authority, not only inside the game but the authors too. We have to interrogate anyone who'd show us evil and direct our outrage a certain way because if we don't we end up with crusades, pogroms, and Qanon.

With that ethical pill out of the way, I thought I’d dive into a listing of different historical groups that we might call “Bandits” at one time or another and what worldbuilding conceits their existence necessitates. 

Brigands: By and large the most common sort of “bandit” you’re going to see are former soldiers left over from wars, often with a social gap between them and the people they’re raiding that prevents reintegration ( IE: They’re from a foreign land and can’t speak the local tongue, their side lost and now they’re considered outlaws, they’re mercenaries who have been stiffed on their contract).  Justifying why brigands are out brigading is as easy as asking yourself “What were the most recent conflicts in this region and who was fighting them?”. There’s also something to say about how a life of trauma and violence can be hard to leave even after the battle is over, which is why you historically tend to see lots of gangs and paramilitary groups pop up in the wake of conflict. 

Raiders:  fundamentally the thing that has caused cultures to raid eachother since the dawn of time is sacristy. When the threat of starvation looms it’s far easier to justify potentially throwing your life away if it means securing enough food to last you and those close to you through the next year/season/day. Raider cultures develop in biomes that don’t support steady agriculture, or in times where famine, war, climate change, or disease make the harvests unreliable. They tend to target neighboring cultures that DO have reliable harvests which is why you frequently see raiders emerging from “the barbaric frontier” to raid “civilization” that just so happens to occupy the space of a reliably fertile river valley. When thinking about including raiders in your story, consider what environmental forces have caused this most recent and previous raids, as well as consider how frequent raiding has shaped the targeted society. Frequent attacks by raiders is how we get walled palaces and warrior classes after all, so this shit is important. 

Slavers: Just like raiding, most cultures have engaged in slavery at one point or another, which is a matter I get into here. While raiders taking captives is not uncommon, actively attacking people for slaves is something that starts occurring once you have a built up slave market, necessitating the existence of at least one or more hierarchical societies that need more disposable workers than then their lower class is capable of providing. The roman legion and its constant campaigns was the apparatus by which the imperium fed its insatiable need for cheap slave labor. Subsistence raiders generally don’t take slaves en masse unless they know somewhere to sell them, because if you’re having trouble feeding your own people you’re not going to capture more ( this is what d&d gets wrong about monstrous humanoids most of the time). 

Tax Farmers: special mention to this underused classic, where gangs of toughs would bid to see who could collect money for government officials, and then proceed to ransack the realm looking to squeeze as much money out of the people as possible. This tends to happen in areas where the state apparatus is stretched too thin or is too lighthanded to have established enduring means of funding.  Tax farmers are a great one-two punch for campaigns where you want your party to be set up against a corrupt authority: our heroes defeat the marauding bandits and then oh-no, turns out they were not only sanctioned by the government but backed by an influential political figure who you’ve just punched in the coinpurse.  If tax farming exists it means the government is strong enough to need a yearly budget but not so established (at least in the local region) that it’s developed a reliably peaceful method of maintaining it.  

Robber Baron: Though the term is now synonymous with ruthless industrialists, it originated from the practice of shortmidned petty gentry (barons and knights and counts and the like) going out to extort and even rob THEIR OWN LANDS out of a desire for personal enrichment/boredom. Schemes can range from using their troops to shake down those who pass through their domain to outright murdering their own peasants for sport because you haven’t gotten to fight in a war for a while.  Just as any greed or violence minded noble can be a robber baron so it doesn’t take that much of a storytelling leap but I encourage you to channel all your landlord hate into this one. 

Rebels: More than just simple outlaws, rebels have a particular cause they’re a part of (just or otherwise) that puts them at odds with the reigning authority. They could violently support a disfavoured political faction, be acting out against a law they think is unjust, or hoping to break away from the authority entirely. Though attacks against those figures of authority are to be expected, it’s all too common for rebels to go onto praying on common folk for the sake of the cause.  To make a group of rebels worth having in your campaign pinpoint an issue that two groups of people with their own distinct interests could disagree on, and then ratchet up the tension. Rebels have to be able to beleive in a cause, so they have to have an argument that supports them.

Remnants: Like a hybrid of brigands, rebels, and taxfarmers, Remnants represent a previously legitimate system of authority that has since been replaced but not yet fully disappeared. This can happen either because the local authority has been replaced by something new (feudal nobles left out after a monarchy toppling revolution) or because it has faded entirely ( Colonial forces of an empire left to their own devices after the empire collapses). Remnants often sat at the top of social structures that had endured for generations and so still hold onto the ghost of power ( and the violence it can command) and the traditions that support it.  Think about big changes that have happened in your world of late, are the remnants looking to overturn it? Win new privilege for themselves? Go overlooked by their new overlords?

Art

[bullet-prooflove]

The Farm: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @wabi-sabi1090 @lostinwonderland314 @turtle-cant-communicate @fallout-girl219

Companion Piece to:

Pears - It starts when Carmy makes an order he doesn't remember.

Mornings - Carmy sleeps better with you around.

Bubble - You have no idea that you saved Carmy's life.

Crazy, Stupid, Fucked Up World (NSFW) - Carmy tells you he lvoes you for the first time.

Carmy loves spending days at the farm, he loves walking through the fields, his fingertips skating over the fresh produce that you’ve been cultivating. He loves the vibrance in the colours. The depths of the green, the brilliance of the red, the pops of yellow. He loves all of it, each and every fucking thing.

More than anything he adores the flavours. The rich burst of texture on his tongue as he bites into a blueberry he’s picked fresh from the bushel, the crispness of a ripe tomato he’s plucked from the vine, the crunch of lettuce between his teeth as the taste floods his senses.

Being here inspires him, it has from the moment he’d stumbled onto the eight acre property in search of somewhere to get fresh produce at a decent rate. You’d found him, sitting cross legged in the middle of one of your fields, sketching out a new idea when you sat down next to him, thinking he was a member of the homeless community.

“I can make you a bag up if you want.” You’d said softly. “I know how hard it can be to get fresh stuff when you’re sleeping rough.”

He turned his head towards you then, his brows furrowing into a frown.

“I’m not homeless…” He’d said looking down at himself  in a ratty white t-shirt and sneakers that have seen much better days. “Fuck, do I look homeless?”

“You kinda do.” You agree before you take his hand in yours and drop a couple of blueberries onto his palm. He pops one into his mouth and he swears he’s never tasted anything as good as that single piece of fruit. “It’s all organic, free from GMOs…”

“You can taste it.” He says, eating other blueberry and then another.

You give him some of the overstock to take home with him that night. Some strawberries and raspberries, along with the leafy greens you’ve been growing. He stares at the colours, using the small artist’s set Luca gave him before he left New York to capture their essence as he designs dishes around their flavour palette.

The next time you see him, he’s tossed out the white t-shirt and the sneakers. He’s wearing a soft grey sweater and a pair of jeans Mikey left him instead. His hair is freshly washed and he’s used a little of that moisturiser that Sugar’s been trying to shove down his throat for the past couple of months. He feels better than he has in years and he thinks it’s because of the fruit. He’s been stagnant since coming to Chicago, focusing on keeping his head above water. There hasn’t been time to relax, to take joy in the things around him.

“That’s really sad.” You tell him as you sit beside him once again in what becomes his favourite field. “That you lost your joy.”

“I don’t think that I ever had any to begin with.” He tells you as he stares out across the plush greenery. “I don’t think I feel things the way that other people do, everything feels muted, it has for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly.

And he shrugs his shoulders because at this point he doesn’t know any different. It started back in New York under the tuition of David Fields. The constant barrage of abuse he suffered, it fractured something deep inside of him. His self-esteem had  withered away with under every comment until there was nothing left but this trembling mess.

“Do you worry you’ll never get it back?” You ask him, studying the profile of his face.

“I did.” He tells you before he tilts his head to look at you. His vibrant blue eyes capture yours and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a colour as beautiful as that. “But then I came here and it’s like something inside me just woke up. I’m starting to feel things again, so yea that’s what’s happening right now.”

“I’m glad the farm could help you like that.” You say sincerely.

“I’m guessing the farm helps a lot of people like that.” He says, gesturing to some of the folks out harvesting in the field. “I looked you up, read about some of the mental health programs you run. You’ve got a good rep.”

“Do what you can, for who you can, where you can, am I right?” You say and he thinks that’s one hell of a philosophy to live by in your day to day.

He considers that now as he watches you in the field. You’re wearing yellow wellies over black leggings because it’s potato season and you always get a little muddy. You have his baseball cap turned backwards on your head, your hair spilling out underneath.

It’s in that moment he realises just how truly happy he is, how happy he’s been over the past year and he knows that’s because of this place, because of you.

You’re surprised a couple of minutes later when his arms wrap around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck inhaling the scent of earth that clings to your skin as he draws you back into the shelter of his firm chest.

“What’s up Bear?” You ask as he snuggles in close, his lips ghosting over skin.

“Nothing.” He whispers. “I just fucking love you.”

“That’s good baby…” You smile as you tilt your head towards him. “Because I fucking love you too.”

Love Carmy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[we-are-maladaptive]

Breeding ‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧ Stock

Shouto Todoroki x Cowgirl!Reader

REQUESTS ARE OPEN. Feel free to send me an ask and I’ll write it for you! Remeber to check the rules first.

CONTENTS: smut, breeding (duh), pussy pounding (teehee), hybrids, talks of past abuse, lactation kink, shouto is like in his late 20, early 30s, loss of virginity, master/pet dynamics, oral (f reciev.) Word Count: 2.7k (Proofread! :D)

It seems like people like you are not so lucky as humans. Humans get to do whatever they want, whenever they want, and it’s not fair. Being strapped in a cage all day long.. waiting for someone to take you home n’ milk you dry, maybe breed you.

Breed... you hated that word. You just wanted a life where you could be free, and not have to worry about being someone’s pet. Unfortunately for you, you were one of the best stocks in the farm. The freshest of milk, and the prettiest of faces. This meant that you were being dragged for display almost every time a rich, old buyer came around, flaunting your pretty tits and perky nipples through the thin fabric of your white dress. Praying that the price tag clipped to your ear will be enough to drive them away... sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the buyers will get a little too close, so when they get a bite on the finger or arm and they scurry away, a few lashes at your behind is better than staying with those creeps.

One day, though, another rich man comes inside... he’s a handsome man, and looks way more decent then the crooks that usually come in the store. You hear one of the clerks scurry in his direction-

..”Oh my! Hello good sir! What are you in for today?”

“I’m here to purchase a cow.”

“Oh! I see. Is there any type you are interested in?”

“...Your best cow.”

A pair of heavy footsteps were walking to your cage, but you didn’t pay any mind to it, too engrossed in your own thoughts. You were always so shaky during a time like this, what if the price, or a bite on the arm, isn’t enough to drive them away? You can’t stay here forever...

“I’ll take her.”

Your head perked up immediately.

“O-oh! Are you sure you want to buy her? You haven’t even touched her ye-”

“I said I’ll take her. Do I need to repeat myself again?”

“Of course not sure! The price is 300,000 yen. She’s of high value.”

You looked the man in the eyes, his gaze softened when he met your eyes, maybe because they were currently filled with fear.

His eyes met the clerk again.

“...Seems fair. Lead me to the paperwork. If there's anything else I need to know, do tell me.”

...

You were terrified.

This man was large, and could easily overpower you. You stood no chance against him, so you stayed quiet and timid in the back of his car.

“Where...where going?” Dumb thing. Could barely manage to understand a few words.

“..We are heading home. You won’t be familiar, but don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

Home? You have never had a home before, always stuck in the cage. He said it so gently too, maybe it’s worthless to be so panicky.. he seems sincere.

“Moo..”

...

When he pulled into the driveway, you expected to be dragged into the house, but he held you so softly. So gentle then you felt almost compelled to follow him, and that's what you did.

“Hungry..”

“You’re hungry, hm? What do you usually eat?”

“..Moo?”

He sighed. He wasn’t going to get very far when it came to communication. It seemed as though you could only understand basic words. The man fed you plenty of fresh strawberries, and kiwi. Much to your delight, since all you ate back at the farm was slop filled with hormone inducing protein.

“Who?” Is what you asked him. If you were going to stay here, you at least needed a name. “Shouto, is my name.”

“Sho...shoto..?”

“Yes, you got it.”

Shouto. That was his name. It’s not very hard to pronounce either.

It started to get late, and you had a hobby of following him wherever he went. He could tell by the clank of the cowbell he placed around your neck.

“Sleep?” He assumed you were tired after the trip. You followed him around to this somewhat pile of pillows and a blanket. It was soft, but still sturdy, since it was placed on the floor.

...

The next morning was filled with ache. You felt so heavy. Practically dragging across the floor into his room where he slept. You stared up at him and whined until he started to stir.

“Mmm..what is it?”

“Hurts.” It did hurt, the ache in your hard breasts was hard to ignore at this point. Milk threatening to spill all over and make a mess on the floor if you moved the wrong way.

“Right. I know, come here...”

He pulled down the top of your dress, and your breasts spilled over. He gently grabbed one, and sucked.

It was such a strange feeling.. it was reliving, but your nipples were so sensitive, you couldn't help but whine whenever he sucked so hard. The rich, warm milk flowed into his mouth, and when he began to coax you into his bed, you flinched a little.

“No... no breed.”

“No?” He was rather confused. One the papers and documentaries he read prior, it seemed that almost all cows loved to be bred and filled to the brim. It seemed you were the exception though. It was understandable though, and he wasn’t going to make you do anything you weren’t uncomfortable with, yet.

“Alright. Are you feeling better?” 

You nodded. You were still sleepy though, since it was still early in the morning. You snuggled up against him, much to his surprise. Seems like you like his mattress more than the floor.

“Nuh-uh. You need a bath before you can get in my bed, missy.”

“Huff.”

...

It was around 9AM now. This bath was a lot more soothing then you thought it would be. While you were marveling at the bubbles in the bath, Shouto sat at the edge, but he was internally struggling a bit...

Your body looked amazing.

The way droplets of water ran from your hair into the crevice of your breasts. When you lifted yourself up a bit to get out of the water, he could see the fat of your ass, and even a little peek at your cunt too <3.

Shouto wasn't aware of what you were doing right now, probably wandering around the house, but he wasn't worried about that recently. Right now, he wanted to figure out how to make you more.. comfortable. You had pushed away his advance to fuck you earlier, and he was currently fighting the urge to find you bend you over, but that's not very comforting. He understood that you had just gotten here, and it was a very sudden change.

After a while, he decided that the best course of action was patience, and to let you feel a little more at home via gifts or just exploration. He had gotten you a pretty decorated bell that went around your neck, and would let you snuggle with him on his bed as long as you showered or didn't run around in the grass looking for butterflies in his garden. His bed was very soft, and you cried and whined at him whenever it was time to get up.

After a week of being there, you felt a lot more at home. You were able to get down the basic layout of the house now, so you no longer got lost. It was a very large house, and so you would wail for Shouto, so he could come find wherever you were.

It was late into the evening now. You once again lay in Shouto's large garden tub, Shouto was also in the tub behind you, gently scrubbing away the mud on your shoulders, you were extra dirty after planting face-first into the ground. You tripped over yourself after trying to snatch a pretty monarch butterfly. Shouto helped you with wiping the dirt off your face when he found you, but still got himself dirty in the process thanks to you swinging your muddy tail around.

...Once you were finally clean in the tub, that's when Shouto decided to advance. He pressed you back onto his chest, and placed his hand on the lower part of your stomach. You tilted your head to look at him, curious to see what he was doing. You shuddered slightly when he pressed his lips on your neck, right above your collarbone. You tensed when he started to suckle on your neck, so he used his other hand to caress your thigh, and lifted it upward to hand over the edge of the tub, he did the same with the other leg. Your legs were now draped over the tub, giving him access to your more intimate area. He stopped sucking on your neck and again placed his hand on your lower stomach, sliding down very slowly. He whispered in your ear when you started to whimper; "Shhh, I promise I'll take good care of you. Just relax for me.'' You started to melt in his hands, he's taken good care of you ever since you got here, so you should be able to trust him. You were just scared. Scared because of the things you witnessed back at that old barn. Looking at Shouto's different colored eyes makes everything numb, so you nodded at him. He softly smiled at you, and slid his hand on top of your cunt. You stiffened slightly, so he didn’t toy with you just yet, he wanted you to get comfortable first. When Shouto felt you slightly relax into his arms, he smiled at your soft whimper, because now he had placed a calloused finger onto your swollen clit, rubbing in slow circles.

“How’s that feeling, baby?” He was taunting you now, his fingers slowly picking up the pace, stilling you with his other hand when you started grinding your hips into his fingers. “Ah….ah..” You were really trying, you were. Nothing was coming out of your mouth coherent enough for him to understand, but it was enough to make him chuckle at your attempts, a simple puff of air from his nose.

The fingers on your clit were relentless now, the circles had gotten faster, and it was hard not to buck away from his touches. Something in your core was aching to be let out, but you had no idea what it was. Your whimpers turned to soft moans, and soft moans turned into a mixture of inaudible pleas, hiccuped sobs, and loud whines. You didn’t know what you were begging for, but Shouto did. You were on the edge, you slammed your eyes shut in preparation for what was about to happen, but it never came. A disappointed noise came from your lips, and Shouto let out a light laugh at your pouty face. “Don’t worry my dear, I’ll take care of you soon enough.” He pressed a kiss to your ear and whispered something that made you shudder;

“I want you to cum on my cock, love.” With that, he lifted you from the tub, earning him a squeak from you. Using the heat of his body to dry you both at an unfathomable speed, and when he deemed you “dry” enough, he hoisted you over his shoulder and dropped you on the edge of the bed in a playful manner. He gave you no room to complain or whine at him, and instead dragged your rear towards his face as he kneeled down on the floor. Your mouth was opened to protest, but before you could manage to get a word in, your thoughts changed immediately as his mouth started to suckle on your clit. Instead, you let out a loud moan at his ministrations.

He hummed in content at your cries, and the vibrations furthered your pleasure. After a minute, he slid his index finger into your walls, curling upwards in hopes to find that soft spot, and he did. You threw your head backwards, and let out a cry of pleasure. When he deemed you wet enough, he placed another finger in. Curling up into that soft spot in your cunt, and he picked up a nice rhythm too. He curled his fingers particularly hard, which made you slam your hand over your mouth, much to his displeasure. He stood up from his position and pulled you upwards into the pillows of the bed, your legs now bent over his shoulders. He tilted your chin upwards when you tried to look down to see what was about to go inside you, however he wouldn’t let you. If you did see it, you’d probably freak out by how large it was, so it was best to avoid that. 

“You’re still so shaky, sweetie. I promise I’ll be very gentle with you, yeah? I don’t want to break you after all.” He smiled down at you when you nodded at him, your teeth biting at your plush lips and eyes slamming shut as you felt the rather large tip of his length prodding at your entrance. “Shh.. hey, you're okay. Look at me. I want to see the look in your eyes as I’m deep inside you, love.” As your eyes slowly opened you decided to grip at the sheets instead, if you bit your lip too hard it would bleed. He buried his face into your neck, as he couldn’t contain his groans and grunts either, opting to release them into your neck, his breath on your collarbone sending shivers down your spine, you could feel him gripping the sheets, and you could feel his cock prodding deeper into your sopping pussy. It hurt, it really did, but it was hard to focus on the pain when he held you so softly.

You had never felt any type of affection in your life, back at that barn. This pain was nothing compared to the lashes you used to receive back there whenever you made any type of mistake. His love was foreign to you, his touches, his affection. It was not what you expected when you first came here. You had thought he was like the others, he’d take, take and take some more until there was nothing left of you. To your surprise however he was giving you something. Giving you food, love, affection, something you’d never thought you would receive. This pain was nothing, nothing at all.

You weren’t really given any room to think when the pain did subside.

Pleasure. Pleasure in its rawest, most carnal form. It was something you never felt up until now. It was like electricity, flowing up and down every vein in your body, it was the only thing you could focus on, if you tried to focus on anything else you might break into pieces. Shouto was saying something, but it was drowned out by your cries. Everything seemed like a blur, the noises of your skin slapping together, your moaning, his grunts, all of it was hazy, other than the overwhelming sensation in between your legs.

Panic crawled its way up your spine when that sensation got a little too intense to handle, that feeling from earlier, something wanting to snap inside. Your breathing got sporadic and irregular, and Shouto noticed and hushed you.

“Hey.. it’s okay. Let go for me, yeah? I got you, you’re safe.”

You tried to plead with him, with the little English you were taught, but he wasn’t having it. He knew what was best for you, afterall.

You tried too hard to hold it in, but when he placed his fingers on your clit again, you knew you couldn’t contain it any longer.

You opened your mouth in a silent scream, head thrown back, your hair a mess, and nails raking at his back.                                   .. and then everything went quiet for a while.

Your eyes felt heavy when you woke up. You weren’t out for long, it was still early into the night, the moon still shone in the same place as when you and Shouto were- oh.“Hi, sleepyhead.” You jumped slightly as the voice beside you, groggy and yet still full of love. Shouto’s hair is a mess, just like yours. Instead of speaking, you instead decided to nuzzle your face into his neck, and he replied with a hum. He kissed your forehead and stroked your back, it couldn’t be any better than this. All those years of isolation and abandonment, you have finally found something good, someone good in your life. You couldn’t bear to see him leave you.

Shouto was about half asleep when his ears perked up to the sound of someone sniveling, it was you. You were crying, in his arms. He pulled your face out, as it was still buried in his neck, and examined your watery eyes and red puffy cheeks with a frown on his face.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

He smiled softly at you, kissing your tears away. “I won’t ever leave you, I promise.”

With that, you both fell asleep. Even though you were a cow, you were still a girl. You had at least half the mind to think of girly things, which included dreaming of what you and Shouto’s kids would look like, and what you would name them. 

[itsabouttimex2]

Hi there did they ever just consider putting a backpack leash on y/n in the Demon Child AU JTTW gang? Also did y/n ever kid kidnapped and held for ransom by many demons to try to get the monk by saying we'll let her go in Exchange for him( I also know he had alot of demon um demon suiters that instead of wanting to eat him apparently wanted marriage dam the monk got accidentally rizz)

Taken Aboard: Restraints

It’s not impossible that the gang would decide to to utilize some form of restraint after enough troublemaking by Y/N- in place of a leash, though, I imagine that Tang Sanzang would actually use a length of fabric to swaddle Y/N.

The event that caused him to decide you needed such extreme supervision?

(He was not happy.)

“Little demon,” he calls, looking down at you expectantly. “Hurry along now- you know what is expected of you before we enter a town.”

“…Master, this is embarrassing.”

“Please hurry, little one. We’ve so much to do, and I would like to get on with it right away.”

And after a little bit of huffing and puffing, you do as requested- and use the 72 Transformation to assume the form of a helpless babe, your mass-displaced form falling snug into his arms.

The Great Monk wraps you in a length of silk that he affixes around his torso and shoulders, leaving your now squishy body squashed against his soft chest.

Not only does this (frankly humiliating) transformation allow Sanzang to sneak you about without scaring any villagers, it also prevents you from running off to cause trouble.

Jokes on him, though- every last bachelorette from the village has one response to a very pretty man bundling around a cute baby:

As for getting kidnapped… yeah, the Journeyfam isn’t putting up with that shit. Not when their master gets snatched up every other day and nearly sautéed and stewed. I mean, operating on the thought that Y/N is very explicitly a demon- horns, fangs, tail, etc- the child has at least some means of self-defense.

If they do get snatched, I can’t imagine there’s a situation where Y/N doesn’t at least leave their assailant battered and scarred, which doesn’t help the demon when three angry demons and a furious dragon break down the door. And Tang Sanzang; to his credit, makes a fair effort to soothe his disciples and quell their fury… but it’s going to be much too late for anyone who decided to lay their hands on the honorary little sibling of all these furious souls.

Outside of kidnapping? I’d like to imagine that Y/N, as a child (potentially female, depending on you or your OC’s gender) in Medieval China, might be eyed up by more… unsavory individuals.

“How much?”

Sanzang turns to find the source of a casual voice, looking at a sweat-stained farmer leaning over a fresh chicken corpse. The laborer takes a moment to wipe his bloody hands, then folds his thick arms.

“How much for the kid? Seems strong, and has some muscle. I could use another pair of hands on the farm.”

And Sanzang is so genuinely appalled at the simple manner in which genuine slavery is being spoken of here, as though you are a commodity and not a thinking, breathing thing all your own. He offers no retort or reprimand, instead choosing to take you by the hand and hurry off into the crowd- not that Wukong won’t have a few “words” to share with the would-be purchaser.

But that’s not even the worst possible scenario for the gang to face-

No, the worst is proposed child marriage.

All it takes is one rich man/woman to decide that they want an “exotic” spouse, and that the little demon child with a pair of magical restraints is their “safest” way to get it.

I don’t even think Sanzang would have time to comprehend what his disciples were doing before it was over- he’s too busy reeling over being offered literal bricks of gold in return for an actual child.

And obviously his answer is a hundred firm “nos” and a dozen chants of “go to your nearest monastery and pray!”, each one delivered with increasing fervor…

Or, it would be- if his disciples hadn’t solved the matter themselves before he had regained the use of his tongue.

[ramons-elevator]

I wanna write a thousand essays on today about every team, but I feel like Bolas?? egg base and how they played today showcases their team very fucking well

First, the base was insane. If you didnt watch their streams recently, they weren’t 100% confident in their base. It wasnt as complete as they wanted it to be. It was half done and rushed at the last second.

But yet it was the most confusing and efficient base. Etoiles was mining at the base for like 15 mins, screaming about how he is confused on where the fuck the egg is. Hell, everyone including team Bolas hated the base because it was just awful to go through. And yet the other teams nearly found it like 4 times.

I feel like that Bolas in a whole. They are unpredictable and confusing. One of them says they dont wanna harm any farms yet another later on destroys a farm. Someone will say they are dirt poor while the other will say they are incredibly rich. They will light themselves on fire just to make sure you dont get want you want.

And yet they are careful with covering their tracks. They have so many different layers to their base to the point the other members are confused on what is what. They make sure everyone thinks they live on their old island. But yet they are prepared when someone finds their base and they have to move

Now going to how they all acted today holy shit

Foolish and Philza being sneaky rats and constantly climbing into Greens egg base. Foolish at one point was dead quiet as everyone around him was searching for him. Phil paragliding over and over again and just trying to hit them off their base.

Baghera being the agent of Chaos and fucking chasing people down with her chainsaw, having the time of her life. It was a terrifying image, but also an insane strat because he was destroying peoples armor. I remember Etoiles and Forever yelling about it being like what the fuck??

Charlie coming in last minute and doing what he can and just being himself. Chasing people down, only for them to one shot him. Just being in peoples way so they dont find the egg.

Cellbit being bloodthirsty and going for people, but hesitant when he saw Roier. He only hit when Roier hit him. Then constantly making sure no one saw the egg base and giving commands when things were getting scary

Jaiden helping out and kicking ass. Jaiden being in peoples ways so they dont spend more time at the egg base. Also just getting into fights as much as she can.

Who is to say if Phil killing the Egg statue is going to make a difference or not because we are just as blind as everyone else. We can make up as many theories at as we want, but you cant deny that team Bolas with the amazing help from team Soulfire deserve that win and that Cellbit and Foolish did an amazing job on the egg base.

[devildomwriter]

O Christmas Tree | Mephistopheles x Reader

1.2K Word Count | GN! Reader | Pre-established engagement | CW: none, just rich people

Mephistopheles was slowly beginning to learn that things that seemed like a chore could actually be fun and that he should try more things. One of these things was picking out a living pine tree for your Christmas decorations.

You too were beginning to learn things, or rather, compromise on things. The compromise this time was that if Mephistopheles was going to socialize near loud screaming children in the human world, then it had to be the best Christmas tree farm there was.

“I scoured locations from across the globe and this was the perfect farm for us. I checked the frequency of reviews, commonality of high ratings, and consistency through the years. I sent my butler to check the place himself as well and he agreed that was the best among the three I identified as contenders,” Mephistopheles proudly informed you as you parked the pickup truck.

The truck was a compromise from Mephistopheles. Something about getting dropped off in a limo and strapping a tree to its fancy scratch-free roof didn’t feel Christmassy to you.

Mephistopheles began to walk away from the truck not realizing the door was still open. You called him back and he looked surpassed and then flushed. He was so used to having the doors shut for him that it never occurred to him to close it behind him.

He cleared his throat and held out his hand for you to take. You held it and he straightened out his appearance immediately although nothing had seemed off to you to begin with.

You crossed the street making sure he made way for cars as they didn’t know to stop for him and led him into the rows of precut pine trees.

Mephistopheles pulled out a checklist from his phone. He’d measured the room it would be in to determine the best height and width for the tree. He also had been given advice to check for how sturdy the needles on the pine were by looking at how many had already fallen on the ground.

You watched Mephistopheles eyes wander up and down the trees and he pointed in the distance at the taller trees.

Now that you lived with Mephistopheles you could get a tree stories high if you wanted and Mephistopheles seemed to have that idea in mind but you reminded him of the pickup truck.

“We could teleport it.”

“How do we explain that?”

“Do you suppose they count the number of trees they have? I don’t believe a regular human can steal one of these?”

“Do not underestimate what a human will steal and how they manage to pull it off. I worked retail you would not believe some of my stories.” You pointed out and he seemed concerned. Mephistopheles was also the reason you no longer needed to work retail and for that, you were forever grateful.

“I see. Well…how do you suppose these trees normally go to people’s homes?”

“A logging truck maybe? I never thought about it…” you wondered aloud and you both stood there puzzled.

You shook the idea out of your head and pointed in another direction, opting for a normal-sized tree like you were used to.

“We have more space you know? It will look rather obscure in your room,” he stated his concerns but you shook your head.

“Nah. I think it’ll light up the whole room, just you wait and see.”

He smiled at your confident grin and nodded following you along to the trees you were interested in.

He scanned the ground for pine needles and pointed out a few he thought you might approve of.

As you held his hand a tree from the next row practically called to you and Mephisto noticed it at the same time, both of you pointing at it.

You looked at each other and laughed, happy and relieved you were so in sync on the perfect tree.

You cut through the row of trees to get to it more quickly on the off chance someone else would come across it. Mephistopheles nodded proudly as if he’d grown the tree himself and looked around for an attendant. He spotted one and quickly stepped away to fetch them.

As Mephistopheles left another man came up to the tree followed by an employee.

“Fine tree, isn’t it?” The man exclaimed happily and you nodded.

“Yes, my fiancée is finding someone now so we can get it.” You informed and he and the worker frowned for an instant.

“So sorry bout that…but uh, I actually came to get this tree for this gentleman here,” the worker apologized and you frowned. Before you could speak up Mephistopheles and a different worker came up behind you.

“Is there an issue here?” Mephistopheles asked and placed a hand on your shoulder, showing off his engagement ring.

The customer laughed awkwardly and explained he had come for the tree first. The workers both agreed and Mephistopheles saw a frown cross your face and decided that was unacceptable.

He reached into his wallet and handed the man a wad of cash. How much you weren’t certain but the man was bug-eyed.

“I—wha—huh?” He stammered.

“For your troubles,” Mephistopheles explained. “We’ll be taking this tree. I imagine that should be enough to get you a different one?”

You swear you heard the man mumbled something about being able to buy a nicer house with the money but couldn’t be sure as he backed away and patted the worker’s shoulder.

“It’s all theirs, I’m callin’ my wife!” He explained loudly as he giddily ran back to his car.

The workers looked shocked and hurriedly attended to Mephistopheles’ request for the tree after seeing how wealthy he was.

With more employees than necessary, the tree was carried and strapped to your pick up truck. The workers looked surprised at the vehicle after the display earlier but ignored that after they were each tipped a considerable sum, one even falling to their knees crying for joy and thanking your fiancee.

Mephistopheles wasn’t proud, instead, he was very weirded out by how a minuscule amount of money to him could move humans to tears. Despite dating you for so long, he still did not understand how much money he had in comparison to others. When you mentioned incomes less than three figures the first time he thought you were joking. This was one thing that didn’t seem to change about Mephistopheles despite how many new experiences he was sharing with you.

You got behind the wheel and Mephistopheles loosened his cashmere scarf and sighed in triumph.

“Did I do it right?” He asked you and you laughed and shrugged.

“Yeah. Not sure I’ve ever paid someone off for a tree before but otherwise yes.”

He blushed and turned the warm air on in the truck like you’d taught him.

As soon as you got back to the Devildom your normal human excursion turned back into the life of a noble with butlers rushing to the car to take the tree, another parking it out of sight, and maids rushing to grab your coats.

Mephistopheles sighed in contentment and reached for your hand. You smiled and let him take it as he walked you to the kitchen for some warm glasses of milk to perfectly wrap up your pleasant afternoon.

[bingwriterxo]

the shakespeare exhibit - part 7

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which tara accompanies you to a family party

warnings: homophobia/biphobia

word count: 4100+

author's note: longest thing i've ever posted. also, had to look up so many specific quotes for this one...

previous part | next part

"So, how many people did you say will be at this party?” Tara asked, looking out the window as you drove down another dirt road. Ever since the two of you had passed the city and made it off the highway, it had been all cornfields, farms, and forests. Tara knew one thing for sure: she would never live in the countryside of New York, even if you wanted to.

You shrugged behind the wheel, reaching out to lower the music a bit. One of Tara’s more ‘pop-y’ songs was on, and the bass was loud. “I’m not really sure,” you said, sparing her a glance before refocusing on the road ahead of you. “My parents know a lot of people, but I’m sure it won’t be more than…two hundred?”

Two hundred people?! Tara thought, her eyes widening. I have to meet two. hundred. people?!

“Don’t worry, though,” you continued quickly. “Only about fifty of that is family; the rest are family friends or work acquaintances, so you won’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to.”

Thank fucking god. “And can you give me a run down on the more immediate family again?”

“Well, there’s mom and dad, obviously.” You took a left, not bothering with your blinker because there was no one else around. However, rather than more dirt road, your tires were finally rolling against pavement. “Nathaniel and Edmund--but, you can’t call him ‘Edmund’; you have to say ‘Eddie’, or he’ll get upset.”

“And they’re identical, right?”

Trees were lining the pavement, perfectly spaced apart and shaped, and Tara readied herself to be met with your house. Except…it never came. You just kept driving and driving, and it seemed like there was no end in sight.

You nodded. “Yup--identical. You’ll be able to tell them apart, though. It’s easy.” You hummed as you thought. “Oh, baby Cordelia, of course, but only my father calls her by her full name.”

Your baby sister, Cordelia, or Lia, as she was called by most, was turning a year old that day, which was why you and Tara had made the drive up to your parents’ house. They were throwing a party for her, and an extravagant one at that.

“And then my father’s parents: Grandma Jane and Grandpa Thomas. They live in the house with everyone, but odds are you won’t meet them today. They like to spend their time in the wine cellar when we have guests.” You leaned toward her just slightly, like you were about to tell her a secret. “Grandpa Thomas has never been the biggest fan of…people. He’s a book guy, you know?”

Mom, dad, Nate, Eddie, Lia, Jane, Thomas. Tara nodded to herself as she made the mental note, determined not to get anyone’s name wrong. “Okay, and--”

Finally, your house started to show in the distance, and Tara’s jaw literally dropped. Even from where the two of you were, it was huge, and not just rich-person-huge but old-money-huge.

It was a large, shapely building made of blue brick; two large, white pillars stood near the front entrance and extended all the way up to the roof; windows upon windows were lined in white to match the rest of the house; vines flowed down from the roof, though they were neat and calculated, giving the house an old-vibe rather than a messy one.

Holy. Fucking. Shit, Tara thought as your house--if it could even be called a house--drew closer and closer. She stared in awe as you drove the two of you around the circular driveway, centered around a gorgeous fountain, and to the parking area, which was already overflowing with cars.

Once you parked, you turned to her, glancing down sheepishly. “I know it’s a lot,” you said, your voice soft. “The house, the party, the meeting everyone.” You inhaled deeply. “If you feel uncomfortable about anything at any time, just let me know and we can hide in my bedroom, okay? Or, if you need a moment alone, it’s up the stairs, to the right, fourth door on your left.”

She’s just too perfect. Tara grinned, that type of grin she only ever had when she was with you, and leaned across the center console, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I’m sure it’ll be great, baby.”

You flushed, the way you always did whenever she kissed you, even though she had kissed you a million times at that point; she never tired of the way the red painted your cheeks, or how you’d smile subconsciously.

“Okay.” You nodded and kissed her again for good measure. “Then let’s do this.”

You climbed out of the car, rounded the hood, and opened the door for Tara to step out. Always so chivalrous, she thought, grabbing the present that she had brought for your sister from the floor of your car. It was just a small toy, and she suddenly started to second-guess it as you led her toward the entrance.

As soon as she stepped into the house, marble flooring beneath her feet, she gulped. There were at least a hundred people there already, all having traveled to celebrate your baby sister, and they were scattered around, talking and laughing and drinking champagne. She was glad she had worn her nicest dress for the occasion, but even that didn’t seem nice enough.

I do not belong here, her mind whispered.

Before she could even utter a single word to you, all eyes turned, smiles and grins and furrowed eyebrows and tilted heads watching your every move. This is like a creepy cult movie. She glanced at you, somewhat surprised that you were relaxed as you waved.

“Hi, everybody!” you said, and there was a chorus of greetings in response.

Then, suddenly, there was pounding coming from upstairs, and two heads peeked over the banister, gleaming grins on each of their faces and identical in every way--except for their hair, Tara noticed quickly; one had his hair sticking out every which way while the other’s was combed down neatly.

“Y/N’s home!” the messy-haired one shouted. All eyes turned to them, fond smiles on everyone’s face as they stared up at the boys.

“‘A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers!’” the other yelled. Okay, well, that one’s Nate, Tara thought, and she watched as they bounded down opposite stairs, their legs carrying them quickly so they could be the first to truly greet you.

They rammed into your waist, making you stumble back as you held them close. “Hi, boys,” you giggled, and everyone--everyone--laughed at the joy that was radiated from the three of you before going back to their conversations.

You hugged your brothers tightly before pushing them away slightly. You took Tara’s hand in your own, and her heart fluttered at the feeling of your warmth against her skin. “Nate, Eddie, this is Tar--”

“The girlfriend!” Eddie cheered.

Nate followed up with, “She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed!”

Does this kid only speak in Shakespeare? Tara wondered. Is that even possible?

“Hi, guys,” Tara said, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

“To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods,” Nate replied.

“What this dork means,” Eddie started, elbowing his brother, “is that we can’t wait for you to become our sister-in-law!”

Sister-in-law?! She glanced at you, and you cleared your throat, unraveling your hand from hers and placing it on the small of her back. “Eddie, Nate, go find Nana and Pops.” You leaned down and whispered something to them, and both boys nodded fervently before rushing away.

“So, you talk about me to your brothers?” Tara teased, grinning at you.

You rolled your eyes lightly, carefully guiding her further into the house. “Don’t listen to a word they say. They’re--well, you met them.” A handful? she thought. Yes.

You passed by people, sparing short greetings or simple waves, until you stood with Tara in the kitchen. “And don’t mind Nate’s speech,” you said, chuckling. “He’s been in Shakespeare-mode ever since he got that part in the play. He only talks in quotes now, no matter what play they’re from.”

She hummed. “Reminds me of someone I know,” she said, leaning up to kiss you.

Just as you began to lean down, there was an excited squeal, and you pulled back quickly, eyes wide and landing on whoever had interrupted you.

“Mom!” you rushed out, blushing. Tara spun around, a nervous smile on her lips as she stared at your mother, who grinned right back.

“You must be Tara, sweetheart!” your mom said, pulling Tara into a hug. Okay! I guess this is a hugging family! She placed her hands on Tara’s shoulders, looking at her. “You’re even prettier than Y/N said!”

“Hi, ma’am--”

Your mother waved her off. “Oh, please. Just call me ‘mom’.” She grinned, and Tara realized that you had her smile. “I’m sure you’ll be in this family soon enough.” Tara felt herself pink at the words. I sure hope so.

“Mom!” you groaned from behind.

Your mom hummed. “Yes, well, I was just coming to grab another apple for your father. You know him,” she said. “Eats like he’s a horse,” she whispered to Tara.

You perked up at the mention of your dad. “Oh, Tara! Let’s go see him. I’m sure he has Lia, right, mom?”

“Yes, yes.” She was digging around the fridge. “I was so sure I bought more,” she muttered to herself.

You sidled up beside Tara and took her hand, leading her toward a different area of the house. There were even more people there, standing around one object and cooing. You squeezed past them all, offering ‘hello’s’ and ‘nice to see you’s’ as you did.

“Dad!” you exclaimed when your father came into view, Lia in his arms.

“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns,” your dad hummed. He wrapped an arm around you in a hug before handing you your sister. “Watch your hair,” he warned. “She’s in her pulling phase.”

As if on cue, Lia reached up and tugged at your ear, giggling when you groaned. “Lia! No pulling,” you mumbled. Tara grinned, butterflies stirring in her stomach at the sight. Talk about baby fever.

“And you’re Tara,” your father said, looking at her. He wasn’t an intimidating man at all, but Tara had heard how highly you spoke of him, and, needless to say, she was nervous.

Oh boy, she thought. Here we go.

“Hello, sir,” she said, sticking her hand out. I hope I’m not sweating. Please don’t be sweating.

He inspected her outstretched arm for a moment before laughing loudly and clapping a hand on her shoulder. “No handshakes for family, Tara!” He pulled her into a hug, just like your mother had. I have to become a part of this family. It’s a must. “And, gosh, don’t call me ‘sir’! That’s so formal! Just call me ‘dad’.” His voice was joyous, excited, and Tara understood immediately where you got your personality from.

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “...Dad…” It was weird, feeling the word slip from between her lips, but the man lit up upon hearing it.

“Tar, come here,” you called gently. She took a few steps until she was at your side, and grinned down at the baby in your arms. “Wanna hold her?”

“Oh!” Baby. Can’t drop it. That thing’s alive. “Sure.” It was a careful handoff as Lia settled into Tara’s arms, smiling up at her. She had the same eyes as you, who had the same eyes as your father, and Tara was immediately smitten. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing!”

And then, Lia was pulling at the ends of her hair, and Tara thought, Yeah. Maybe I don’t want a kid just yet.

“I’ll take her off your hands,” your father said, holding his arms out. Tara handed Lia back to him, watching as he stuck his tongue out, to which Lia laughed. “My little Cordelia,” your father sighed.

“She’s the favorite child now,” you whispered to Tara. “Come, let’s get something to drink.”

You took her not to the kitchen but to the bar, and Tara marveled the whole way as she caught sight of old paintings, framed poems, antiques that littered the walls. It wasn’t crowded in any way; it was all beautiful and exactly how she expected your house to look.

You ordered the two of you champagne, and the bartender didn’t say a word as he poured your drinks, handing them to you with a soft smile.

“So, that’s everyone. Like I said, my grandparents are probably hiding away in the wine cellar,” you said, taking a sip from your glass. “What’d you think?”

You’re the perfect mixture of your parents, she thought. Everything makes sense now. “They’re all lovely.”

You grinned. “I’m glad you like them. I can already tell they love you. Well, I could tell that from the moment I told them about you, but--”

Someone interrupted you.

“Y/N.” The voice was masculine, strong, stern, and Tara could sense a bit of pretentious asshole in his tone.

She spun around when you did and watched as your eyes landed on the man; you immediately straightened up, your shoulders tensing and your smiling fading into a tight-lipped greeting. She straightened up, too. I bet he’s a dick, she thought, eyeing him and internally scoffing at his stupid face.

“Connor,” you gritted out like it pained you.

Tara reached to take your hand, knowing that you sought touch in moments of stress, but, just barely, you moved away from her grasp. She felt her heart drop into her stomach. Who is this douche and why is he making her so…rigid?

You held your head a little higher and clenched your jaw. “Why are you here?”

He smiled, though Tara thought it looked more like a snarl. “Well, our parents are friends, so why wouldn’t we have been invited to Lia’s birthday party?”

That’s it, Tara promptly decided. I’m going to punch him by the end of the night.

“Right, of course.” You held your champagne glass a little tighter. “And how are you finding everything?”

“Oh, your parents throw lovely parties. Although, it’s not like I’m any stranger to them.” He took a sip of his wine and smacked his lips together. “I was surprised to find you here, actually.”

“It’s my baby sister’s birthday. Why wouldn’t I be here?” you asked.

He waved you off. “Your mother mentioned something about you having been busy--working a minimum wage job and whatnot.” The condescending nature of his words made Tara ball her hands into fists. If he doesn’t walk away in five seconds, I can’t be held responsible for what happens to his perfectly-straight, stupidly-white teeth. He turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “And this is…?”

Your worst fucking nightmare, douchebag, Tara thought, but she offered him the smallest of smiles instead, not yet knowing if she was allowed to make an enemy of him.

You startled, like you had just remembered that she was standing beside you, and slid your arm around her waist. Tara watched as Connor clenched his jaw at the action. Yeah, fuck you!

“Connor, this is Tara. My girlfriend.” He scoffed, loudly, and your hold on her tightened, your fingers digging into her hip. “Tara, this is Connor. He’s…a family friend.”

He hummed. “If that’s what you’d like to call us, then sure, Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue too comfortably for Tara’s liking, especially for how stand-offish you became around him. “So, still in your little…exploratory phase, then?” he asked in such a way that made your grip turn almost bruising and caused Tara’s stomach to turn unpleasantly.

“No, Connor,” you said. “I’m bisexual. There is no exploring.”

“Sure.” He chuckled like he didn’t believe you. “Perhaps the men at Blackmore are just less than satisfactory.”

“Okay, why don’t you--” Tara began, only to be cut off by you pulling her into you.

“Or perhaps Tara can just satisfy me more than you ever did,” you snapped.

Tara froze. What? Is he…did they date?

Connor furrowed his eyebrows in anger, his eyes turning dark as they set themselves on her. “Does she even come from money?” There was venom in his voice, the disgust in his expression not bothering to hide itself.

A shiver ran down Tara’s back, and she glanced at the floor, her skin suddenly feeling too small for her, the air seeming too thick to breathe in. From the moment she had stepped into your home, she had felt a little out of place, and now Connor was simply confirming that thought.

“Does that matter?” you seethed.

“Of course it does. When you come from families like ours, everything matters. I mean, if you’re serious about this whole…bisexual…thing, how could you know she’s not just using you?” His words were coming out fast, spit flying as he spoke, his cheeks flushing with rage. “At least with me, you knew there were no ill intentions.”

Using her? Tara thought, feeling herself shrink slightly. Ill intentions?

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Connor.” Your voice was sharp and threatening, holding a warning behind it.

“I take it, then, that she doesn’t come from a family of the arts.” His eyes flickered down before glancing back up again. “Or any family that matters.”

There was a beat of silence, a pause in which Tara could feel anger radiating from you and shame filling her every vein, and it was strange. She pulled herself from your grasp, mumbled out, “I have to use the bathroom,” and rushed away with teary eyes. Away from him, away from the party, away from you.

Faintly, she could hear you calling her name, and then a few angry shouts, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was focused on squeezing past people and slipping upstairs to your bedroom, her hand fumbling around in her purse for her inhaler.

Fuck, where is my inhaler? she thought as she tripped up the last step and stumbled down the hall, counting one, two, three, doors on her left until she found the fourth—your bedroom. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, rummaging through her purse in a panic as she tried to blink back her tears.

When she finally caught hold of her inhaler, she took two puffs and threw her head back, groaning. Stupid. Thinking I could fit in here. Thinking this was all normal. Stupid.

There was a knock on the other side of the door; then, a voice, soft and careful. “Tara?” She could hear some shuffling out in the hall. “Tara, dear?”

Tara straightened. Is that her mom? she wondered. What is her mom doing here right now?

“Could you let me in, Tara?”

Tara wiped beneath her eyes and, with a heaving sigh, turned around and opened the door, her shoulders slumping slightly at the sight of your mother’s worried face.

“I saw you run off, dear,” your mom started, taking a hesitant step forward, “and Y/N was nowhere in sight, so I thought I’d come check on you.”

This whole family is just too good. “I’m alright,” she lied through her teeth.

Your mother hummed and ventured further into the room, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs crossed over one another. “I saw you and Y/N speaking to Connor Harris.” Her face soured as she spoke his name, and Tara smiled softly at that. “I’ve never liked that boy, but Y/N’s father and his father have been friends since childhood.”

Tara swallowed. I need to know. I need to ask. “Were Y/N and Connor…were they together at some point?” she asked.

Your mom’s eyebrows furrowed and a frown pulled at her lips. “Dear, they were engaged. Has she not told you?”

It was like the world stopped for a moment. Engaged? Tara wanted to throw up. Her vision blurred immediately; a pit in her stomach formed; she could feel herself shaking. Engaged?! She was engaged?! To him?!

Your mother stood and, before Tara could say a word, wrapped her arms around her, holding her trembling body close. “Tara, honey. It is just a part of Y/N’s past, but she’s with you now, and that’s what matters.”

Oh my god, I’m being comforted by her mom right now, Tara thought. This is so embarrassing. She pulled away and sniffled, holding her head up. “Thank you, truly. I’m just…shocked that she never mentioned an engagement before.” How did she never tell me?

“Yes, well--”

“Tar?” your voice called from near the door. “You in here, bab--” You appeared in the doorway, stopping short at the sight of your mother and Tara in your bedroom together, with clear signs of Tara having cried. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” your mom said, squeezing your shoulder briefly as she exited.

You walked into the room, shut the door behind you, and stepped up to Tara, taking her cheeks in your hand. Your thumb rubbed beneath her eyes, wiping away any remnants of her tears. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” you asked, your voice gentle.

She clenched her jaw, her eyes flitting to the floor. “Your mom told me about…about you and Connor.”

You paled, your hands dropping slightly and your eyes widening. “Oh,” you muttered.

“You didn’t tell me you were engaged before,” she whispered. She took a step away, and you swallowed as your arms fell to your sides. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not a big deal,” you said, biting your lip.

“Not a big deal?!” Her eyebrows furrowed. How could she think this isn’t a big deal? “You were engaged--set to spend the rest of your life with someone.” She waved her hand. “Set to spend the rest of your life with him! And you think that’s not a big deal, or something that you shouldn’t tell your girlfriend?”

“Tar, let me explain,” you pleaded. “Just, let me explain, please.”

She inhaled sharply. “Fine.”

You sighed in relief, blinked hard, and began. “He proposed to me at our high school graduation, up on the stage, in front of everyone. I--I didn’t want to embarrass him, or our families, so I said yes, and, technically, yes, we were engaged.” You shook your head, slumping onto your bed and holding your face in your hands. “I should’ve never said yes. We went home that night, and I told him I didn’t actually want to get married. Obviously, he didn’t like that, so he broke up with me.”

Tara’s face softened, her anger simmering. “You were engaged for…what…only a few hours?”

You nodded, glancing at her. “Yeah. That’s why I didn’t tell you, because it really isn’t a big deal. I mean, honestly? I hardly liked Connor anyway. I was with him because I thought my parents wanted that, but they don’t care.” You shrugged. “They just want me to be happy.” You stood, crossed the room, and took Tara’s hands in your own. “And you make me happy.”

Tara grinned, then glanced away sheepishly. “I’m sorry I kind of overreacted.”

You shook your head and pulled her into you, your arms wrapping around her shoulders. “No, I should’ve told you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled into your chest, sliding her own arms around your waist and hugging you tightly. You kissed the top of her head, and she hummed before another thought popped into her head. “Do you think you should be with someone who…has a family like this?” She pulled back and gestured to your room. “Who could afford all of this?”

“Tara,” you said softly, frowning. “I don’t care that your family isn’t in the high arts, or that your parents aren’t business magnates, or that you didn’t grow up the way I did. I love you.” You leaned down and kissed her. “Don’t let what Connor said get to you, okay? He’s a pompous dirtbag.”

Tara chuckled. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Yes. The biggest pompous dirtbag I know.”

She grinned. “I love you, too, by the way.”

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you--is not that strange?” you quoted, smiling.

She rolled her eyes. Always such a dork, she thought. My dork, though. “Are you sure you don’t love Shakespeare more than me?”

You hummed, tilting your head like you were weighing your options, and she scoffed lightly. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. I’ll always love you more than I love Shakespeare, baby.”

“Good.” Tara bit back her smile. “Does that mean you’ll get a statue bust of me?”

“...I’ll think about it.”

bonus: “so, when you and our sister get married, will you take her last name?” eddie asked, swinging his feet from where he sat at the table in the ballroom.

“eddie--” tara began, only to be interrupted by nate, who sat on the other side of her.

“get thee a wife, get thee a wife!” he exclaimed.

“we’re only 19, guys,” she tried.

“okay, and?” eddie asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“do you not love my sister?” nate asked, and tara was thankful that, for once, his shakespeare quote sounded normal.

she glanced around, looking for you, but you were talking to one of your aunts on the other side of the room. she leaned down and gestured for both boys to come closer. “i’ll tell you guys a little secret. when we do get married, i plan to take her last name.”

they grinned at each other across tara.

“knew it!” eddie cheered.

[sashiavi]

I know Sam isn't that mean, but a germophobic kitty hybrid farmer getting absolutely bullied by a Golden retriever hybrid Sam and Chocolate Lab hybrid Alex.

A kitty hybrid farmer who doesn't shake hands with anyone and always puts on hand sanitizer after visiting Pierre's. The kind of person to wear vinyl gloves when browsing the library, not for the sake of the books themselves, but rather for her own peace of mind.

One who can always be seen grooming her tail to be a perfectly kempt white, never a blot of dirt to be found despite her occupation

One who always hangs out with the "Cleaner" hybrids, like Chinchilla Abigail or rabbit Maru, but never once considers engaging with the two dogs, considering their lack of spatial awareness and hygiene in her humble opinion. Although I can't help but think that they might not appreciate her cleanliness as much as she does...

(smut ensues)

Omggg.. Something about those messy and clumsy puppies </3

warnings for sweat, body odor, threesomes and hybrids - 0.5k words

Both boys helping out on the farm for their strength and eagerness, chopping down trees, tilling the rich soil, dirty and muddy, sweat dripping down their bodies, staining the fabric of their shirts. Alex wipes his forehead with his arm, biceps raising to reveal the stain of sweat on his underarm, shirt riding up enough to reveal the brush of a happy trail disappearing into the waist of his pants, accentuated by the muscle of his abdomen.

Sam was in a similar predicament, skin tacky, laying his arm hairs flat to his forearms, sticky and uncomfortable, his brushy blonde tail tucked and wagging tentatively to reflect his mood. Both men pant, huffed as if they were dogs- Ears twitching to avoid the wrath of the sun, tails trying to cool off their bodies, a shirt discarded and thrown over Alex's shoulder.

Dirty and grubby mutts.

Messy and sloppy- Especially when they slobber all over your cunt, fighting each other with their tongues just to get a taste of your sweetness. So pretty and pristine, put together and seemingly untouchable! That's why it's all the more special to ruin your pussy with their tongues.

They whimper and growl, vibrations buzzing at your clit, lips suckling before the pop off and a tongue is fucking past the ring of your creamy hole, all while another sweaty mutt latches on to your sensitive kitty cunt.

You want to squirm- scold them for being so dirty in your home, want to tug painfully at their ears and have them yelp away. But Yoba, you can't stop the purrs that trill up your throat, mewly calls bordering on a meow as a set of pointed canines sink into the mound of your cunt, tongue thrashing abuse on your clit.

Their deep musky scents overwhelm your senses, two male hybrids falling victim to the pheromones twinging in the air.

You shouldn't be surprised when one of them mounts on your kitty cunt, Alex's fat and veiny puppy cock kissing against your hole, his thick knot already daring to show itself with his eagerness. You card your fingers through Sam's messy hair, cool and damp with sweat and Yoba knows what else. Your mind screams to let go, scrub away the stain on your fingers but you can't! Not when the pudgy tip of Alex's cock plugs up your pussy, making them kiss. Your hand tightens, threading through Sam's hair with a squeeze, the poor puppy whimpers, nose nuzzling into your tummy, lips kissing against the bulge of Alex's cock daring to bud below your belly button.

Plap, plap, plap goes Alex's hips against yours, throat letting out excited whimpery howls while he takes to your cunt. Sam's ears twitch against your tightening hand as his tongue laps at the sticky wet mess between you, sweet cream and sweat, hot musk of pre and spit dribbled from Alex and himself, making himself useful and cleaning up the gooey mess they were causing.

Rare pair that I need to think about more </3 tysm for sharing your yummy thoughts~

[silassinclair]

Introduction!! Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Reader

CONTENT WARNING: Guns, Violence, Fem Reader, For 16+ Readers Preferably (Ik i cant stop you younger little shits from being here)

Mayor John L/n should have known better than to attract the attention of Maddox Graves; the West's number one most wanted criminal and outlaw. But Y/n L/n's Father, John L/n, is a fool.

It all started when John L/n rode into town on his fine horse. Tonight he was going to drink at the bar and chat with the other townspeople about some small town drama. When John arrived outside the saloon however he noticed all of the posts had horses tied to them already. John looks around and sees a free spot! Just as John hopped off his horse to tie the rope around the wood post another man beat him too it.

The man shoulder checked John as he tied his black horse to the post.

“Hey I was about to tie my horse there you brute! And how dare you hit me!” John says angrily.

"I had my horse tied here first old man. Go find some place else to tie yours." The Mexican American man says; his accented voice rich and deep. The bottom half of his face is concealed by a dark red bandana. His cowboy hat is a dark brown color, a contrast to the black attire he adorns.

"Do you know who I am young man? I own this town! Now get your filthy horse out of my way before I teach you a lesson!" Mayor L/n shouts aggressively.

The outlaw frowns disapprovingly under the cloth of his bandana. This greedy old fart dare insult his stallion? And threaten him?

The outlaw brings his masked face close to the older man, making the older man back up nervously. Bringing his rugged hands to his hips the outlaw moves his long black leather jacket to the side, revealing one of his two revolvers. Each revolver being a stunning silver color with black metal engravings. No other gunman in the west had such weapons, no one other than Maddox Graves.

The mayor notices the shining gun and he gasps in fear for his life. "Those guns! Y-You’re M-Maddox Graves!" He shouts in newfound fright.

"That's right old man. You fucked with the wrong guy. Telling me to move my horse and insulting him in such a way? You're a real old fart I tell ya. Ya had some real balls o’ steel to threaten me too." The outlaw says as he pats the back of his midnight black stallion.

The mayor doesn’t waste a second as he goes to his horse as quick as possible. He gets on it's saddle to ride off. Luckily, he escapes the outlaw. However the outlaw already knows where the mayor lives.

And he will not let him get away with what he has done. No one disrespects Maddox Graves unless they want to end up in their own grave.

.

.

.

"Father? Are you alright?" A young woman says. The woman's name is Y/n L/n, and she's the one and only daughter of Mayor John L/n. In this shit stain of a small town that is on the bottom corner of maps, she brings light and joy. The townspeople adore her presence and work ethic. Though she is wealthy and the daughter of the mayor she does volunteer work in local farms and helps look after the town’s children.

Though Y/n L/n has no Mother, not anymore. So John L/n protects her with his life. She’s all he has left and he may have just lost her tonight for what he has done.

"How can I be so foolish?! Oh god what have I done!" The old man says in despair as he rushes over to his daughter. He embraces her in a desperate hug which she returns gently with a pat to his sweating back.

"Father whatever is the matter? What has you in such a stress?" She asks with genuine concern.

The old man holds her plush face gently in his wrinkled palms. He gazes into her eyes, for it may be the final time he get to do so.

"I have made a mistake Y/n... I insulted a dangerous outlaw and he may come here to our home. I need you to hide okay... Whatever you hear, do not leave your hiding spot."

Y/n feels her Father tremble. "Father I don't understand! Please whatever it is let me hel-"

"NO! I CAN HEAR HIS HORSE OUTSIDE! GO UPSTAIRS AND HIDE NOW!"

The poor young woman yelps as her Father pushes her away. She is about to argue but the desperation in his eyes makes her only nod and run up the stairs and do as she's told. Y/n goes to her bedroom and opens the door to her oak wardrobe. She hides behind a few gowns and shuts the door enough for there to be a crack.

There are sounds of talking downstairs. Y/n can hear the voice of her Father and another. The other voice is deeper and strikes fear into her core. She can hear how desperate her Father is as he pleads for his life.

“You got a little girl right? Would be a shame if she lost her Father.” The deep voice says.

“Yes! So please spare me Graves! I’ll give you money, anything you want! So please leave us in peace!” The old man begs on his knees.

“Hmmm.” The dark outlaw ponders.

BANG

Y/n covers her mouth as she yelps in horror at the sound of the gunshot. Her body trembled, the silence now was frightening. No longer did she hear the sound of her Father begging for his life. All that was left was a deadly silence.

Her Father was dead.

“Come out girl! Your Father isn’t dead~ He’s just sleeping.” Maddox taunts as he blows the smoke from the end of his gun before returning it to its holster.

Tears fell from Y/n’s eyes as she struggled to steady her breathing. She could hear his footsteps ascending the stairs. Slow, and taunting. He was taking his time.

“I don’t like playing games. Now come out before I kill you.”

The hiding woman refused to make a sound. Her survival instinct made her once trembling body as still as a statue when she heard his footsteps enter her room. She felt frozen as his steps stopped right outside the closet door.

“I know you’re in here little girl. Now come out.”

She didn’t.

“Okay, you asked me to do this.”

Light flooded into the wardrobe as Maddox nearly ripped the doors off the hinges from swinging it open so hard and fast. Inside he heard the scream of a woman and suddenly a boot clad foot coming out from behind gowns kicked him in the groin. Keeling over in pain he clutched his jewels and fell on his knees.

“OO- YOU BITCH!” He yells. His eyes widen when he sees her though. She peeks her head out from behind the dresses and gowns. Her face is soft and stained with dry tears. Rather than a young girl who he thought, it was a pretty woman who looked to be a few years younger than him.

“You’re a disgusting man!” She says angrily and runs out of the closet past the kneeling outlaw. Dashing down the stairs she sees her Father on the ground, bleeding from his side.

“Father!” She calls to him desperately as she kneels by his side and cradles his head. He’s still breathing, thank god. But he’s losing a lot of blood. So Y/n grabs the hem of her dress and tears off a strip of the fabric and ties it around his torso.

“I-I’ll run to town and call for a doctor Father.” She says with a weak smile. His eyes are closed, he seems to have passed out from shock.

Just as Y/n stood up to run out the door to get help a gunshot rings out and the bullet hits the doorknob she was just about the grab. Whipping her body back in shock she looks up and sees Maddox at the top of the staircase, his smoking gun aimed at her.

“You’re a wild one aren’t you missy?” He says with a smirk. A freshly lit cigar hangs from his mouth.

Y/n stands by the door as still as a statue as Maddox comes down the stairs. Now standing before her the height difference is very stark. Her head only reaches his shoulders.

“Let me leave… My Father is dying. I need to get to a doctor.” She says with a wavering voice.

Maddox blows smoke in her face and laughs.

“He may as well be already dead girly. He’s lost a lot of blood. And besides, even if you did make it to town you would come home to him dead. There ain’t enough time for dilly-dally.”

He was right, unfortunately. Y/n tried her best to hold back her tears. She had to stay strong, she couldn’t show weakness to this bloodthirsty killer. But she could only handle so much.

She looks behind the outlaw and sees her Father grow more pale as the seconds tick by. The moment she noticed her Father’s chest still… and a final breath escape his lips.. Y/n felt like her life was over. Her Father was dead. All hope is lost for her as she crumbles like an ancient statue.

“F-Father, my Father is dead! You killed him-!” She breaks down and grips her hair in her hands, sinking to the floor. Maddox only watches with a small grin as he tosses the cigar to the side.

“He was an old man who was gon’ kick the bucket soon anyway. I only sped up the process a lil’ princess.” Maddox says with a mocking coo. But Y/n looks up at him with a piercing glare. Her hands turn to fists and she strikes. Her fist collides with his face, causing him to whip his head to the side. Y/n stills as she awaits his reaction. He is eerily silent and his downcast gaze is dark.

But then she is suddenly met with a chuckle. His deep, rich laugh radiates throughout the home. Like an infection that invades the young woman’s eardrums. She can’t stand it.

“You hit hard little lady, I like that in a woman.” Maddox grips her chin, squeezing her face and puckering her lips.

“Such soft lips… Wonder how they’d feel against mine. Poor lil thang like you needs a strong man in her life.” His condescending tone sparks rage in Y/n. This man, no… this beast. This murderer. She needs to take revenge. To kill the man who killed her Father in cold blood. But not now. No, she would have to wait. She needs the right moment to strike.

And she doesn’t mind playing the long game. She’ll play along for now.

Hey yall, it’s me. I’m SLACKING so hard. School and work has been busting my balls and writers block is eating me alive. But this Oc got me out of the gutter. Hopefully yall like him! I plan to write for him more.