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aothotties · 6 months ago

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Telling Choso you want a baby

Word count: 1635

Warnings: MDNI, best friend!Choso, fluff, smut, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of kids, swearing, riding, overstimulation, creampie, the ending is so cute to me.

~~~~~~

You and your best friend are currently lying in his bed while watching random videos as they come and go. You stumble upon a video of a mom showing flashbacks of her body during pregnancy and you can’t help but pout.

“What's wrong?” He mumbles and yawns for a few seconds, followed by a stretch after he throws his phone to the side.

“It’s nothing, I’m just being a sap.” You show him the video on your phone and he shrugs in return.

“Yeah, cute kid I guess. Mom’s got a nice body though.” He rests his chin on your shoulder and you roll your eyes.

“Of course, that’s all you notice, you’re such a man.” You scroll to another video and double tap the screen.

He shakes his head at your reaction and takes the phone from your hand so he can scroll through your feed himself.

“So you’re on some baby kick, huh?” You shrug in return and pull your legs up to your chest.

“I don’t know maybe, I think I want a baby, Cho.” You confess and he nearly drops the phone on his face at the confession.

“Where in the hell did that come from?” He sits up in bed and gives you his full attention.

You shy away from the question and cover your face with your hands in embarrassment. Choso finds it adorable at how flustered you become over the simple question.

“I’m not sure, I’ve wanted a baby for a while now. You know I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I just could never find the right guy to settle down with.” You explain to him and he listens to every word you say.

“I’ll have a baby with you.” He says nonchalantly and you look at him as if you’ve seen a ghost.

“Excuse me?! Cho, are you high or something?” You scan over his face for a sign of his words being a joke, but there isn’t one.

“Well for starters, I’m typically always high, you know that. And yeah, why not? You want a baby, I don’t hate the thought of having kids either. You don’t think we’d make cute babies? He pretends to be offended and you slap his shoulder.

You don’t hate the idea of having a baby with him. No, you guys aren’t together, but you’ve been friends for more than 10 years. You two have had sex in the past, so it’s not like you haven’t seen each other naked. And you won’t deny the fact that he is quite handsome.

“If you’re as serious about this as you seem…then I guess we can have a baby together.” You give him your final answer and he gives you a gentle smile.

“But if we’re going to do this then we have a bunch of things to figure out first. Are we gonna live together and-“ Your sentence is cut off by the feeling of soft lips against your own.

He pulls you into his lap quickly and reaches for the buttons on your shirt, quickly trying to pull it off. He slides his tongue in your mouth and you happily invite him in.

Your shirt is thrown to the corner of the room and your leggings soon follow after.

“You wanna make a baby, don’t you? You can’t talk and make a baby. Well, you shouldn’t be able to at least.”

And boy was he right, Choso currently has you riding his sensitive cock after god knows how long. Your thighs shake in sensitivity and you let out another whimper as he bottoms out inside of you.

“C-Cho, my legs are burning.” You pout and huff as you struggle to continue bouncing on top of him.

Choso ignores your cries for help and hisses as another orgasm is ripped from his body and he stuffs your poor cunt with more of his cum. You throw your head back at the feeling of him fucking it back inside of you.

“ ‘m sorry mama, j-just wanna make sure you get all of it. Let me help you baby.” He sits up against the headboard and takes hold of your hips.

“Fuck!” You scream and grab the headboard when his hips piston upwards and his angry red tip fucks into your sweet spot.

“Shit, shit! Feels so good, so tight and warm.” Choso’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your wet, gummy walls bringing him to the brink yet again.

“C-coming! I’m gonna come, Cho!” He holds your hips in place and continues his assault on your poor g-spot.

You can’t control your orgasm and how quickly it hits you. You dig your nails into the skin of his shoulder as your left shaking from overstimulation.

The man below you watches in awe as your body convulses on top of his exhausted one. At this moment, Choso has never seen you look more beautiful.

Your thick lips are red and messy from all the kissing and drooling, his eyes trail down your body, and the way your breasts move up and down with each bounce. His eyes land on where you’re both connected and he can’t help but rub your neglected clit with his thumb.

You shake your head and attempt to swat his hand away, quickly losing that battle when he pulls you down for another messy kiss. You whimper against his lips when he flips both of you over.

He lifts your legs and rests your calves on his shoulder. He slides back into you at a teasingly slow pace and you grip the sheets in pleasure. The dark-haired man lets out a moan at the way your walls continuously suck him in each time.

He plants a small kiss on your ankle before his hips go from slow and steady to hard and fast.

“Oh shit!” You gasp as you grip the sheets, pleasure courses through your body at the feeling of the new angle.

The sound of skin slapping can be heard throughout the room and probably through the walls if you listen close enough.

“I’m so close baby, so fucking close.” He warns, his hips begin to lose their rhythm as his climax builds within him.

“C-cum inside me Cho. I want it so bad please!” You beg, tears build up in your eyes as another orgasm pools in your lower belly.

“Y-yeah baby? Want me to fill you up real good?” He leans down so his forehead is only inches from yours and you nod shyly.

He smirks at your lack of words and presses his lips to yours one last time before overfiowing your insides with his warm speed. You moan into his mouth and drag your nails down his arms in ecstasy as you come one last time.

Your body finally relaxes after one last thrust of his hips.

“You okay princess?” He runs his fingers through his raven locks and you nod with your eyes closed, the need for sleep is growing stronger by the second.

“Thank you for doing this with me, there’s truly nobody else I think I would want a baby with.” You confess, he takes your hand in his and kisses over your knuckles.

“Don’t worry about it, anything I can do to make my best friend a happy lady.”

~~~

“Oh, Dad that’s so cheesy.” Your eight year old daughter rolls her eyes at the story and he shrugs his shoulders.

“It’s what happened! Your mom and I were best friends, she wanted a baby and the stork delivered!You asked me to tell you the story of how you guys were born, and I did.” He huffs and pulls the young girl in his lap, planting small kisses all over her face.

“Dad! Please no more.” She laughs as he continues his assault of kisses on her face.

The sound of tiny feet and screaming can be heard from down the hall, Choso and his mini-me follow the noise and he has to refrain from laughing at the sight.

You’re attempting to put your boys to bed with a bedtime story, but not without acting out the details of course.

“I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down!” You blow raspberries over their little faces and they break out into a fit of giggles.

“Mommy does a good wolf, right guys?” Your boys nod simultaneously and you smile up at your fiancé.

“Did you know it’s actually because she is one? Why do you think she’s so hairy?” He teases and you hit his shoulder playfully.

“Haha papa, so funny.” He helps you up to your feet and plants a kiss on your lips.

Your three munchkins groan in disgust and you and Choso can’t help but laugh.

“Alright guys it’s time for bed, we’ve got a busy week coming up!” You announce, you tuck the boys in bed and kiss their foreheads.

“Goodnight Mama, goodnight Papa, goodnight Junior!”

Junior is the nickname for your oldest daughter since she’s a carbon copy of her father. The only thing she got from you is her pretty brown skin and her tight coils.

“Goodnight boys, I love you, mama and Papa.” She hugs you both simultaneously and you lean down so she can kiss your faces.

“Goodnight pretty girl, sweet dreams.” You watch as she closes her bedroom door, and cheer quietly at another successful night.

“We’re such awesome parents Cho.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and cups your cheeks as he kisses you.

“Yeah, we kinda know what we’re doing I guess.” He smiles down at you and pulls you in by your waist.

“And to think we were gonna stop with Junior. How crazy would that have been?” You ask as you reminisce.

Once you learned about your pregnancy, you two decided that it was just going to be a one-and-done situation. Then Choso realized that not only are you an amazing mother, but that you’re an even better significant other.

He proposed to you on the night of her first birthday, and nine months later your boys arrived. He truly wouldn’t want his life to go any other way, he has everything he’s ever wanted and more.

Ari

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x black reader #jjk scenarios #choso scenario #choso smut #choso x y/n #choso x reader #choso x you #choso x female reader #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #jjk x you

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gamblersdoll · 2 months ago

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𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄

a snippet of what could have been a good story.

angst at first, attempted assault, p in v, hate sex

“you always like to start some shit when it doesn’t go your way.” toji seethed, eyes glaring into yours as he looms over you. “you act like i wanted any of this to happen.”

“really? i couldn’t fuckin’ tell.” you spit back, arms folded and glaring right back at him.

he sucks his teeth, his arms shaking and heart racing with rage, anxiety, animosity. “always talkin’ about my faults, we never talk about yours.”

“oh really? what the fuck is my problem?” you ask, finally looking up to him and becoming chest to chest. you point your finger into his chest, rage flowing into you. “we talk about your faults because you have many more than i do.”

“well for starters, you bitch and whine all the time.” he gets closer, chest pressed to yours. “you talk alot of shit as if you have room to qualify.”

“because i do qualify, toji!” you bark, agitation flowing over you. “maybe i talk shit because you left me in the fucking dust as if what we had was nothing to you!”

“we were teenagers stuck in a fucking clan.” he deadpans, raising his own voice. “if you mean that little ‘relationship’ you think we had, i would just say we were fucking each other. nothing more or less than that.”

just fucking huh?

“you bastard— you said that you were in love with me!” you remind, a snarl coming from your throat.

“bitch- i was sixteen!” he shouts, his hands shaking more and hes growing more irritated, more anxious the longer this conversation goes. “you act like i cheated on you or something— we werent together!”

“and yet you promised me you would be better, that you wouldnt be an asshole— but look at you!” you slap the backs of your hands on his chest, watching his eyebrow twitch. “youre no better than the fucking clan!”

“the fuck did you say?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“oh, i gotta break it down for you? youre no better than a fucking zenin, because thats all you will ever fucking be!”

he blinks for a second, his brain allowing him to process the information and he swiftly raises his hand, quickly stopping himself before his palm reached your face. he grits his teeth, staring down at you.

“do it, i fucking dare you toji.” you warn, watching his eyes.

he breathes deeply, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you in for a deep kiss. a kiss you havent had since he left you in a empty house, that the clan had left you to essentially die in. you, still shaking, embrace the kiss as he forced his way inside of your mouth.

“sometimes,” he says in between kisses, “i really despise you.” he finalizes, hands all over you and his lips at your neck, a hand on your hip and a hand on your breasts.

“can say the same for you.” you retort, your hands tugging on the back of his hair and he groans.

the fact you remember he likes that… surprised him.

your back his the bed, eyes looking up to toji and moaning as he suckles on a hardened nipple, and a hand spreading your legs apart. the air fans against your bare clit, making you shiver.

hes gotten bigger, over the years. sure, he was a good size when he was younger with you, taller, a bit bulky, but now? hes massive— not mentioning his cock grew, too.

he aligns himself with your entrance, and you grab his shoulder. “if you think im wet enough for you to slam the whole thing in, we can call it quits.”

he stares at you for a second, face straight and his hands holding yours down. “if you want this to feel good, better ask properly.”

you suck your teeth, a heat coming to your face. “please, give me some kind of lube before you go in.”

“thats much better.” he sarcastically replied, sliding down to pull your knees apart, his breath fanning your clit and you jump slightly. he stops, looking up to you. “i havent even touched your little pussy, yet.”

“shut up..”

“guess you havent had any action in a minute, huh?” he asks, but doesn’t care for a response. he licks at your clit, a thumb hooking down inside your cunny and he suckles the nub of nerves.

you roll your eyes in bliss, hand going into his hair and you forget to tug at it, him reminding you to do so with your pussy in his mouth. his wet muscle slips inside, fidgeting with your folds and suckling at anything he can. “think ‘yer all prepped, now.” he gruffs, pulling himself back up to align with just you.

you silently wish he wouldve kept going, a hiss from both of you as he sinks inside of your velvety walls and you sit there for a moments time.

he stares down at you, eyebrows furrowed and he breathes heavier. his hands are already sweaty, but he pulls his hips back and pushes them forward in a agonizingly slow pace. he grits his teeth again, a groan in his mouth as he sinks deeper and deeper with each thrust.

your hands travel up his back, feeling the old scratches on his back you gave him all those years ago. theyve healed, feeling the slight scar tissue over his skin and you moan when he hits a new spot.

fuck you, toji.

and you scratch over the same ones, he groaning when you do so and his head drops. “fuck— you fucking bitch.” he breathes out, enduring the pain for the most part, but it still feels so good to him..

you feel good to him.

he grabs your throat, pulling you up and kissing you. his knees support him up, you being pulled along with him and him holding you in his lap, fucking up into your womb and swallowing your moans.

“toji..” you breathe out, you trying to hide your face into his shoulder, but he pulls you back as his hips start to bully their way into your walls. “toji..”

“this what youve been wanting again, right?” he asks, slamming you back onto the bed and his head goes to your neck, biting and kissing the tender flesh as he holds your hips down. “cum for me, fucking cum.” he growls his demands, his jaw dropping when he feels your pretty pussy clamp down and spasm around his length. “fuck yeah,” he groans, his big arms pulling your legs onto his shoulder as he puts himself into a new angle.

“to-toji!” you cry out, hands patting at his chest in a retort. “fuck— fuck!”

“uh huh.. me too.” he moans, pushing himself closer to you. your hamstrings burn, the stretch of him pushing your knees to your chest, just so he can get deeper makes you squirm. “fuck, gettin’ close.” he moans out, eyes rolling and he pulls himself away from you. hot, thick ropes spurt onto your thighs, him breathing heavy all the meanwhile.

you pulled your shirt back over your head, pulling the clothing down and he coughs. “you know.. i didnt have a choice in leaving you or not.” he starts off, his voice a little softer. “i truly didnt.”

you don’t respond, just focused on getting dressed while you try and think of something to say. “why did you leave?” you ask, of all things.

“im still not sure as why.” he responded, peering over to you. he licks the scar over his lip, a nervous tick. “yo can ask whatever you want.”

“why did you hunt me down?” you ask, something that had been eating at you ever since he found you a few days back.

he feels his heart pang, a deep breath. “..i uh—“ he tries to say, not too sure how to put it, other than what it is. he sighs, just saying to hell with sugarcoating it. “i.. fell in love with a woman.”

you stop all motion, your heart sinking to the pit of your ass and you turn to look at him. “what the fuck.”

“i know. its..” you cut him off, anger fueling your bones and blood.

“you track me down for years just to scream at me and then get your dick wet, just so you can tell me you fell in love with a woman?” you put plainly, because thats what he did, to the tea.

“better than me not telling you.” he rolls his eyes, pulling his jeans back up. “what the fuck do you want me to do?”

you both bicker back and forth, ending words off with ‘fuck yous’ and him storming off.

why did it have to be her and not you? why was she the one that healed you and what made you crumble at the same time?

#fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x black!reader #toji x black reader #dvs haunted mansion 🧟‍♀️

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Charles and Lando come to your apartment for the thank you dinner as promised. Warnings: 18+ only, sexual tension, alcohol, touching? WC: 2.4k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four

Black smoke billowed out of the pan you thought you had turned off and you rushed to toss it in the sink before opening a window. The breeze was a moment too late to clear the air of the dark tendrils snaking higher and they soon reached the smoke detector, the piercing sound of its alarm filling your kitchen.

“Shit,” you cursed as you tried to jump and hit the detector to shut it off but you were just too short. “Double shit.”

A knock sounded at your door and you threw it open, grabbing whoevers hand it was and dragging them inside. “Thank god, hit that fucking thing for me will you?” you asked, realising it was Charles who had arrived on time, unsurprisingly.

His nose wrinkled at the heavy stench of smoke and he rose onto his toes to reach up and turn off the alarm. “You look like you have been, um…creative.”

You smiled at the attempt of a compliment before laughing at the situation. In the cold pan on the stove were the chicken breasts that were meant to be frying and you slapped your forehead as you realised you had turned the wrong element on. “Looks like we are going out to dinner, which is probably safer. I don’t think I could have kept my promise not to give you food poisoning by the looks of it.”

“I’m not dressed to go out,” he said as he looked down at his polo and chinos.

“Are you kidding me? You look like a damn model.”

“Thanks. It’s not easy being this handsome,” Lando said as he walked in the front door that was still open, a bottle of wine in his hands. “I see your cooking skills are as good as mine.”

“Har-har,” you drawled as you reached into the cupboards and got three wine stems out. “Liquid dinner it is.”

“Haven’t you sworn off drinking?” Charles asked as he rummaged around your cutlery drawers, finding the corkscrew for Lando.

“Pfft, that was just for summer break to stop the PR team from riding my ass,” you said with a grin. “Plus, you two won’t let me get into trouble. At least not too much.”

The cork popped open and Charles took the bottle from Lando to read the label. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” he laughed as he handed the Prosecco back.

“What?” Lando asked with a frown as he turned it around to see the label. “The lady at the shop said this was good.”

“Sure, for an afternoon at the beach, but it won’t get you drunk.”

You took the bottle from his hands and kissed his cheek to erase the pout on his face. “It is the perfect starter course, and my bar is fully stocked with the hard stuff.”

“No,” Charles sighed as he took the bottle and poured three drinks. “I’m sure there is something salvageable to eat. No drinking on an empty stomach.”

You raised your glass to him. “I wish you luck, my kitchen is cursed.”

He tapped his glass with yours and winked. “I’m a miracle worker, watch me.”

You sat with Lando at the kitchen table as he showed you some photos he had taken throughout the year that hadn’t been posted online, keeping you entertained with stories that would get him in trouble if they ever got out. Every now and then you would check on Charles who familiarised himself with your kitchen, opening and closing all the cupboards and drawers before sighing.

“Admit defeat yet?”

His green eyes narrowed at you from across the room. “Never. I just can’t find any- of nevermind. What is this monstrosity?” He pulled a large jar out of the fridge and grimaced at the sight.

“Crushed garlic,” you said obviously but he grew even more offended by the jar as he held it at arms length away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered as he opened the lid and sniffed it. “It will do, I suppose.”

“What are you cooking?” Lando asked as he saw the ingredients lined up on the bench.

“Chicken pesto pasta.” He didn’t even look up as he sliced some limes up, muttering that lemons would have been better.

“See, this is what I was looking for,” you said to Lando as you rested your chin on your hand watching Charles navigate the kitchen comfortably. “He cooks for me, you did my laundry, you’re both good looking and funny. That’s what I need from a man, I need the love child of Charlando. I give up. It’s impossible. I’m never going to find that.”

“Okay, this definitely isn’t going to be enough,” Lando said as he took the almost empty glass from your hand and rose from the chair. You and Charles both watched him cross over to the wet bar and tap his fingers along his lips as he debated what spirits to choose. “We need to cheer you up, I’m thinking tequila sunrise or strawberry daiquiri?”

“And music,” Charles added as he diced an onion that had been hiding at the back of your refrigerator for who knows how long. “Not mine, because it’s all depressing.”

“So music and drinks…why don’t we just go out?”

Neither looked happy at your suggestion and they both shook their heads. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture from your brother,” Lando admitted.

Lando plugged his phone into your stereo and some soft pop song started to play in the background as Charles said, “And it's too loud to talk in a club. This is nice, no?”

“I guess the company is half decent,” you teased.

Charles chuckled and beckoned you over with a curl of his finger that had a dollop of creamy pesto sauce on the end. “Taste test.”

Your stomach clenched as you parted your lips for him and his eyes held yours, the moment too intimate to dare break. His lips parted with a silent sigh when your tongue rolled over the pad of his finger, and he took a harsh breath as your lips sealed around it and sucked it clean.

“Hmmm,” you moaned as the flavours coated your tongue and you pulled back, licking your lips as you did. “Oh my god, Charles, that is delicious.”

You couldn’t help noticing how the green of his eyes had been swallowed by his blown pupils or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed twice before he could muster a response. “Now that I’ve seen your cooking, I’m sure everything else tastes delicious.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said with a laugh as your attention was pulled away and a shot glass was placed into your hand. “I thought we were having cocktails?”

“We will, but,” Lando said as he reached past Charles to grab the salt before he sprinkled a line across his hand. “Tequila first, sunrise later.” He grabbed a wedge of lime next and pinched it between his teeth with a daring curl of his eyebrow.

The food was forgotten as Charles watched you wrapped your fingers around Lando’s wrist before running your tongue across his skin. The grains of salt coated your tongue as you raised the glass to your lips and tipped the liquor back under their heated stares. You swallowed the liquor and inhaled the fiery burn that followed as you eyed up lime waiting between Lando’s lips.

This moment balanced on a knife's edge and you could feel how influential it could be on making or breaking the friendship you had with both Lando and Charles. This was the line in the sand that once you crossed there could be no return.

No one dared to breathe. No one dared to move.

They were waiting for you.

You licked your lips of the salty spirit residue and stepped closer to him. Your fingers trailed up his neck to tease the short hairs on his nape as you pulled his head down to meet yours and you bit the lime, tearing it from his lips as the sour juice ran down your chin.

“You’re a bad influence,” you teased as you wiped away the excess and stepped back.

The tension in the air evaporated with his proud grin and Charles chuckled as he turned back to the pan before it burned for a second time.

“I’m just trying to cheer you up,” he replied innocently.

He made his way back to the wet bar with a little dance that had you laughing again. “It’s working.”

The sunset made the perfect backdrop over Monte-Carlo as you stepped out onto the balcony with a plate in each hand and placed them on the small square table. The music drifted out from the french doors after Lando queued enough songs to last the night and joined you and Charles with the extra strong drinks he had made.

“We should do this more often,” you said as a calm settled within you and you watched the yachts dotting the sea beyond the marina.

“What should we toast to?” Lando asked as he placed your glass in front of you, the cocktail matching the orange skyline.

“Single life?” you offered, earning a snort from him as he dropped into the seat beside you, mirroring Charles on the other side.

“How about the hunt?” Charles joked and you groaned at the reminder. “Since we are all looking for love now.”

“Not me,” you surprised them. “I’ve deleted every dating app from my phone and given up. I might even get a cat to keep me company.”

“I thought ‘a girl had needs’?” Lando teased with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Nothing a little self love can’t take care of,” you muttered to your drink as you took a sip, making Charles choke on his. “What? It’s true. You can’t tell me that you don't use your hand out when you need it.”

“We definitely need to do this more often,” Lando chuckled as he spared a fork full of extremely overcooked pasta.

Charles sent a grin across the table to Lando before their eyes turned to you, a mischievous glint reflecting in both pairs as Charles agreed with a nod.

“Then let’s cheers to that,” you said as you raised your glass.

“To the three of us,” Charles winked, clinking your glasses.

“The three of us.”

The empty plates were neatly stacked and the last rays of light had long disappeared, but you weren’t ready for the night to be over. The air was growing cold and the fading solar lights dotted around the deck were starting to attract bugs, interrupting the peaceful lull in conversation.

“Do you want to stay and watch a movie? You probably shouldn’t drive anyway.” You hoped your question didn’t sound too eager and tried to cover it up with the logical statement. It was needless though as they both perked up at the offer and started to clear the table.

“I’m up for a movie night,” Lando agreed as he took the glasses, leaving Charles to take the plates. “Another round?”

“Yes, please. I’ll meet you on the couch.”

You went to your room and changed out of the jeans and top you were wearing, opting for an oversized white AlphaTauri shirt you often slept in instead, before dragging the quilt off your bed. You switched the lights off around the apartment as you passed them and flopped down onto the couch between the two men who had been quietly chatting. Lando reached for the refilled glasses on the coffee table and handed you yours as you asked, “What are we watching?”

“Nothing sad or Charles will cry,” he said with a little laugh as he helped spread the blanket over everyone.

“And nothing with shooting or Lando will cry,” Charles shot back with his own teasing smirk.

“And nothing with romance or I will cry,” you added as you swiped up the remote and scrolled through the options on Netflix. “Guess that leaves horror. Paranormal Activity?”

You wanted to look away but you couldn’t as the crackling image on the screen only grew darker. You knew what was coming but it still didn’t stop the squeak that escaped your lips or the way your tense body startled at the jump scare.

The guys chuckled as if you hadn’t felt their legs knock yours at the sudden slam of a door and the blanket shifted until you felt a comforting hand on each thigh, resting just below the hem of the shirt. It took everything in you to keep still as their palms warmed your skin and the heat spread to your core and you felt Charles’ thumb start to draw soothing circles.

Under the guise of settling back into your skin after the fright, you laid back into the cushions and stretched your legs out. From the corner of your eye you could see Lando bite his lip as the shift left their hands even higher up your thighs, almost brushing the lace edge of your panties.

“Scared, chérie?” Charles asked, his voice a little deeper than usual.

It wasn’t the horror movie that was causing a fine tremor to work its way over your body, setting every nerve ending alight. And it certainly wasn’t the horror movie that was causing the goosebumps to tingle across your skin.

It had been a long time since a man came so close to you that your core was turning to molten lava without even being touched and you lost the battle to remain still, your thighs clenching together in search of friction. You could feel a second heartbeat throbbing between the juncture and as the blanket slipped down your body your peaked nipples were easy to spot through the thin material.

“Not exactly,” you uttered as Lando’s fingers squeezed your thigh, almost as if he were silently begging you to part them for him.

“You’re shaking,” Lando murmured close to your ear.

“I know,” you whispered as your throat clogged with the pleas for them to touch you, to slide their hands just another inch higher and sate the need your body craved.

You felt the touch of Charles’ shaped beard along your jaw before his lips brushed your ear. “Breathe, chérie. We’ll take care of you.”

His thumb drew another circle and your chest expanded with the softest gasp as you felt the pad of his digit run along the seam of your underwear.

Lando mirrored his friend, his breath hot on your neck where his lips set a trail of scorching fire to your ear. “Will you let us take care of you?”

Click here for part two.

Tagging: @destourtereaux @severerebelearthquake @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @omgsuperstarg @mvclff1 @alwaysclassyeagle @icantcomeupwithamusicalname-blog @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @secretlyangrymagazine

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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wynnyfryd · 6 months ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 65

part 1 | part 64 | ao3

cw: angst, weed

Eddie reaches out then stops, hand hovering just above Steve’s knee, something like panic in the tremor of his wrist. “Steve, for real, man, please let me—”

“No, you for real, man.” Seriously? Man? As if there aren't so many more important things to discuss right now. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and pinches his nose, the voice of an old swim coach ringing in his ear. Game time, Harrington, c’mon, where’s your head?

“Look,” Steve sighs, fingers clenching around his shin. “We can talk about... this," he gestures between the two of them, "later. Let’s just— Important stuff only for right now, okay?”

Eddie’s breath shakes when he answers. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Good.”

This is somehow worse than silence.

Steve shakes his head, tries to focus through the fog of awkward energy. Important things. Important.

Like, how about ‘what were you doing with a pretty girl in my fucking trailer?’ for starters, or maybe—

Oh, fuck.

Steve looks sharply at Eddie. “Why were you asking if I was real?”

Eddie stares back in silence, eyes huge, bottom lip trembling as Steve presses into his space; drops his voice, brings a hand up to wrap around Eddie’s arm — just above his elbow, soft leather and warm muscle shivering under the touch. God. Please. Not him, too. “Eddie. Did you— did you see something? Are you…?”

“No,” Eddie shudders. “No, sorry, just, uh—” He shakes his head with a grimace, a shrill sound spilling out, some frantic braying thing that might have counted as a laugh if his face wasn’t doing that. “Pretty goddamn sure I’m just losing my mind after seeing the— the fucking—”

His palm floats up to the ceiling in a wobbly zig-zag, looseleaf drifting to the classroom carpet in reverse, then he clenches his fist and lets it explode open with a ‘boom,’ the sound effect ruined by another strangled laugh. “Oh, my god,” he giggles. Humorless, horrified, nervous system overwhelm. His entire arm is shaking. “Oh, shit, oh, Jesus Christ, Steve, Chrissy’s—”

“Hey.” Steve tightens his grip on Eddie’s arm; waits for Eddie to take a breath, gasping and wet. “We can’t think about it, alright?”

Eddie’s voice cracks miserably. “That’s not fucking fair to her.”

“I know.” Steve loosens his hold; smooths his palm over the leather sleeve; wonders who he’s really trying to soothe. “I know. But we can’t— if what you and Dustin said is true, if it’s really some— some monster that hurt Chrissy, that’s trying to hurt us? We can’t grieve yet, okay? We can’t give him an opening to attack. We need a game plan.”

Eddie exhales like he’s trying to mimic an owl. “Okay,” he nods eventually, slapping his thighs as he stands up. “Okay. Game plan. Yeah. Shit. Games and sports and plans and…”

He trails off, mouth moving around mumbled gibberish as he wiggles his fingers and drums on himself, hands slipping up his torso, tongue over his top lip. He pats his front pocket. “Oh, hell yeah, baby.” Whirling to face Steve, he slips his forefinger and thumb into the narrow pouch and pulls out the Altoids tin where he keeps his pre-roll stash. “How’s this for a game plan?”

—

part 66

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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eddiemunsonw · 1 year ago

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I'm a winner

Gator Tillman x fem!reader

Summary: Good question. Basically a little drabble about Gator being a little shit and kind of being put in his place by reader? Oh and smut!

CW/Disclaimer: virgin!Gator, smut, they're a bit rough

Author's note: I saw the little Gator clip and this popped up in my head, I don't know either, thought I'd share 'cause why not? We obviously know very little about the character so whether it's IC, OOC, who knows

Words: 2189

“… and then he said I should get my fucking shit together?! Me? I’ve been working my god damn ass off for that man and he comes in with that? It’s so…”

Gator continued to rant about his dad and had been for the past half hour. It was boring. He did it all the time. While you did get it, because parents could be annoying, you wished he would focus more on hanging out instead. You didn’t like only being there functioning as a wall to rant to— you never got a word in.

“Gate, listen,” you started softly, “I know it sucks but maybe just take the loss for today and hope for a better tomorrow?”

His gaze snapped towards you, eyes furious as he lifted his hands to accompany the raise of his voice.

“I’m a WINNER!”

Jesus Christ. Okay. He was breathing hard and honestly, it could have been sexy if he wasn’t such a hothead all the time. You rolled your eyes.

“Today, you’re a loser. Suck it up, Tillman.”

You turned around to leave, having had enough of his whining, but with a few quick steps he caught up to you and slammed the door shut right in front of your face.

“What the hell Ga—”

“Shut up!”

His front pushes against your back, squeezing all air from between you two as his hand wrapped around your throat.

“I will kick you in the fucking balls if you don’t let me go right now, shithead,” you threatened, shocked yet unfazed by his sudden behavior. He put pressure on your throat with his hand just lightly, not enough to be menacing. A soft caress followed, making you wonder if he had changed his mind. His hand slipped off but on that same second he roughly turned you around and pushed you against his bedroom door.

With a sharp inhale his lips captured yours in a bruising kiss, one hand easily pinning both of yours above your head. You hummed in protest and threw your arms forward with such power that it left a harsh bang when he pushed them back against the door.

As promised, you kicked him in the balls with your knee. His release was immediate and he groaned in pain as he staggered backwards. Your kicks were the mean kind. With ease you cornered him until the back of his knees hit the bed. He was unstable enough for you to push him down gently with your hand on his chest, immediately straddling his hips.

His hands wasted no time coming up to your hips but you slapped them away immediately.

“My way or no way,” you told him sternly.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Gator grumbled, but you had already felt his cock twitch against your core even through his thick cargo pants.

“You sure? I think you like being a little obedient,” you quipped. He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Always knew you wanted me. Didn’t think you were this easy though.”

“At least I’m not leaking just because I got told off by a girl,” you mumbled before reaching down between your legs to squeeze him through his pants. He whined pathetically and it got you thinking. All things considered with his family…

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

The expression of being caught surfaced for a minute before a scowl replaced it.

“Fuck no, why’d you say that? I have loads of experience. Girls like me, you know.”

You nodded. It was true, girls did like him, at least until they witnessed a fight between him and his dad or when he lost his temper. Girls only wanted problematic boys in a hot way, not in a “it will actually mess with your reputation” way.

“You never got that far though,” you shrugged off his words easily. He all but huffed.

“What makes you so sure?”

“For starters, you react like a virgin.”

Anger flashed his eyes and once again he overpowered you. Little did he know that you weren’t going to give him any restraint. He pinned you down on the bed, pushing your legs apart so he could lay between them.

“Promise you after I fuck you, you won’t think I’m a virgin anymore.” He lifted your shirt and started to press kisses onto your belly, it was honestly endearing to see how clumsy he was. A giggle escaped your lips.

“What?”

“You won’t be a virgin anymore after this so no, I wouldn’t think you were.”

Gator rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning your top and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought the top belonged to a doll with the way his fingers were so much larger than the buttons. His hands were so goddamn big.

“So we’re gonna fuck?” He asked matter-of-factly.

“I thought you were all: big boss gonna take what I want,” you said with a smirk.

“I am! I’m just— confirming. That you also want it, I guess.” His frown made him look a little confused.

“You wouldn’t have gotten this far if I didn’t,” you smiled, knowing it would rile him up. Irritated, he shoved your top aside and pushed it down your shoulders until he could throw it elsewhere in the room.

“I would have,” he muttered against your skin, biting it a little too harsh to be nice. For normal people at least. For you, it gathered a wetness in between your legs, even more so when he remembered to soothe it with his tongue. Gator took his sweet time exploring your body, undressing you as he went. He left a trail of bruising hickeys as he rutted against the bed. His moans didn’t go unnoticed and when you heard the bed creak rhythmically you brushed your hand over his head.

“You’re gonna come in your pants if you keep that up,” you told him gently. Embarrassed, he stilled his hips. You almost felt a little bad with how clueless he looked. It only lasted a moment until his hands fumbled with your pants and took them off. All of it coming down with it. His hungry eyes stared at your core as he lay back down between your legs. With his thumbs, he spread your lips to watch your slick drop down on the sheets and he groaned before he started hungrily lapping at your pussy as if it was his last meal. Your hips bucked up, hand flying to his hair but he slapped it away in favor of holding them still next to you.

“Above your head. Don’t wanna see them move.” He ordered and you complied when he let go and spread your lips once more. His mouth was criminal. The speed with which he devoured you had you moaning louder than anyone had ever managed you to. He kept spreading your lips with his thumbs, playing with the edges as he made you a complete mess.

“Not so talkative now, are you?” Gator grinned when he pulled away, causing you to whine. He grabbed roughly at your cunt, rubbing his palm over you as he moved back up. Somewhere in between he had taken off his pants too and somehow you hadn’t even noticed. He took off his shirt as well, tossing it somewhere in the room before hovering over you.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he murmured against your lips. “And you’re gonna take it. I’m gonna take what I need and you’re going to give it to me.”

“So that’s like, one minute tops?” You asked innocently, though you couldn’t hide your grin. Without warning, he thrusted into you and his face really did betray that this was his first time.

“Oh god oh god oh god.”

You took it all, his animalistic thrusts that lifted your hips from the bed. You clawed at his back and he seemed to have forgotten that you weren’t allowed to do that in favor of your touch.

“You doing okay, big boy?” you teased even though the nickname was quite fitting considering the size of his cock.

Roughly, he grabbed your chin, pushing the skin around your cheeks squished between his fingers so your mouth was pressed together. He glared at you but couldn’t find the right words to say. Eyes flickering back and forth between yours, searching for something. He closed the gap with a quick kiss that soon turned passionate now that you were no longer holding back. In just a few thrusts he came inside you, hips stilling immediately. You groaned as you felt your own orgasm dwindle back right before the finish.

“Don’t fucking stop,” you groaned as you pushed your hips up. You felt his warm chuckle against your neck and his tongue tracing your ear.

“Told you I’d take what I needed.”

With a swift move you removed your hands from above your head and yanked his head up by his hair, causing him to groan out in pain.

“I gave it to you. Now give me what I need.”

“I'm gonna hurt you,” Gator hissed as he slid off of you and manhandled you on your side. His cock slid between your asscheeks and he almost whimpered at his own sensitivity.

“Yeah? You can try,” you mumbled indifferently, arm reaching back to grab a hold of his hair again. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

His cock twitched against you.

“You’re a desperate one, aren’t you?” he murmured against your shoulder, kissing it a little too gently to make his words sound condescending.

“I just wanna be actually fucked and not have someone’s cock dip in for thirty seconds only,” you shrugged, a knowing smile on your lips. Annoyed, he lifted your leg up and positioned himself to thrust inside you. If you pretended you didn’t hear him whimper, nor felt the gentle ease with which he entered you, he could almost seem as mean as he pretended to be. His thrusts on the other hand were relentless, determined to make you feel him in every way possible.

Surprisingly, he moved his hand between your legs to play with your clit, again not as selfish as you’d have expected of him, even though he was missing his mark completely. You corrected his hand with a simple nudge and he adjusted instantly, making you see stars when he sped up his fingers and thrusted deeper inside you.

“Come for me, Y/N. Show me you need my cock.”

A retort died on your lips when his teeth grazed your neck and his arm wiggled itself around your shoulders so he could grab your boob not too gently. He kept whispering obscenities into your ear, one filthier than the other and definitely fueled by fantasy rather than experience. As your moans grew louder his hips snapped harder and his lips captured yours to feel the vibration against his own. An orgasm stronger than every comeback you had given him rushed through your body, shaking out of your pores as you grew limp against him as he slowed down his pace.

You felt his lips kissing your back in a trail from your shoulder to your neck, his arms holding you tightly. When you didn’t move for a while, he shifted and lifted his head to try to get a look at your face.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice sounded concerned, really concerned. Like his words earlier hadn’t been all that serious. You stayed quiet for a little longer to find out exactly what the truth behind those words was.

“Y/N?” A hesitant kiss on your cheek, the hand on your waist caressing you softly.

“What’s the answer you want me to give?”

“That I didn’t,” he mumbled.

You smiled softly and turned your head to look at him.

“You didn’t.”

Gator let go of a relieved sigh but rolled his eyes at the same time.

“Don’t scare me like that. I… say things, sometimes. Don’t mean them.”

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“I know.”

“And you were right.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t even tell you why you were right,” Gator mumbled.

“That you were a virgin,” you said with a smile, cupping his cheek. He turned his head and you spotted the faintest blush.

“Shut up. You weren’t?” You shook your head and turned around in his arms so you didn’t have to keep craning your neck.

“No, remember Dave?”

“Him?!” Gator made a face of disgust and you giggled as you put your hand on his chest.

“It wasn’t fun. Or good. This,” you gestured between you and him, “This was… interesting at least.”

“Not good?” Gator asked. You shrugged, a small smile on your lips.

“You could work on being a little nicer.”

Gator huffed and looked away almost guiltily.

“Sorry. I was angry.”

“You can make it up to me next time.”

His eyes widened, hand flexing around your waist.

“There’s a next time?” He sounded hopeful. You softly captured his lips and kissed him.

“If you’re nice.”

“I can try,” he mumbled, but his eyes and soft smile told you that he would be. For you, he would.

#gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x fem!reader #joe keery

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laddieseddiemunster · 2 years ago

Note

Could you possibly write some nsfw for Marko (he’s my favorite) to where he comes to the fem!readers job and he starts to get handsy to the point where he’s fingering her on her break please. If not that’s totally okay! Have an amazing day.

i see, i see. hehe. basically, i chose waitress for the job because that seemed easy lol.

hope you enjoy!

Night Shift (Marko x Fem!Reader)

warning(s): nsfw, fingering, minors dni

working at night was never a walk in the park. for starters, creeps usually come at night which isn’t comforting at all. they haven’t gotten out of hand, and let’s hope they don’t start to. second, by the end of the day the restaurant is usually a complete mess with trash and rotten food that had been left on the floor probably from some kid. of course, you get the fantastic job of cleaning the place up. amazing, isn’t it?

today was unfortunately one of those days. there was napkins and chewed up food all over the floor, and you were by no means excited for this task. you wanted to get this job over with, so you grabbed the broom and trash bin and got started.

it was half passed twelve, and you started to question why you even agreed to work these hours. the only good thing about it was there were never too many customers around this hour, so at least you wouldn’t get any interruptions, or so you thought.

most of the trash was under the tables. kids of course. so you had to bend down in order for the broom to reach all the trash on the floor. in doing so, you felt two hands grip onto your hips. you gasped and immediately stood up straight only to notice that the mirror in front of you didn’t show anyone behind you. therefore, you immediately knew who it was.

“did you miss me?” marko asked while planting open mouth kisses on the back of your neck.

you shivered slightly as a result of his ice cold lips. “not right now! i’m working!”

“so am i,” marko said into your ear as he gripped onto your hips.

“marko, you’re gonna get me fired,” you groaned and slapped marko’s hands away. you turned around to see that he had a big smirk on his face. his eyes were glued to your lips before they trailed down slowly until they stopped at the target he wished to engage at that very moment.

you put your index finger on his chest to push him back. “don’t do that. not here,” you said with a slight crack in your voice.

marko chuckled. “i can’t help it.” despite your orders he grabbed onto your hip with one hand and massaged it. “you don’t know what you do to me.”

you sighed. marko was so stubborn.

he used the hand that was massaging your hip to pull you closer to him. this time you didn’t pull away or reject him.

“you look overwhelmed. i’ll make you feel better.” the smirk on his face somehow got bigger.

you considered your options. if you got caught with marko you’d definitely lose your job as well as your sanity. although, you were feeling stressed and having a moment with marko couldn’t hurt.

“what am i going to say to my co-workers in the back?” you asked searching for possible interference.

“tell them you’re going out for a smoke.” marko brought his head down a bit to give you his puppy dog eyes. you were feeling more convinced the more you considered it. “come on,” he whined. “what do you say?”

you looked around the restaurant to see if there were any customers which there weren’t. with that you turned around quickly and gave marko a hard and sloppy kiss on his lips while slightly pulling the back of his hair. he responded immediately and wrapped his arms around your lower back. the kiss lasted about ten seconds before you pulled away and looked directly into his eyes. you gave him a small smile.

“i like that answer,” he said with a cocky grin which made you roll your eyes.

“i’ll be right back. don’t miss me too much.” you gave him a wink.

marko’s plan worked like a charm. you went into the kitchen and told the chef that you were going out for a smoke. he nodded not even looking your way. you didn’t have time to deal with his attitude. he was probably just as overwhelmed as you were. with his reply you quickly walked back to marko and pulled him into the break room. he shut and locked the door behind him, and then he eyed you like he did before.

“at last,” he uttered and put his hand on your jaw to give you a kiss on your lips. you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer, and his hands found a place on your hips. without breaking the kiss, marko backed you into the counter and grabbed onto the back of your thighs to put you onto the counter. he left your lips to attach his onto your neck. the long passionate kisses he left on your neck caused you to extend your head back.

with one hand, marko spread your legs and his fingertips found their way under your skirt. you felt him going further, and he dragged his index finger up your clothed pussy.

you squirmed in his grasp. “marko,” you whimpered. “my boss is going to hear.”

“well, you better be silent then,” marko whispered in your ear. he used both hands to pull your underwear off and let it hang on your ankles. he removed his face from your neck to give you one last kiss on your lips. you whined a little when he pulled away, but you knew what he was doing. that little shit loves to see your reactions as you become a moaning mess under his fingers.

marko rested one hand on your thigh and his other went to work. he started slowly by just barely rubbing against your wet pussy. then he used his fingers to open you up and let just the tip of his index finger enter you.

“come on, marko. hurry up,” you groaned as you tried to push yourself more onto his fingers.

marko chuckled. “needy.” he pushed another finger into you, but this time he went deeper. he started to pump his fingers into your pussy slowly. you closed your eyes and your breath started to get shaky. you gripped onto his shoulders and let out a soft moan when you felt his thumb on your clit.

“please, marko please,” you begged. he replied by barley pressing his lips on the edge of your lips. marko started to go a bit faster. his two fingers inside you were pumping at a faster pace, but what was really making you go crazy was his thumb circling your clit. your thighs started to shake up and down as you tried to suppress your moans which was getting harder and harder each second. marko dragged his thumb slowly down your clit which you let out an audible moan to. you buried your red face in his neck hoping to god no one heard you.

marko was enjoying every second of this. he curled the two fingers that were inside your pussy which made your thighs jump. you moaning against his neck was enough to make his cock harden, but this wasn’t about him. marko quickened the pace of his thumb, and circled it deep against your clit. by now you were biting your lip desperately trying to keep your moans at bay. it was nearly impossible as you started to feel yourself getting close to orgasm.

“marko, i’m close,” if it weren’t for his jacket your nails would be cutting the skin off his shoulders.

“you’re close?” marko teased. “just off of my fingers?” he wasn’t slowing the pace at all as he spoke.

“shu-shut up,” you softly uttered as a moan escaped you. your orgasm was there and you were ready for a release.

“go ahead, baby,” marko whispered in your ear which was all you needed. instead of letting everyone in the restaurant hear your loud moans he pulled your face away from his neck and kissed you as you came. swallowing all your noises.

there was a mess in between your thighs, but you didn’t care about it in the slightest. marko pulled his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth to lick them clean. as you were catching your breath, marko started to pet your hair. “how do you feel now?”

“like a million bucks,” you laughed which caused him to laugh too. marko lifted you off the counter and helped you put your underwear back on. it wasn’t a lie though. you’ve probably never felt so good at work before. marko gave you a few long kisses on your lips before smiling and walking away.

“where do you think you’re going?” you asked raising your eyebrows.

marko opened the door, but turned back towards you to flash you a smirk. “i’m hungry,” he said and winked at you before leaving the room. you scoffed but still smiled to yourself. that jerk.

#ignore the fact that i havent written in about a year and a half #the lost boys #marko the lost boys #marko lost boys #the lost boys marko #lost boys marko #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys movie #the lost boys headcanon #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys david #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys x reader

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catmansquad · 1 year ago

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Comfort (P3)

As you and Miguel prepare for the dinner-party; a baby, bad hungers, and Miguel’s brother threaten to ruin the evening.

(In this chapter, we will briefly dive into some of Miggy's past trauma, and to exactly why this version of him is a sex-hungry entity)

‘Stop making yourself taller each time I look away!’ Miguel chuckled at your flustered expression, resting with hands on hips with a sly grin. ‘No idea what you mean…’ You stepped up close to him, leaving the prep work behind in the kitchen and glaring up at him. ‘Oh, really? When we got up this morning, we were the same height pretty much. Now you’re… You’re a freakin’ seven-foot beanpole!’ He laughed again, looming nearly head and shoulders taller than you. ‘I’m six foot nine!’ His amused smirk only grew as he leaned down to nuzzle his nose against yours, eyes rich with mirth and delight. ‘… Are you saying you want me to be seven feet tall? I’m a shapeshifter, mi cariño… I can be whatever I want- or whatever you want… Plus I like being able to reach all the high shelves that you can’t.’ A rumbling purr escaped him as he rested his chin atop your head, letting it vibrate through you. ‘If you tease me, I might just start putting your keys and phone on the high shelf that you can’t reach and make you beg me for it back.’ He hummed softly, stepping back to let you return to your preparations for the dinner party tonight. You checked that the chicken was defrosting, and began to work on assembling the dessert; the chocolate mousse would need plenty of time to chill. ‘… Beanpole?’ You heard the Incubus hum in thought. ‘Yes, beanpole Miguel!’ You didn’t look back, smashing the wrapped chocolate bars on the counter to work out your frustration. ‘Don’t make yourself any taller, please, Miguel… My friends are gonna think I’m dating a giant.’ ‘Ok, promise. No more inches on the height. Only inches where they matter.’ ‘I didn’t think Incu-… Whatever the plural of Incubus is-‘ ‘Incubi!’ He chirped up, cheerful. ‘Incubi needed more inches- I thought they’d have that covered.’ ‘Ay! Now who’s getting saucy?’ Miguel’s laugh was infectiously joyful, you heard his tail slapping against a wall like an excited puppy. ‘No, the sauce is for the starter- and lose the damn tail.’ You clicked your fingers as the mention drove another thought into your head. Yes, the prawns were defrosting fine, too.

You felt all the tension flee from your body, the concern and pressure of the coming evening seemed a million miles away as Miguel hugged you from behind, resting his chin atop your head, a pleased sigh in his chest. ‘Can I help…?’ ‘Can you cook?’ Your question drew a low hum of thought from the larger man, his arms holding you tighter, and pulling back against his body. ‘… No. I mean, I can eat food, but I don’t need it. My brother cooks, I think? Gabri makes some nice things, but I’ve never had the interest… Dios mio… Ahem! But I still want to help!’ He gave you another warm hug, leaning down to nuzzle into your neck with another low purr. You sighed softly, placing the shattered chocolate aside and took the hands that rested across your belly in your own. He was warm, softly squeezing you in his grasp. ‘What are you making…? Something delicious?’ ‘Prawn cocktail, chicken curry, and chocolate mousse…’ ‘Ahh… Sounds delicious. But nothing will be as sweet as you.’ You heard him sigh, pressing against your back, and you felt him shift, subtly changing himself again. ‘Miguel…’ ‘Yes, my love…?’ ‘… Are you seriously beefing yourself up right now?’ You felt the Incubus freeze up; you didn’t need to see his face to guess that his eyes were frantically darting as he desperately thought of an excuse. ‘I… Uh… N-no?’ ‘Keep your mind out of the gutter; I just felt you… swell.’ He snickered briefly, squeezing you in a firm hug and you fought back the urge to let yourself melt into his embrace and spend the entire day just like that. ‘… I just want to be impressive for your friends. For you.’ ‘You’re… You’re already impressive, Miguel. I don’t need to be dating a guy who’s too tall and muscular for most doorways. Being seven feet tall and hulking with muscle isn’t going to… Look, you’re attractive already. You don’t need to go overboard.’ He was purring again, pressing little kisses to your head. ‘Aww, I’m impressive and attractive as is? That just makes my heart melt…’ Miguel adjusted his arms around you, embrace becoming more intimate, loving as he trapped you against his broad chest. His voice was a whisper you almost didn’t hear. ‘Thank you…’

‘Just like that... Yeah?’ Aware that time was starting to become a pressing issue, you had left Miguel in charge of dessert, leaning around his broad body as you pressed up against him, the very inverse of your previous predicament. ‘Right…’ ‘C’mon, Miggy; you’ve got strong arms and I’m sure you’re used to some strong wrist action. Firm whisking should be easy for you.’ ‘Hnngh…’ The sound escaped him, unbidden and you felt him shiver in your arms with delight. ‘… It’s good to see you coming out of your shell a little…’ You rested your head against his broad back for a brief moment, enjoying the softness of his clothing, the warmth of him, and the sweet scents that clung to him. Finally, and somewhat reluctantly, you pulled yourself away to see to your own tasks. So much salad to chop, wash, and prepare. ‘Of course… Once we’ve got the evening to ourselves again, I can give you my own dessert, yes?’ You glanced over as he paused whisking, eyes looking into your own as a smirk crept onto his features, his voice was a husky whisper, just enough for you to hear. ‘… It’s very thick and has a lot of delicious cream, mi vida...’ ‘Oh my fucking god, Miguel. Please. Stop it.’ ‘I don’t think you want me to…’ His eyes twinkled with mischief, smirking at you. ‘I am not going to explain to Scott and Callista why I’m an absolute mess, with salad in my hair, and no food ready to go… C’mon; you wanted beefy arms, so put those muscles to use.’

You were flung into a panic at the knock on your door, immediately drawing Miguel’s gaze and watching how he looked around, like he was trying to sense something you couldn’t see. ‘They’re here… Very early. It’s fine… I can make this work!’ You set down the half-chopped salad and steeled your nerves. It was time for happy smiles, introduce Miguel and lie through your teeth that he was your loving boyfriend. ‘it’s fine. This is fine! They’ll just have to understand that they’re too early, that they’ll have to wait for dinner and maybe they could even lend a hand…. It’s fine…’ You grasped the door handle, drawing a deep breath. ‘Ok… Miguel is my boyfriend, he is very, very human and is not a sex pest…’ You fixed the welcoming smile to your face and began to pull the door open, only too late hearing the hurried footsteps, watching Miguel slide towards you, clawed toes curling and cutting streaks into your carpet with a look of building horror in his eyes. On the other side of the door, a man greeted you with a warm smile; his dark brown hair rose in gravity-defying curls, golden-brown eyes bright and kind. Where Miguel was sharp and angular, he was soft and tranquil. Where Miguel was tall and strong, he was shorter and skinny. Wearing white leggings and a jacket, the shirt beneath was marred with bright splotches of colour, and in a love heart across the chest a message printed upon it read; “MAKE LOVE (AND ART) NOT WAR”. ‘Hello!’ His voice was warm, friendly, but as soon as his gaze found Miguel did you watch him beam in delight. ‘Brother! There you are! Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ You felt Miguel’s forehead rest softly against your shoulder, one of his arms coming around to wrap across your stomach. You could practically feel his embarrassed reluctance. ‘… This is Gabri. My little brother.’ Gabriel took one of your hands gently in his own, his touch was gentle as a cool summer breeze, warm as the sun’s rays, and you took a moment to remind yourself that beneath that charming exterior, he was another Incubus. Now, there were two very handsome brothers in your home. Oh, yes, your mind briefly went places with that knowledge.

‘Brother, you didn’t tell me was going to be so hand-‘ ‘Cállate…’ Miguel hissed at him, teeth gritted. You returned to the salad, pretending that you couldn’t hear them only a short distance away. ‘Yeah, but-‘ ‘Cállate-!’ ‘Why are you speaking Spanish, Miggy?’ Gabriel sounded like he wanted to laugh, you felt his gaze briefly upon your neck and heard him gasp. ‘Ohh! Wait, does he straight up melt if you speak to him in Spanish? Oh, that explains it…’ ‘Shut. Up. Brother.’ ‘Well… Just take this then… I know you don’t like to come prepared…’ The soft rustle of a paper bag changing hands reached your ears. You set the knife down gently, rather than accidentally cut yourself for how hard you were blushing. You took a shaky breath, reminding yourself that your own thoughts were private, neither of the two brothers could read your mind. They could, however, read your emotions, and right now you were a blushing mess. ‘Gabri, you’re a better cook. Since you wanted to come here, you can help…’ ‘Oh! Sure!’ You registered the presence of Gabriel at your back, peering over your shoulder. He smelled of sweet vanilla and lavender, you felt his hands rest on your hips- and they immediately pulled away at the growling snarl that escaped from Miguel; a low, possessive sound that made you shiver. ‘You can help here, Gabri…’ Miguel’s voice was laced with threat. With an unbothered chuckle, Gabriel stepped away from you to take over the still unfinished chocolate mousse. ‘… What did you do to this, Miggy? Ah, no matter. I can fix it.’ The shift in Miguel’s attitude was noticeable, and you found it amusing at just how grumpy he had become, as if he had become the grouch to his brother’s sunny, unbreakably cheerful disposition. You felt Miguel’s arms wrap across your chest as he pressed up close against you, humming as he placed soft kisses on your neck. ‘You’re being possessive, Miggy?’ ‘… Please don’t keep calling me that as well. I was enjoying our time together… I was hoping we would have a nice time together, enjoy the dinner party…’ Your breathing picked up as his tongue began to softly lick across your neck, replaced by the ghosting tease of his teeth- some very sharp fangs grazing gently. ‘… Then once they were gone, I was going to take you to bed and make sweet, intense love to you, all night long. But we could also do it on the sofa, or the table..’ ‘M-Miguel…’ His purr at you whispering his name rumbled low in his chest. Gabriel gave a pause from filling the dessert glasses to smile at the pair of you, perhaps it was the light, but his eyes were glinting more gold than brown. ‘Careful, Miggy… You’ve still got to get through the evening, so you’ve gotta keep your pants up for a while longer.’ You felt Miguel pull you closer against him, resting against you with an irritated sigh. ‘… My brother has been here all of five minutes… At least he is not-‘ ‘Ah, so… Miggy’s boyfriend! Can I ask a simple question?’ You ignored Miguel’s whine of irritation that hinted he knew exactly what his brother was about to ask and nodded. ‘Sure, Gabriel.’ ‘ What is beauty to you?’ ‘… Yep. There we go...’

What had begun as a simple question had expanded into a philosophical debate with the other Incubus. Yet it helped to keep you focused on the task at hand, the two of you leaving Miguel sulking, perched atop one of the kitchen counters as the two of you finished the preparation for dinner. ‘… As Incubi, I think that we’re creatures of beauty. I mean, sure, for humans; male sexuality can be a minefield, and it doesn’t get any better when we start getting involved… We try our best, but... Y’know… “A few bad apples” and all that. But we’re here; striking garments, charming smiles, encouraging voices in times of need… Balms of the soul…. Pure bliss that can overwhelm the senses and heal a troubled heart… Beauty itself…’ You didn’t realise just how soft Gabriel’s voice had become, how gentle his eyes were until you found his hands cupping your face, leaning into his touch. ‘GABRIEL!’ The ferocious growl snapped you from your stupor and Gabriel’s expression turned sheepish as he stepped back. You whirled on your feet, to find Miguel leaning from the counter towards you, sharp teeth gritted, and eyes red and blazing with unsuppressed jealously. ‘Of course… We can also be prone to being incredibly moody, jealous and possessive of those we care for…’ Gabriel finished with a nervous smile.

You had finished laying the table when the soft knock on the door came, your eyes shot up, glancing at the brothers; Miguel stood with his arms folded, narrowed eyes on you. Gabriel hugged him from his left side, head resting on his shoulder, smiling. ‘Ok… Ok… We’ve got this. U-uh, Miguel, please get changed into something smarter, Gabriel; your tail is showing.’ You hurried out of the room to your door, steeling your nerves and reminding yourself of everything you had before. It was time for take two. You fixed a smile to your face and opened the door, greeting the couple on the other side. ‘Hi! Scott, Callista, you look- oh, she’s so precious...’ They both looked exhausted, you noted. Scott’s glasses were wonky, his dark hair was messy and he struggled to get a smile on his face. Beside him, Callista’s brown hair was tied into pigtails, she was doing a far better job of smiling, carrying the wrapped bundle in her arms, the tiny form of the infant barely visible beneath the fluffy cloths and pink hat. You kept your voice soft to not wake the baby and beckoned them inside. Scott trudged across the threshold carrying several bags worth of childcare gear. ‘So, um… There’s been some changes since the last time we spoke, I, uh…’ ‘Stop fussing, Gabri, you look fine.’ ‘You should have worn the tuxedo, Miggy.’ ‘It’s a dinner party, not a…’ Miguel’s voice died in his throat, the brothers looking to the three of you. Miguel was dressed in a fancy white dress shirt buttoned up to his throat, with grey trousers and shined black shoes. His attire was tight enough to show his broad physique. Beside him Gabriel had replaced his shirt with a pure black variant, his jacket a gentle sky blue with golden feathers patterned down the arms and back. They looked... Stylish, you supposed. Gabriel gave you a fond smile, Miguel’s eyes were focused on the baby in Callista’s arms, and you swore a flash of emotion passed briefly over his features, he swallowed thickly before forcing himself to smile. ‘A-Ah… T-this is Miguel, m-my… My boyfriend, and his brother, Gabriel.’ Gabriel gave them a soft, friendly wave, Miguel’s smile was brief, he finally tore his gaze from the baby to focus on you once again. ‘Uh, you can put her down in the spare room for now, we’ll be eating soon- Gabriel, could I have a hand?’ You certainly trusted Miguel to keep your friends company over Gabriel, there was a distinctly nagging feeling that his passions would inevitably turn the conversation into another philosophical debate on the nature of beauty- and might inevitably blow his own nature. Or convince them that he and his brother were weirdos and you were dating one of them. One of the two could happen. Miguel would just have to live without your presence for a time until the starter was ready.

Only once throughout the entire meal did the baby wake in desperate cries. You watched Callista set down her cutlery and rise from her chair with a knowing look. ‘Aww, someone’s hungry for their own dinner…’ Gabriel spoke with a soft smile, hands clasped together under his chin. You watched Miguel swallow the lump in his throat again, he looked… Haunted, almost. He nearly jumped out of his seat as you took his hand in a soft squeeze. ‘Mig…?’ ‘I’m alright, my love…’ He purred back with a warm smile, squeezing your hand back in return. You found his smile infectious and felt your own growing on your face until Miguel’s hand slipped free from your grasp and you returned your attention to dessert before you. No matter the disaster Miguel had caused, Gabriel had somehow made perfection out of it. Eventually, Callista returned to the table, all but falling into seat with an exhausted groan. ‘… She was very hungry…’ She noted before picking up her spoon again. The conversation shifted to you and Miguel, and he took your hand again in a reassuring squeeze. ‘Miggy’s very sweet.’ You smiled, even as you were quietly screaming in panic on the inside. ‘Sometimes he can look big and scary, but he’s just a big teddy bear beneath it all.’ ‘I’ll vouch for that.’ Gabriel held up a hand, earning a glare from his older brother. ‘Miggy’s got a huge heart, he’ll love this one so deeply.’ You bit back a nervous laugh, already blushing. Merciful relief came in the form of your friend’s daughter crying once again. Callista glanced to her husband and he nodded. ‘Yeah… I’ll go…’ ‘I’ll.. come with you. Spare me the embarrassment of my brother.’ Miguel pushed himself up from the table, following Scott into the spare room.

‘Aww, what’s wrong now, little one? Hungry? Messy? No, no… You had a bad dream and woke up all alone, didn’t you…?’ With a soft, gentle ease, Miguel lifted the infant from her basket, cradling her close in his arms against his chest, softly hushing her cries into little whimpers as he radiated comfort and protection. ‘There, there… I’m here for you…’ Scott watched the sight, and slumped down onto the small armchair in the room, an exhausted sigh passing across his features. ‘H-how…? You make it look so easy. You’ve got to tell me your secret, man…’ ‘Just natural talent.’ He shot a wry smirk at the exhausted father before returning to the infant, rocking her and humming a wordless tune. As she settled in his arms, he swallowed the thick lump in his throat, memories were bubbling to the surface. Old memories, uncomfortable memories. ‘… You know, little one… I had a little girl, once… Just like you. But that was a lifetime ago… I was a different man back then… A whole other world…’

----

Miguel was awake at the sound of Gabriella’s fussing, as if his body had become attuned to her slightest distress. He dragged himself from his bed, staggering half asleep across the hall and stopped at the door to her nursery, finding relief in the silhouette of his brother leaning over her crib, soothing her back to sleep. He smiled softly, knowing she was in good hands. Gabriel had been his saviour so many a time, and his love for his niece was second only to Miguel’s own love for his daughter. He stepped into the lounge, waiting for his brother to return from soothing her to sleep, to tender thanks- He froze, eyes going wide, fear and panic coiled like a blooming flower in his chest, its roots burned his veins and he found himself trembling, breathing quickening. His brother was right before him, passed out on the sofa from exhaustion. So, who-?

The floorboards creaked as his footsteps thundered, he sprinted back to the nursery door, witnessing the shadow cradling the bundle of his daughter in his arms. ‘Gabri!! GABRIEL!!’ He howled, hearing the thump and crash of his brother startling awake. ‘Put. My. Daughter. Down!’ He snarled, the instincts and rage of a father rising like a fierce wolf within him. The shadow hesitated, softly hushing the little whimpers of Gabriella as she stirred from her rest. ‘Look at me, you bastard!’ The figure turned slowly, stepping into the moonlight, the curtains fluttered in the breeze of the open window. Miguel felt his brother’s reassuring hand on his shoulder, and both stared into red eyes- Miguel’s own face stared back at him.

Miguel heard his apartment door crash open. He crawled across the nursery floor, driven by anger and determination. Gabriella was wailing in his doppelganger’s arms, Gabriel lay crumpled beneath a patch of cracked and shattered wall- from where his other self had thrown his brother aside with one hand and ferocious strength. Miguel had briefly laid hands on his daughter- his other self had growled at him, then pain. He was bleeding, he was bleeding heavily from the deep gash in his left side; claws had cut through cloth, skin and nearly cleaved through bone. Footsteps, hurrying in boots, an unfamiliar man slid into view, horrified with wide eyes. ‘Miguel, stop it! Stop it!! She’s not your daughter! She’s not your child-‘ ‘She IS mine!’ His doppelganger snarled back, deaf to Gabriella’s desperate wailing, holding her close, possessive. ‘Mig-‘ ‘SHE’S MINE!!’ The stranger seemed taken aback by that deafening roar and followed his doppelganger out with one last sorrowful look. Miguel reached out with a desperate whimper, looking to that empty doorway, then to his brother- who looked back with that faint sparkle in his eyes, a tear running down his cheek. They remained there until Santa Muerte arrived to take them both in her gentle embrace.

---

‘… Well, looks like everyone needs a little nap, mm?’ He smiled softly, laying the sleeping infant gently back into her basket and ensuring she was comfortable and tucked in. In the armchair, Scott had fallen asleep. Miguel hummed in thought, mulling over the memories he had stirred up. Being human had caused him enough pain, if it wasn’t in that life, it was in another. His fate was seemingly chained to Spider-Man. So, he had chosen to return as something non-human- to try and escape it and the pain of what had happened. He had chosen this for the passion to numb the pain, to lose himself in bliss and sex like a drug. No-one had ever warned him that Incubi felt emotions more intensely than humans. Then, he had found you; the same voice, the same face as the stranger that had accompanied his doppelganger. Lo and behold, Spider-Man was never too far behind you, only this time in harmless comic form. He glanced back into the lounge, where he saw his brother keeping you and Callista entertained. His brother, his eternal support. Miguel mused that he could’ve chosen to reincarnate as a badger and Gabriel would probably have leapt right into it after him. He was probably driving you both mad with his motor-mouth’s seemingly never-ending tirade on the nature of beauty and delight. Perhaps it was for the best that Gabriel didn’t recall their final moments… Miguel hesitated, turning over one of his hands, shaping his nails out into long, sharp claws before reverting back. If Spider-Man put in a more personal appearance, to take you away this time... Well. His strength was immense, his form was malleable, his passions were dangerous, and his senses were sharper than knives. Miguel considered himself more than a match this time.

‘… I’m not one to be a critic, but I think art’s lost its way. No-one’s really got that spark of talent anymore. People pay billions for it? For what, for a canvas someone’s just smeared shit on and hung up in a gallery? That’s not beauty. Beauty demands expression, it demands the artist bear their soul to the world, even if it means pain in return.’ You sat back in your chair, only half listening to Gabriel continue his energetic debate. Callista seemed enraptured, but you put that up to the Incubus’ charms over any actual interest in the topic of conversation. ‘Your husband has taken some rest of his own… He is sleeping as soundly as your daughter.’ Miguel murmured softly as he took a seat beside you, one arm pulling you to lean against him, a content hum in his throat. ‘Gabri, I think you’ve said enough for the time being.’ His brother opened and closed his mouth, staring at him in shock before shaking his head with a nervous chuckle.

With Scott, Calista and their still sleeping daughter on their way home, you bid Gabriel a fond farewell on your doorstep with a gentle hug, and his soft promise that he would return again. ‘He means he’s going to stalk art galleries, criticizing every painting in sight until some bright young thing tries to correct him. Then they’re under his spell before they know it. He treats them well….’ You found Miguel on the sofa, hugging a cushion to his chest as if he was afraid it would disintegrate if he let go. There was something about him that gave you pause, a sense of desperation that he was restraining. ‘Miguel, are you… alright?’ He shook his head slowly, eyes red once again as he looked up to you. ‘No… ‘m hungry…’ H-how can you be hungry, we literally just had a three course meal. What sort of metabolism do you have?’ ‘No… No. You don’t understand. I’m hungry….’ ‘You’re- Oh.’ The realisation hit you like a slap to the face as you saw the bright hunger in his eyes, and you felt a shiver run softly down your spine as you reminded yourself exactly what sort of being you were sharing a home with. ‘Please say yes… Please… I want to take you. Right now. So badly…’ He drew a shaky breath, a hand on his face that concealed his sparkling eyes. ‘I need this, damnit!..’ ‘Alright…’ You reached out and took his other hand in both of yours, trying to quieten your nerves for just what you were agreeing to. It was just like the dreams, you reminded yourself. Only you were now lucid, and very much aware of just who and what you were about to sleep with. ‘I’ll be gentle… Unless you don’t want me to…’ He peeked at you from between his fingers, eyes dark with the haze of lust and hunger so strong it was almost contagious and stirred something inside you. With one tug of surprising strength, you tumbled atop him onto the sofa and his lips were upon yours, teeth nipping on your bottom lip, hands roaming. From here, it could only get better.

(What, you think I'd write explicit stuff on Tumblr? Maybe on the AO3 version when I inevitably upload it there. Maybe they'll be a little treat of that in the next chapter.)

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x male reader #gabriel o'hara

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shadowglens · 5 months ago

Text

like kerosene (on a flame of doubt)

fandom: read dead redemption 2 warnings: canon typical violence, blood and gore characters: alma mcarthy (oc), john marston, dutch van der linde, arthur morgan, assorted original side characters word count: 7,826 overview: alma mcarthy joins the van der linde gang, circa 1891 BEFORE READING: please open in a new tab as it's very long and tumblr formatting is terrible on dash 😭

1891, Wyoming

“I want those stalls all mucked out before lights out, you hear?”

Alma rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might disappear into her skull. “I ain’t your servant, Jeremiah. Do it yourself.”

“Listen, girl.” The slapping of his boots through mud bounced between the walls of the livery as he stormed towards her. “While you are under this roof, taking my gold and tending my horses, you will do what I goddamn fucking say.”

Evening was drawing near. Distantly, if she strained her ears over the sound of her associate’s - sorry, boss’ - incessant droning, Alma could hear a pair of coyotes calling to each other in the nearby hills. One of the horses in the stall closest to her stamped it’s foot with a huff, whether at the threat of wildlife or Jeremiah, Alma wasn’t sure. She absently reached to hush it as the man’s squelching boots finally brought him to stand before her.

His cheeks were crimson, a vein popping on his forehead and disappearing all the way up into his receding hairline. The horse, a beautiful roan mare, was now at the front of her stall and huffed sharply enough that Jeremiah’s neckerchief fluttered. “Wasn’t I fucking clear, girl? Pick up the goddamn rake and get to work.”

Jeremiah Owens wasn’t a particularly kind man, in the grand scheme of the things. He only knew how to yell or curse, smelt not-so-faintly of manure, and Alma was fairly sure he had never bothered to remember her first name. Girl this, girl that. Still, she fought the urge to stamp her foot like a petulant foal. He had never laid a hand on her, for starters, and shouting aside, he had given her free use of the small loft space above his office. Right now, he was the only thing separating her from the warmth of this livery and the rain-soaked emptiness on the horizon outside.

“I’ve gotta do up the papers for those mustangs,” she snapped, biting down the fire in her gut. “Mr Darlington was due to send one of his boys tomorrow mornin’ for them, or did you forget?”

That was the other reason she liked Jeremiah. When she’d turned up on his doorstep just under nine months ago, looking like a starving rat no less, he hadn’t just offered her a job - he’d brought her in on the less-than-reputable side of his operation. More than that, he’d let her help with it. Storing and feeding horses was one thing, but a horse fence was an entirely different beast. A lucrative one, too. She knew he had a few hundred gold stored somewhere in the basement of his house, she was sure of it.

“I ain’t smooth-brained, girl.” Again, she rolled her eyes. Again, he glared. “The papers are already organised. Just muck the stalls out.” At that, he stormed back the way he’d come, no doubt to the comfort of his small house up the way.

“O-kay boss,” she sing-songed, mostly to piss him off.

To his credit, he didn’t bother turning back around.

In truth, Alma didn’t mind the cleaning. It was mindless, sure, and it left her muscles aching every night in her sorry excuse for a bed, but at least it kept her busy. Didn’t give her too much time to think. If she had time to think, she started remembering, and that led nowhere good.

She worked her way through the stalls as the daylight finally slipped away below the horizon. The roan mare was a legit purchase on Jeremiah’s part, currently the only one in the livery. A group of men had brought in a trio of mustangs a few days ago, beautiful beasts captured from somewhere over the mountain, and then there was the stallion.

He was a huge Thoroughbred, proud, a striking blood bay colouring. Alma was sure he’d been nicked from one of the local ranches, but it wasn’t her or Jeremiah’s jobs to ask those kinds of questions. Either way, she’d be sad to see him go, even if he would fetch them a fortune. He was magnificent.

Alma had reached his stall, and was about to sneak him a sugar cube, when something clattered to the ground at the opposite end of the stable.

The stallion jerked away from her hand, startled, as Alma too spun on the spot.

Her hand went to her hip on instinct. Her revolver, as always, was holstered. Jeremiah had fought her on it for about a week before a wannabe gunslinger had held them both up over ten dollars. She’d been armed while working ever since.

The livery was deathly silent.

Most of the lights were off by this time of night, only one illuminating her end of the stable and one in Jeremiah’s office. The office where the sound had, undoubtedly, come from. Alma crept in that direction, keeping her shoulder tight against the stall doors and the shadows they cast. There was only one place Jeremiah ever was at this hour, and it for sure wasn’t working. Lazy bastard.

A shape darted past the office window.

Fury, at being robbed, at being stolen from, gripped Alma, and before she could think of any common sense she was sprinting for the door.

The hinges were always loose and creaking, and even her slight frame sent the door slamming open as she barrelled into it. The shape turned out to be a person as the door also slammed into them, sending them careening into the far wall with a shout. Alma twisted, revolver drawn.

It was a man, scrambling to his feet while one hand gripped his nose. There was blood covering his chin and throat. She couldn’t see much of his face through his curtain of dark, greasy hair, but she could hear him cursing under his breath.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Alma snarled, gun aimed between his eyes where he was leaning back against the far wall.

“You broke my fucking nose!”

She took a step towards him, gun still up. “You were trying to steal from us!”

He shifted, spat a glob of blood in her direction. He spoke like a street rat, kind of looked like one too, but his clothes were just a little too nice to be one of the petty thieves Alma was used to seeing around town. The leather of his boots, though now muddied, was clearly well looked after, and the holster for his own revolver looked well made. Maybe he was from a gang? Jeremiah had grumbled that there were a few that rode through every so often, but usually they brought good business to the livery.

“What do you want?” she snapped. Back in the stables, she could hear the mustangs cracking a fuss at all the commotion.

He scoffed. “Your money. What, are you simple?”

“Fuck you!” Alma glanced quickly at his gun - still holstered. “Give me back anything you’ve taken. Now!”

Despite the gun pointed at his forehead, he had the audacity to laugh. “Or what? You probably don’t even know how to use that thing.”

Oh, this greasy fucker.

The Alma from five years ago would’ve baulked at even holding a gun. Her Pa had taught her how, of course, but she’d been a proper little girl back then, with parents who loved her, and a warm home to run back to if things got too hard.

Five years was a long time.

The man’s left arm, the one not gripping his broken nose where it was still streaming blood down his face, twitched closer to his holster.

No you don’t.

Alma shot him.

“Fuck!” he screamed as the shot rang out through the office and livery and the land surrounding it. The horses cried out, an owl scattering from the rafters and into the trees beyond at the sudden noise. His body slammed back against the wall, broken nose long forgotten as he clutched helplessly at his shoulder and the rough line the bullet had drawn through his skin. He was lucky she’d only grazed him and not put it between his eyes.

Alma stormed up to him, lunging, and before he could react she had his revolver in her free hand. “I said, give me back anything you’ve taken!”

She could hear Jeremiah shouting for her up at his house.

The man dropped to the ground, one shaking hand held palm-out as the other tried to stem the bleeding. Alma was close enough that she could see the sweat on his brow and the wide-eyed look on his face, like a startled filly. It was barely a flesh wound. He really hadn’t thought she’d shoot him.

Belatedly, she realised he was barely older than she was, maybe even the same age. More a boy than anything. Just like she was barely anything other than a girl.

“ - all of it!” he stammered. She hadn’t realised he’d been talking. “Get away from me, you psycho!”

He’d emptied the small satchel at his hip, sending an assortment of trash and stolen goods scattering to the floor. A few wads of cash, a stack of fraudulent papers that Alma had hand-written herself, a pack of cigarettes, a few twigs and rocks, a tin of gun oil that looked like it was nothing but dregs, and a little pocket knife. She took the cash and papers, thought for a moment, then pinched the cigarettes too even though she didn’t smoke.

She glared at him, raising both guns again. “I’m the psycho?”

“You shot me!”

“You deserved it,” she said, backing up to slam everything back onto the desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the drawers all sitting wide open. Subtle. “Now get -” she started, breath caught at the adrenaline coursing through her veins, “now get the hell out of here before I really shoot you!”

The man - the boy - just stared at her. His nose, thankfully, had stopped gushing blood all down his front, although now his arm was stained russet too. His shirt was well and truly ruined.

Alma marched over to the window he’d apparently crawled through and slammed her hand against the frame. “Are you deaf?! I said go!”

That seemed to shake him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. She tracked his every movement across the office, guns still razed, and simply glared as he awkwardly tried to clamber back out the window with only one good arm. She slammed the butt of his own gun against his back as he went, sending him tumbling into the mud outside.

He cursed, stumbled and slipped, before righting himself and sprinting for the edge of the property. If she squinted, she could make out the shape of a horse hidden just beyond the treeline.

“And don’t come back, you bastard!” she screamed after him.

Jeremiah chose that moment to burst into the office, door slamming open the exact same way it had moments before. “Alma!”

She leant back against the wall beside the window, a gun still gripped in each hand, and raised an eyebrow at her boss. “So you do know my name.”

“What happened? Did I hear a gunshot?” He eyed the leather-wrapped revolver in her right hand. Alma almost laughed when she realised he was only in sleep pants. Maybe the old geezer did care after all. “Where did that come from?”

“A gift from a thief. Don’t worry, I chased him off cause, unlike you, I care about this business.”

Jeremiah just gawked at her. “You shot him?”

“Would you rather I let him take all your cash and papers and everything not nailed down?”

“Well, no, but …” he only then spied the blood smeared on the wall and floor. “Hells, girl. How many times did you shoot him?”

Alma scoffed at him as she inspected her new revolver. “Just once, barely. I’m not a monster.”

...

One of Jeremiah’s cousins, Gregory, came by the next day to help shore things up in the wake of the attempted robbery. The man was Jeremiah’s opposite - tall, rotund, intimidating - which Alma supposed was a good thing. It’d hopefully scare any other would-be thieves off, at any rate.

Not that they had to worry. The next few days were entirely uneventful. Mr Darlington sent a few boys down to pick up two of the mustangs, and paid triple what they were realistically worth without batting an eyelid. Jeremiah had made her hide the Thoroughbred out back before their arrival, just in case their suspicions rang true.

Alma had also convinced Jeremiah to let her man the fence after her little display the other night. That’s where she was that morning, perched on a stool behind the cut-out in the wall with her head propped up on one hand, when a man on a beautiful white stallion came trotting down the path. Even from a distance, she could tell she wouldn’t like him. The moustache alone put her off.

“Why, good morning to you miss!” he cawed. In the morning sunlight, the red of his waistcoat shone like rubies. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

Alma just stared at him. “I suppose.”

“Quite an establishment you’ve got here.” He hitched his horse by the post at the livery entrance, then waltzed over to where she was perched around the side. For a new customer, he sure knew his way around.

“It ain’t mine, sir,” she said, fighting to smooth her brow against a brewing frown. “Can I help you?”

He was right before her now, smiling with too many teeth and his silly slicked-back hair. “Forgive my manners. Dutch van der Linde.” The hand he held out was tanned, roughened, yet adorned with rings of all metals that glinted as he moved. An unusual combination. When she simply looked from his hand to his face and back again, the man - Dutch, apparently - simply smiled and shifted to clutch at his gun belt with a hip cocked. “I was hoping to discuss a proposition with you, if you’d be amenable?”

Oh boy. “Unless it’s to sell that pretty horse of yours, sir, the answer’s no.”

“Now, now miss, don’t be so rash.” Alma felt herself tense, toes curling in her boots where they were hidden behind the counter. She could image Jeremiah in her ear, insisting that she be amenable to all customers lest she drive away business. She forced herself to breathe as Dutch kept yapping. “I’m here to propose an offer to you, specifically. You see, one of my boys said he ran into you a few days back, said you had a bit of a … disagreement?”

Any pretence of her being a good salesperson flew out the door at that. So the greasy fucker was back to haunt her then. She pulled her revolver from the holster at her hip before she could stop herself, jumping off her stool in the same moment. Trust her luck that the moment Gregory was nowhere to be seen was the moment she needed him.

Dutch, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he held up both hands in surrender. Still smiling. Still too many teeth. “Easy miss, I’m not here for what you think. Like I said, I have a proposition.”

Alma scoffed. Kept her revolver raised. “My mumma didn’t raise no fool.”

“I can see that. But I truly mean you no harm.” Dutch breathed out a laugh, or maybe it was a grimace? Alma could quite read the way his face twisted. “From the looks of John’s nose and shoulder, she apparently also raised quite a fighter.”

Was this the boy’s - John’s - father, then? Uncle? Alma supposed there was a bit of a resemblance with the dark hair, but it had been nighttime. Maybe she was misremembering. “Yeah well maybe you need to teach your boy some proper manners. Didn’t you hear it’s rude to accost a lady in the night?”

Dutch laughed properly then, glancing to his feet for a moment as if to collect himself before lifting his gaze back to Alma. His brown eyes assessed her. “Now, there is fire in you, miss. I knew I’d like you. ”

“The feeling’s not mutual.”

Another laugh shot from him, short like gunfire. “Hah! Now, where was I? Oh yes, I came to thank you for not killing John on sight, the boy was foolish to steal from such a … reputable establishment such as this one.” He waved his hands at the livery in question with an eyebrow raised. “I’d also like to offer you a job, of sorts.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m already gainfully employed, if you couldn’t tell.” Alma glanced behind her, hoping fruitlessly that one of her associates would actually be found in their place of work when she needed them. Alas, all that greeted her was the beautiful Thoroughbred with his ears perked in her direction. She kept her revolver gripped.

Dutch, apparently oblivious to her distraction, or perhaps not caring, soldiered on. “But does this place truly bring you satisfaction? Purpose? You’re clearly an intelligent young lady and have a mind for business and horses, and I just happen to find myself in need of someone with such talents.” He reached into a pocket of his coat, slowing as he saw her grip on her revolver tense, before producing a few pieces of paper. He gently placed them on the counter between them. Alma couldn’t help but gape a little when she recognised her own handiwork. “I’ve seen how you operate. Smart idea, faking the papers to get a higher price. I bet you’re making a killing out of the rich fools around here.” He paused again, for dramatic effect or to assess her reaction, Alma wasn’t sure. “Wouldn’t you rather put your skills to better use? Me and mine can offer you that and more.”

Alma fought the urge to ask where he’d got the papers from. “Let me guess? By ‘better use’, you mean scamming people for you, rather than this business? You must think me a proper idiot, just like that John of yours.”

It was an insult, and she’d meant it as one, but Dutch only kept smiling. Something in his eyes had sparked. “Think bigger! The government would see us civilised, chained up, would see our freedoms taken away. The rich folk around here no doubt deserve to lose some cash to you, sure, but a woman with your talents could be doing more than taking coin from a few oblivious ranchers. You and me and the others in my community? We can make a real difference.”

Surely he was a fool. The government? His community? Alma had seen how the law and the government treated people who didn’t fit in, people who lived outside the confines of society, and it weren’t pretty. As much as she hated the system sometimes, she had no desire to slide back into the fear she’d only just managed to crawl out of.

Then again, what had her parents gained by being dutiful citizens? They’d been happy, for a time she supposed, but what were they now other than six feet under with no gravemarkers for Alma to visit? They’d done what they were told, had tried to live the great American dream, and it had torn them up and spat them back out like they were nothing.

Worse than nothing.

Still. Going in guns blazing surely wasn’t the solution either. No matter how many big, pretty words people like Dutch used to decorate it.

Gregory had apparently decided to finally do the job his cousin had asked him to, and Alma could hear him trudging through the stable in her general direction. She forcibly shook herself from her thoughts and perched back on her stool. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m mighty fine sticking to scamming the rich folk around here. Thanks, but no thanks.” She rested her revolver on the counter between them. “Now, if you don’t have a horse to trade, I think it’s time you left, sir.”

If Dutch was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. He simply smiled and held his hands in mock surrender, rings glinting again. “Well, if you change your mind, my associates and I will be in town for the next few days. We’ll be in the saloon, or nearby at the very least. You have a good day, Miss …?”

Alma bit the inside of her gum. Threw caution to the wind. “Alma McArthy.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss McArthy.” Dutch started walking backwards to his pretty horse with his pretty waistcoat and perfectly styled hair, and smiled. “Think about my offer?”

“Don’t count on it,” she called after him.

Gregory was beside her now, leaning over her shoulder to glare at Dutch’s receding form. His horse was small, fast no doubt, but he took his time trotting back up the path and over the rise. Alma kept her gun out until he was fully out of view.

“He give you any trouble?” Gregory grumbled, arms crossed. They were as thick as small trees.

Alma sighed, rubbing at her forehead. “Nah. Just … wanted to sell me something. I told him to sod off.”

“Hmm. Good.”

...

Alma was tossing and turning up in her loft above Jeremiah’s office, as she had been for the past few hours, when the gunfire started.

She tumbled from her cot, landing with a thud while her eyes adjusted to the near-pitch darkness.

Another gunshot. Glass shattering.

She fumbled across the small space for her gun belt, her revolver and the boy’s still tucked in their holsters. Lunged, then, for her coat where it hung on a hook haphazardly nailed into the far wall. The off-white of her sleep shirt near-glowed in the dark; even with her coat tugged on, her knees were still exposed.

Another gunshot, another, another. Screaming. The horses were whinnying.

A bullet shot through the wall of her loft, sending a spray of splinters towards her. Alma threw herself backwards on instinct, heart a drumbeat in her ear, and almost tripped over her boots where she’d left them scattered at the end of her shift. The whole livery was writhing as if in pain, had come alive with screams and gunfire.

“Serves ya right!” someone - not Jeremiah or Gregory - was shouting over the cacophony. “Thieving scum!”

It had been a relatively quiet few days, besides that boy trying to rob the place. Surely Dutch hadn’t returned? He had been a pompous ass with a stick a mile up his ass, but he hadn’t seemed to have any ill-feelings towards her or the stable.

Alma went to make for the door, thought better of it, and tugged open the window instead. It was still at least a few hours before sunrise, the sky more stars than anything, and her eyes were still stuck with sleep. She couldn’t spy movement in the nearby treeline, but from this angle she could see figures darting about towards the front of the livery.

“Come out here, you fucking coward!”

“Burn the place to the ground!”

“Flank them!”

It wasn’t too high of a drop, maybe a few metres.

Another spray of bullets cut through the loft floor.

Alma jumped.

The grass and mud cushioned her fall enough that she didn’t snap both ankles on impact, and she never thought she’d be praising mud in her entire life. She made to run, slipped, fell flat on her front, and her sleepshirt was well and truly soiled now. Her mind unhelpfully supplied an image of the boy as he’d fled, bloodied and muddied as he’d been, as she now half was, and she cursed at herself. She could taste manure.

“Get the fuck outta my property!” That was Jeremiah. Alma raced to peer through a ground floor window, the glass shattered by bullets, and spied him crouched behind a stall with his rifle gripped in shaking hands. He was in the same state of undress as she was. “You good for nothing inbreds!”

The remaining mustang was rushing its stall, as if in hopes of breaking free, and Alma could hear the roan mare crying out at the top of her lungs. Movement caught her eye towards the entrance, and she caught sight of the Thoroughbred’s tail disappearing out the stable doors with someone atop him.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Alma left her window behind and crept further along the outside wall, until she could just make out one of the men that had been decorating the livery in bullet holes. He was tall, criss-crossed with scars and looked as if he too had slipped in the mud at some point. Even through the grime and the black dots of her panic-riddled vision, she would recognise the family crest stitched into his coat collar anywhere.

The Darlington’s.

Well, shit.

The quickly-receding outline of the Thoroughbred disappeared over the rise. Alma wanted to punch something, shoot something, wanted to set the whole damned lot of them on fire. It was their own faults for being so complacent in guarding their property. Now, not only had a couple of hundred dollars worth of gold just run out of the livery, but it had left a trail of bullet holes in its wake.

“ - pay for this!” The Darlington’s, those who weren’t in the process of also stealing the remaining horses, were still exchanging gunfire with Jeremiah. The mustang was giving them more trouble than it was worth, but a duo of fools were trying helplessly to muster it into submission while also avoiding getting a bullet between the eyes.

“Darlington’s just lucky his whole goddamned stable isn’t here!” Jeremiah shouted. “Ain’t my fault he can’t keep his own things nailed down.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole!”

The roan mare was halfway out the door now, a rider grasping for her mane as they hoisted themself atop her. The swarm of gunmen was actually less than Alma had initially thought. She pulled her revolvers, crouched, aimed for the nearest idiot’s forehead.

Gregory was tackling the man into the muck before she could fire.

The two men went flying. Gregory was twice the man’s size, if not more, and easily had his opponent straddled with a fist flying towards their face before Alma could even blink. Once, twice, he slammed his fists down, spit and blood flying with every impact. Once, twice, she heard something crunch.

Alma shifted her focus to one of the men trying to tame the mustang. Breathed. Fired. Unlike with the boy, she aimed properly this time, and the man crumpled satisfyingly as her bullet tore through his chest. The mustang reared back at the sudden freedom, sending the other man scattering away to avoid a hoof to the temple.

Jeremiah seemed to be gaining ground too, his rifle picking off another Darlington. Alma should try to flank, get behind -

Screaming.

Distantly, she recalled a gunshot.

When she twisted, Gregory was looking right at her. He was still straddling the now-twitching corpse beneath him, his fists mangled messes, and his entire front was drenched in crimson. Not from his victim, though, she realised. Alma jerked forward on instinct, her body no longer her own, as she watched half his internal organs pour out of the newly-carved hole in his gut. She wasn’t sure if she was screaming. It didn’t matter. The thud of his body toppling to the mud forced her to her knees.

“You fucking bastards!”

Laughing. “Payback’s a bitch, Owens!”

“You fucking bastards!”

Hooves thundered past. The mustang, maybe. Alma forced herself to move, to throw herself behind the cover of a stall, as the gunfire kicked up again. Jeremiah was still cursing, still shouting, still firing.

She shouldn’t care so much. She’d known the man for barely a day. Her fury built, threatening to swallow her whole. He’d barely said two words to her. She wanted to kill something.

All at once, the sound came rushing back to Alma. The livery felt as though it was falling down around them. She spat out the taste of bile that had thundered up her throat, adjusted her grip on her revolvers, before standing and picking her next target. Most of the Darlington’s had fallen back to the stable entry, what with all the horses now having been properly stolen. There were still enough of them to be a threat though. Alma managed to clip one man’s shoulder, almost got another in the chest before he dived for cover, sent one falling back with a hole between the eyes.

Jeremiah cried out, deeper in the stable. Alma spun; despite the carnage, she could just make out his balding head through a hole that had been blasted through the stalls. A shadow was looming beside him. Seconds later, she could fully make out the man that had crept through the back door.

The gunfire stopped as Jeremiah clearly struggled against his attacker. Alma, any hope of stealth long abandoned, sprinted for the pair. Gregory’s corpse. The rancher’s corpse. Her parents' corpses. Gregory’s corpse. The rancher’s -

She’d almost made it to them, had her revolvers raised, when someone slammed into her.

Manure came rushing up to her, and for the second time that night she was rolling in it, hay and shit caught in her hair and coat. The bare skin of her legs tore against the debris of the livery floor. Her attacker, a wiry man with copper hair, immediately flipped her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died before it could erupt from her throat as he slapped her hard enough that the stars were suddenly inside the stable.

“Now, now, who’s this, Owens?” the wiry bastard asked, smiling as he grappled with her flailing arms. Not again, not again. “She’s a little young for a whore, ain’t she?”

Jeremiah had slumped back against the stable wall, but the fury in his eyes could have burnt them all to the ground. “Get off her, you sick inbred!”

Her wrists were now pinned above her head. Alma could feel the cool evening air on her legs as her sleep shirt rode up. Someone else had moved to grab her feet where she had been kicking them. Not again, not again.

The man that had attacked Jeremiah now leaned over her boss. He had a bloodied knife in one hand. “I was gonna put this little lady out of her misery, but I think I’ve changed my mind. After all, who’s gonna keep this place running, once all that blood catches up to you, huh old man?”

Alma screamed, writhing, and earned herself another slap.

The man with the knife wandered over to Alma then. Dark hair swung in his face as he crouched beside her and held the butt of his knife to her temple. His breath smelt of tobacco when he said, “We’ll be seeing you mighty soon, little lady. In the meantime, lights out.”

Darkness.

...

By the time she woke the next morning, her head was pounding so hard she could barely see straight, the livery was burnt to its foundations, the horses were all long gone, and Jeremiah was a cooling corpse laid out beside her.

...

Everyone stared at Alma as she burst into the saloon.

The place was quiet, which she supposed was to be expected given it was barely midmorning. Too early for the nearby ranch hands, too late for the drunkards. A small gaggle of men were half-heartedly playing poker in the corner; the sight of her dripping blood and stinking of manure in the entry grinded their conversation to a halt.

She wasn’t sure if she recognised anyone. She didn’t care. This town, and these wretched people, would soon be lost on the horizon behind her.

“Jesus,” the barkeep shouted at her across the room, “get lost, girl, before I throw you out myself.”

Alma ignored him.

She hadn’t bothered to change out of her soiled sleep shirt. Couldn’t, not with the livery burnt to the ground along with any of her belongings. They’d left Jeremiah’s house standing, for some reason, but the place was better left to be the mortuary it now was. The rifle slung over her shoulder was the only remnant of the place she’d had the heart to grab before making the long walk into town. Her hair was a matted mess down her back, and her knees were still lazily oozing blood where they’d been scraped raw on the stable floor. A drowned, beaten rat likely looked better.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest. Alma was sure her jaw might snap in two at any moment with how hard she had been clenching it since waking up a few hours ago.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to flee after a massacre. Any respectable, well-mannered girl of society would scarcely be seen in public alone, or at least without a good reason, lest it bring scandal. For Alma, she felt almost called to it, like a compulsion she just couldn’t shake. Always catastrophe. Always running. Always one. One day she was sure she’d run out of horizon to swallow her up. Either that, or her own fury would do it for her.

“Did ya hear me, girl? I said get lost!”

She had the rifle pointed at his forehead before he could blink. “Shut up,” she snapped, even as the sound of guns suddenly being drawn ricocheted through the saloon, “before you make me lose my goddamn fucking temper.”

“Put the gun down!” one of the patrons yelled.

The barkeep raised his hands, leaving his dishcloth to fall forgotten to the floor. “Woah, easy there missy.”

Alma chewed on her gum to still her raging thoughts. “There’s a man in town, said he’d be nearby for the next few days. Dark hair, moustache, fancy clothes. Goes by Dutch. You know him?”

The other patrons were still shouting at her. The barkeep’s eyes kept dancing between her, the rifle, and undoubtedly the guns pointed at her own head. “I ain’t answering no questions with a gun between my -”

“Do you know him?” A piece of her spit landed on his cheek.

“Who’s asking?”

Alma risked glancing to her right, towards the back of the saloon, and there in all his pretend finery was Dutch Van der Linde. The pomade in his hair was still stiff as bricks, and his outfit remained largely unchanged from when she’d seen him a few days ago. His boots were muddied at the edges, but at a quick glance he didn’t seem any worse for wear. Definitely not like he’d been involved in a major shoot-out or arson attack.

Dutch’s gaze was cold where it landed on her. One of his hands was gripping his gun belt casually, although she didn’t doubt he was quick on the draw. It took him a moment, his eyes bouncing around her face, before they sparked in recognition. “Miss McArthy, is that you? By God you look miserable.”

“It’s been a long day.” Alma glared back at the barkeep, her nose scrunched, before begrudgingly lowering the rifle. “I’d say thanks for the assist, but I figure you probably deserved the bullet.”

The barkeep, for his part, seemed less phased without a gun in his face. “I weren’t lying, girl. Get the fuck out of my establishment. You ain’t welcome here no more.”

“Or what?” she spat, Dutch forgotten for the moment. “You’ll call the sheriff down on me? That good-for-nothing asshole couldn’t even jerk himself off if he tried .”

Someone coughed out a laugh by the stairs.

“Now, now, what Miss McArthy means to say,” Dutch said from where he’d suddenly walked up beside her, “is thank you for your incredible hospitality. We were just going, weren’t we my dear?”

“Don’t put -”

Dutch gripped her forearm. “Weren’t we?”

There were too many guns surrounding her, and she wasn’t a total fool. She’d have to find someone else to beat her anger onto. Maybe Dutch and his perfect little waistcoat would do. The look he was sending her made her insides boil enough as it was, but she eventually relented and let him drag her towards the back door.

They passed the stairs and another soft laugh escaped one of the two figures leaning there. Dutch wasn’t even looking at her as he led them outside, but called over his shoulder, “Come along, boys.”

“Real charmer you’ve got there, Dutch. I’m surprised you two didn’t get along better, Marston.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Alma waited until they were outside proper before wrenching her arm free. She still had the rifle gripped in one hand, and spun with it loosely gripped to glare at the trio. Dutch had stopped to assess her with his arms crossed, hip cocked as usual, and despite the commotion inside there was the ghost of a smile on his face. The young man beside him was as tall and broad as an oak tree, with hair like dirtied sand and a healthy spray of stubble across his jaw. He was in the process of jabbing a younger man beside him, who was all wiry limbs, dark hair and -

“You?!” Alma shouted, stomping a step forward.

The boy - John, if she remembered Dutch correctly - flinched back on instinct, which just seemed to make the tall man laugh.

“Stay the hell away from me!” John shouted in the same moment that the tall man laughed, “Watch out, Marston, or she’ll skin ya alive.”

“There will be no skinning,” Dutch said with a sigh as he stepped between them all, and Alma wondered again if he was the boys’ father. “Miss McArthy, this is Arthur Morgan.” He indicated the tall man, who was still laughing under his breath. “And we all know you’re well acquainted with young John Marston.”

She just glared at them. John glared right back. Alma didn’t miss the way he rubbed absently at his shoulder.

Dutch apparently took that as an invitation to continue. “Introductions aside, I must ask, Miss McArthy, what brought you to be in such a state of disarray? I’m understandably thrilled that you’ve come to discuss what I offered but, I’ll admit I wasn’t convinced I’d ever see you again.”

There wasn’t any pretty way to describe a slaughter, she knew that from experience. Judging from the copious weapons strapped to the three men before her, she figured they weren’t squeamish. Still, she’d rather not think about it. “People change. It’s human nature, in case you weren't aware.”

He laughed. “That fire’ll sooner get you into trouble you can’t fight your way out of, miss.” He took a step towards her, hands in his pockets. “The truth?”

She glanced at John and Arthur, but they were both leaning against the back of the saloon, spectating. Fabulous.

“You said you and your ‘community’ were out to make a difference. That you help people, take from the rich, that kinda thing.” She swallowed the bile and fire in her throat. “Turns out those oblivious ranchers you were talkin’ about weren’t so oblivious after all.”

Dutch, for his part, did look genuinely struck as the truth settled in his mind. “The stables?”

She shrugged, indicating her ruined form. “What’s left of it is standing right here.”

“I am sorry, miss. Truly.”

Alma scoffed. Began to pace, rifle still white-knuckled in front of her. “I ain’t here for your sympathy. I came for your help.”

“Dutch is many things, Miss McArthy, but he ain’t a god.” Arthur leaned forward as he spoke, his face half obscured by his hat. “Can’t turn back time, I’m afraid.”

She fought the urge to walk up and hit him. “You think I’m simple? I’m no fool.” He held up his hands in mock surrender as John snickered beside him. She turned her gaze back to Dutch, who hadn’t entirely dismissed her. “I know who did it. I know where they live. You help me settle this debt, I can make it worth your while.”

“As sorry as I am to see you in such a state, Miss McArthy, my people and I don’t operate on revenge.”

“Bullshit you don’t!” she snapped, stepping so close she could smell Dutch’s cologne. “You’re outlaws, aren’t you? A gang? Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you lot are. ‘Community’ my ass.”

Arthur took a tentative step away from the wall, the line of his shoulder suddenly sharp. Dutch simply held her gaze, and when he spoke his voice dripped of barely-contained venom. “You’re walking on mighty thin ice, miss. Best you don’t stomp too hard.”

“I ain’t judging you. We all do what we need to get by. Hell, I’m not saint.” Alma indicated her blood-stained clothes. “I know what you are though, what you do.” She jabbed a finger into his chest despite the way he towered over her. “You said you like sticking it to rich folk. Help me do that and I can guarantee you coin for your trouble.”

The little patch of grass behind the saloon was quiet for a long moment. John had started pacing a little, still scratching at his shoulder. Arthur was watching Alma’s hands where she was gripping the rifle.

She knew she had Dutch hook line and sinker when he tilted his head, all predator. “How much coin are we talking, exactly? And from who?”

“At least a few thousand, probably more.” Arthur whistled at that. “The Darlington’s own a big ranch west of town. Follows the river, has the big fuck off homestead planted in the middle. You’ve probably seen it. They took all our horses before sparking their matches, and I’m sure there’s a few more on the property worth pinching. Their Thoroughbred stallion alone would fetch you seven hundred.”

Dutch raised an eyebrow at her with a hand on his hip. “So you expect us to not only break into a heavily guarded ranch, but also walk out of there with multiple horses that we’d then need to resell? And the establishment where we’d do such a thing just got burnt to the ground.”

John was looking at her like she’d hit her head.

“You’re outlaws, aren’t you? Surely you do this sort of thing all the time?”

“Not exactly,” Arthur said, but he was scratching his chin in thought. “I know the place, Dutch. Hosea got talking to one of the ranch hands yesterday at the store. Could be worth our time.”

“Of course it’s worth your damned time!”

“I’ll be the one who decides that, thank you miss.” Dutch planted a hand on her shoulder. “After we do this, and it pans out, what do you say about my offer? A young lady like you would be wasted on the streets in a backwater dump like this, and I’d hate to see you suffer.”

The man was as slimy as a snake and half as pretty, but Alma wouldn’t pretend that the offer wasn’t … tempting, especially given her current circumstances. Her mumma had always warned her away from trusting powerful men, especially those with only illusions of it, but what choice did she have? She’d been burned before, and she’d likely be burned again. If they didn’t do it, she’d surely just do it to herself.

His questionable company and fashion taste aside, Dutch didn’t seem entirely insane. Arrogant, prideful - sure. At least in that regard he was honest about his intentions. Jeremiah had been a weak man, at his core, and Dutch seemed as far from weak as you could physically get. Arthur, too. John … well he didn’t count.

Alma looked at Dutch and sighed. “So you’ll go to the ranch?”

“Let’s just say you’ve sold me on the idea,” he said with a smile, squeezing her shoulder where it was still gripped in his hand. “Besides, you were right. I do like knocking rich folk down a peg or three, especially when we profit from it. It’s good for my soul and pockets.”

A chill wind rushed between the buildings. Alma remembered her state of undress, and ached for warmth and a home that no longer existed. When she met Dutch’s eyes, she saw burning.

“If it pans out. We could all be riddled with bullets in a few days.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss McArthy!” Dutch laughed, clapping her on the back. “Arthur, see about getting the young lady cleaned up and fed, won’t you? We’ll head back to camp and start talking out this plan.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” John shouted, eyes wide as saucers. “You’re letting this psycho stay, just like that?”

Alma spat back, all venom, “Says the greasy rat who smells like he crawled out of a gutter. What are you good for anyway, besides annoying everyone?”

Dutch just rolled his eyes and walked off, calling after John over his shoulder. Arthur met Alma’s eye with a smirk, before turning to ruffle John’s dark hair where he still stood, gawking.

“Oh, little Johnny Marston here is good for lotsa things. Failures of plans, entertainment, target practice -”

“I hate you both,” John grumbled as he stormed off after Dutch, who had already disappeared around the corner.

Alma couldn’t really find it in herself to laugh, not crusted with blood and manure as she was, but in another life she would have. As it stood, she just slung the rifle back over her shoulder and winced as the movement caught on her bruised side. The pain made her remember Jeremiah and Gregory, slaughtered and left to rot in the sun, and she had to swallow bile for the third time that morning.

If Arthur noticed, he thankfully didn’t say anything. “I think you and me are gonna get along just fine, Miss McArthy.”

In the almost-midday sun, the blue of his eyes glinted. “I wouldn’t be so sure, not with the company you keep.” He laughed under his breath. “And … just Alma is fine, if it’s all the same to you.”

He waved a hand in the general direction of the main street, and Alma down a nearby alley beside him. His shadow engulfed her. “‘Course. Let’s get you cleaned up and pretty before we all get shot by your ranchers tomorrow.”

“Don’t blame me for being realistic. And they ain’t my ranchers. I’d sooner see ‘em gutted like pigs for what they did.”

Arthur looked at her with a raised eyebrow, shaking his head, but kept pace with her as they headed towards the local hotel. “Miss Grimshaw is gonna love you.”

...

Two days later, Alma was fleeing the Darlington ranch with a few hundred dollars in her pockets and a freshly stolen mustang mare underneath her. A week later, she was halfway across the state with a gang of outlaws known as the Van der Linde gang.

And that, as they say, is that.

...

TAGLIST:

@nokstella, @celticwoman, @florbelles, @zahra-hydris, @arborstone

@kibellah, @carrionsflower, @fenharel, @daerans, @fashionablyfyrdraaca

@loriane-elmuerto, @imogenkol, @knakrack, @roguecritter

#writing tag #ch: alma mcarthy #PLEASE open this in a new tab .... it's so long and i don't really wanna post it on ao3 cause there's no ship content #also this is fairly unedited so i'm not responsible for any typos lol #anyway i'm very proud of this 🥺 my longest fanfic ever 🥺

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aparticularbandit · 5 days ago

Text

Shinies

Summary: Pokemon and OT3.

Because why not.

For @princescar.

Rating: T.

AO3

“What’re you playing?”

“!!!!”

Mikan jumps less from the sound of Junko’s voice and more from the way she spreads herself across the back of the couch, sets her arm across Mikan’s shoulders, and leans her face really close to Mikan’s. Sure, sure, she’s peering at the Game Girl Advance in Mikan’s hands, but it’s the closeness – it shouldn’t startle her anymore, because Junko’s always touching her like this, but it still does.

So much that she nearly drops the GGA.

Junko reaches out with her free hand and stops her before she does, a smug smile on her face. “Spooked, bunny?”

“N-n-no!” Mikan flushes a bright red and hunches her shoulders to hide her face. She tightens her grip on the GGA and then holds it up for Junko to see. “Nanami-san g-g-gave me an extra copy of her…of an old P-P-Pokémon game. She…she said I’d p-p-probably e-e-enjoy it.”

“Huh.” Junko takes the GGA in her hands, fiddles with a few things, and then hands it back. “You picked Bulbasaur.”

Mikan hiccups. “Y-y-yes! He looked cute and…and lonely, so I thought—”

“You thought right.” Yasuke slumps onto the couch on Mikan’s other side, and she squeaks again, even though he’s got a manga volume open in his right hand and doesn’t appear to be paying any attention.

Junko sticks her tongue out at him. “Just because you picked Bulbasaur for your first starter—”

“And wiped the floor with your Squirtle.” Yasuke glances up just long enough to meet Junko’s eyes. “By the game’s logic, that means he’s the better of the two.”

Junko rolls her eyes. “Also means that Mukie’s basic Charmander is better than your stupid ass Bulbasaur.” She brushes her fingers through Mikan’s hair and offers her a near-petty smile. “Your Bulbasaur is fine, bun. It’s just his that’s shit.”

Yasuke glares at her. “Ugly bitch.”

Junko leans over and kisses his forehead. “But you love me.”

Yasuke grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t counter her. Instead, he leans against Mikan’s shoulder. “Bulbasaur your favorite?”

“N-n-no,” Mikan says, setting the GGA down in her lap. She brushes strands of her uneven, disheveled hair back out of her face. “I-I-I mean, I don’t…I don’t know. I haven’t...I haven’t gotten very far.” Then she bites her lower lip, hesitating. “B-B-But I always really…really liked Chansey?”

“Hah!” Junko slaps Mikan’s back, just between her shoulder blades, and Mikan startles again. (It doesn’t really hurt or anything. She just wasn’t expecting it.) Then she grins, huge and proud. “Knew you’d be good at this! Chansey’s the best.”

Yasuke’s face grows darker and more sullen, which seems like it would be hard to do – and maybe no one else would notice – but Mikan does. He grumbles out, “I hate Chansey.”

Mikan shivers. “I-I-I’m s-s-sorry!”

But Junko just cackles. “Never did figure out how to get past my tank, did you?” She kisses Mikan’s cheek and pretends to ignore how her already red cheeks grow redder. “It’s not you. We just used to practice competitive shit, and if you slap an Eviolite on Chansey, she’s a boss. Perfect for stalling people out.”

“O-o-oh.” Mikan stares down at the GGA in her lap. “I like her because all of the…all of the Pokémon nurses have one. If…if they were real, I-I-I’d probably…I’d probably have one.”

Junko’s grin broadens. “Oh, you’re cute.” Her gaze flicks over to Yasuke even as she plays with Mikan’s hair, idly braiding it and unbraiding it and braiding it again. “Yasuke would probably have one, too, then. He’d hate it.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Oh, I know!” Junko jumps up. “We should get our games and play with you!” She shoots a look over to Yasuke. “You still have yours, right?”

Yasuke shrugs. “Doubt it. You don’t really bring that shit to be a doctor. It gets boring.”

Junko rolls her eyes. “Everything is boring, Yasu-kun. What’s your point?”

It’s a few days later. Junko’s off for a fashion shoot, which gives Yasuke a moment of freedom to read when he isn’t working on their combined project, so it isn’t too surprising when he finds Mikan in one of the lounge areas. She glances up, cheeks flushing a soft red, and then back to the GGA in her hands. She hasn’t had a lot of time to play, but Chiaki’s said she could keep it, and it’s been nice to see all the new Pokémon that aren’t in the anime, creatures that she’s never seen before and that are so, so cute.

Yasuke sits next to her, an old, scuffed GGA in his hands along with a cable. “Here,” he says, handing her one end of the cable. “Plug this in, and find a mon you hate to trade me, and then close your eyes.”

“U-u-um.”

It takes more than a few seconds. Mikan fiddles with the cable, trying to figure out where to plug it in, and then has to go out and catch a new Pokémon that she doesn’t want to keep. (She wants to keep all of her Pokémon so far. That’s why she caught them! She doesn’t catch ones she doesn’t like.) Then, once all of that is done, she closes her eyes, just as Yasuke requested.

Yasuke tilts Mikan’s screen toward him – his fingers brushing gently across hers – and then sets it back. “Okay,” he says. “Open up.”

Mikan opens her eyes, only to see a Chansey of different colors on her screen. Instead of her healthy pink and deeper pink accents, this one looks unhealthily jaundiced, with green accents. Her brow furrows. “Is she…is she sick?”

“No. Pokémon can’t get sick.”

“One of mine got a virus once—”

“That’s a game mechanic.” Yasuke glares at her. “That Nanami didn’t teach you anything, did she?��

Mikan shakes her head furiously. Then she glances up at him and meets his eyes. “B-b-but why does she look sick? Is this…are you…are you making fun of me?” Tears creep at the corners of her eyes.

“No, you—” Yasuke cuts himself off and rubs his forehead with one hand. “That,” he says, finally, “is a shiny. An extremely rare color variant of a Pokémon. All of them have one, but you usually only have a one in eight thousand chance of finding one.”

“A-a-and you’re giving this…to me?” Mikan barely squeaks out. “Wh-wh-why?”

Yasuke shrugs. “Because I thought you’d like it. And you’re kind of a shiny person.” He slumps back, head resting on the back of the couch, and stares at the ceiling. “I started breeding a bunch of them for Junko. Thought she’d like having a shiny Chansey on her competitive team. But you have to have perfect stats for that sort of thing, so breeding a shiny like that is fucking hard. She got bored before I got one.” He glances over and taps Mikan’s GGA screen. “In fact, that’s the only shiny Chansey I ever bred.”

“You bred—”

“Waste of my free time,” Yasuke mutters under his breath. Then he meets Mikan’s eyes. “Until now.”

Mikan blushes. “Th-th-thank you.”

“Mm.” Yasuke huffs. “Just make sure you save it. Wouldn’t want you to lose it.”

“R-r-right!!”

#bandit fic #danganronpa #dr2 #dr0 #mikan tsumiki #junko enoshima #yasuke matsuda #junkan #matsushima #matsumiki #enomatsumiki #brought to you by pm7's pokemon shiny stream #wanted to gift it to you on ao3 too but it wouldn't let me!!

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nicotine-noah · 1 month ago

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closed starter for @adrasian

Dancing was fun at the best of times but it was even more fun with all the drugs and booze coursing through Noah's veins. He'd long ago lost track of everything he'd taken, just relishing in the fact that he could take things at all and finally be messed up enough for that undercurrent of anger he always had to go away for a while. He absolutely intended to get as fucked up as possible but he wasn't yet at the point where he couldn't remember anything (though he was very much aiming to get there). He was feeling pretty damn good, though, crushed in among the other dancing bodies, the bass thrumming in his chest and his head spinning just enough to make it amazing. All the exposed skin from his costume made it even better, as someone's hand trailed over his hip and someone else's lips touched his neck. The name of this bar was accurate as hell because euphoria was definitely what Noah was feeling right now.

He actually did need a break, though, as much as it felt like he could've kept dancing forever. Noah also needed another drink. He managed to make his way to the edge of the dance floor and stumble his way free of the crush of bodies only to bump into someone, spin, and trip falling sideways into a booth. He landed on his back, arm banging off the table which stung brightly for a moment before he burst out laughing at how ridiculous that was. Well, at least he was sitting down now. Hauling himself into a sitting position he blinked as he noticed there was already someone in the booth and across from him. "Hey." He grinned, squinting and not recognizing the person. "Some fall, huh? My ears crooked?" He reached up to adjust the ears on their headband, unknowingly making them a lot more crooked than they had been and laughing again. The guy seemed familiar and Noah dropped his hand from the headband, turning to face him properly. His ears were ringing from the music and his vision was a little blurry but the face finally came to him and he slapped the table as he remembered. "You're the pushy angel!" Far from sounding offended by that, Noah was delighted he'd remembered. "You drinkin' vodka?" He leaned across and grabbed Adrasia's glass (after a couple failed attempts) and took a sip, making a face and nearly spitting it back out. "Water? The fuck kinda bullshit is this?" He put the glass back down, clearly disgusted, and enthusiastically waved over a waiter. "Hey! Yeah, we need shots like now. Like...four shots of..." he squinted at Adrasia again, trying to think of something fun but it was kind of hard to think at all. "...tequila! Lime and salt too."

#c: adrasia #adrasia1 #krovs halloween 2024 #best of luck adra lol

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mystwrites · 1 year ago

Note

NOW IM GONNA ASK IN THE CORRECT WAY BC I DIDN'T KNOW ABT SS

CAN I REQUEST #11 WITH LEE OBANAI AND LER TOMIOKA?

yesss!! i finally got around to your drabble!! this is a unique pairing but yes, i’ll do it! i think they’d have a funny love/hate friendship!

(sentence starters are closed!)

They sat in silence.

Giyuu and Obanai were oddly unusual together. The two barely interacting at the Hashira meetings and barely interacting together in their free time unless Sanemi was with them. However, Sanemi unfortunately couldn’t meet up and was sent on another mission, leaving the two awkwardly staring at one another for a good ten minutes, unsure of what to do or say to start a decent conversation without bickering.

“Soooo…” Obanai muttered, hoping to break the awkward silence between him and his companion. “How’s it going…?”

“Fine…” Giyuu replied, nervously. “I…uhhh…sorry…”

“For what?” Obanai asked, frowning.

“For annoying you with my face.”

“That’s not it, idiot! I just don’t like how you never smile!”

“Neither do you!”

Obanai scowled at Giyuu, Kaburamaru looking between the two, scared a fight will break out. Instead, Obanai sighed and seemed to relax much to the white snake’s relief.

“Is it cuz of the mask?”

“More like your expression.”

“Ohh!! How dare you!! I can smile and make other faces than the angry ones you see!!”

“Seems hard to believe!”

“Go on, make me smile!”

Giyuu smirked at the challenge, Obanai suddenly feeling warm, his hands a little clammy. The smirk unnerved him.

“Are you ticklish?” Giyuu asked. “I’m not a funny person but I know a few ways to make people laugh.”

“N-no…” Obanai squeaked, his answer sounding more like a question than an answer.

“Oh come on!” Giyuu chuckled, grabbing Obanai’s sides before he could run. “How can someone not be ticklish?”

Obanai gave Giyuu a glare that said he was serious. However, knowing the glare held no real threat, Giyuu reached over and squeezed just above Obanai’s knee, satisfied when the other let out a yelp and slapped his hand away. Seeing this as an invitation to explore more, Giyuu poked Obanai’s hip and up his side as he tried to scoot back.

“Noooo! G-Giyuu Tomioka!” Obanai warned, his eyes widening as Giyuu’s smirk grew. “Noooo!!! Giyuu, nooo!! Aaahahahahahaa!!!”

“See?” Giyuu chuckled, finding a rather sensitive spot just below his armpits. “You are ticklish!”

Kaburamaru quickly slithered off of Obanai’s shoulders, observing the scene before him. Knowing he knew all of Obanai’s ticklish spots he sneakily slithered under Obanai’s uniform, the man squeaking in shock.

“Kaahahahaburamaru!! Nooohoho!! Dohohon’t help him!!” Obanai wheezed, slapping at Giyuu’s hands.

“Hehe! Looks like Kaburamaru on my side!!” Giyuu snickered, digging into Obanai’s hips.

“Dahahahamn!!!!”

#demon slayer tickling #kny tickling #tickle drabbles #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #lee!obanai #ler!giyuu

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writtenjewels · 2 years ago

Text

See No Evil

It was completely dark when Jason opened his eyes. He coughed out the lungful of dirt he had inhaled when he fell and reached up to turn on his flashlight. Nothing happened. He gave the light a sharp slap with his palm but it still remained off.

Well, fuck me. Not only did he fall into some hole, but he busted his flashlight while doing it. This was going to make getting out of here a hell of a lot harder. Jason took off his backpack hoping something inside might help. He found his fire starting kit and eagerly took it out.

Jason could hear the strikes of the starter but he didn't see any sparks. Something was very wrong here. He paused, turning his head to take in his surroundings again. It was complete darkness, like he had his eyes closed. Surely his eyes should have adjusted to the point where he'd pick up something, even if it was just a shape.

“Fuck,” he cursed out loud. “Fuck.” Hands shaking, he returned the kit to his pack. What the hell was he going to do now? He heard a voice calling out and he turned his head eagerly in the direction. “Hello?” he answered. “Someone there?” Jason's heart pounded while he waited for an answer. He could hear the sound of feet approaching.

“So you fell down here, too,” a voice remarked. The accent was one Jason didn't recognize. He squinted into the darkness.

“Do I know you?”

“No, I don't think we've met before,” the voice answered hesitantly. “Is there anyone else here?”

“Not sure,” Jason shrugged. He fumbled for his radio. “This is Mailman Two-One Actual to all call signs. Anybody read me?” He got static as a response.

“I couldn't reach anyone, either,” the voice told him. Footsteps told that the person was moving closer to Jason. “It may be just us.”

Jason took a careful step in the voice's direction, sliding his foot across the ground when he moved. It was the most disorienting feeling to not be able to see. He continued taking shuffling steps until his toe nudged against something solid. His heart skipped and he lifted his hand, brushing fabric. Jason held back the shudder of relief even as he closed his fingers around the material.

“Are you all right?” the voice asked him in concern.

“I'm fine. Just fuckin' great.” Jason turned his face where he thought the speaker's face might be. “Just makin' sure you were real.”

“I understand what you mean.” Warm fingers rested over Jason's hand. Jason's fingers twitched and the feeling disappeared. “This is a very strange place; I wasn't entirely sure you were real at first, either.”

“Well, we're both real enough.” Jason tugged gently on what he assumed was the man's sleeve. “My name's Jason.”

“Salim,” the other returned. “Listen, Jason. I think it would be best if we work together in finding a way out of here.”

“Yes!” Jason agreed, closing his hand around Salim's arm. He felt the man stiffen. “Uh, why don't you lead?”

“All right.” Salim pulled away from Jason's touch. Jason felt his stomach sink down in horror. He was frozen, heart beating wildly. He slid his foot forward hoping to nudge against Salim's shoe again. “What's the matter?” Salim asked him.

“I can't... fuck.” Jason gritted his teeth. “I can't fuckin' see anything. The fall fucked up my sight somehow.” There was silence for a few moments.

“You aren't messing with me,” Salim realized. “You really can't see me.” Silence fell again, but to Jason's relief he felt Salim's hand close around his. He didn't fight it as Salim guided his hand back up until Jason could grip onto fabric.

“Thanks,” Jason said. “Now let's get goin'.” Salim moved forward and Jason stumbled a little before picking up the pace. He closed his hand around Salim's arm again.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Salim assured him. Jason merely tightened his grip and continued to follow Salim. It was still disorienting to walk without seeing where he was going, but at least he wasn't alone anymore.

[another weird/random idea of mine. Not tagging the ship since nothing shippy has happened yet]

#salim othman #jason kolchek #house of ashes

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aching-tummies · 6 months ago

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RP-Starter: Hooked

Inspiration: Crochet hooks

This one's for all the navel fans out there. I've been dreaming of this scenario for weeks and finally managed to type it up after indulging in the real thing alone for a while. I have the hooks, I just need another set of hands to do what I want with all these hooks.

Closed-mouth groans greet your ears as you come home. Following the noises brings you to the living room. I'm reclined on the couch, lap covered in a tangled mess of yarn and a project in-progress. My hook-caddy rests on the seat to my left, armrest to my right. My hands aren't working on the project, as they should be. Instead, both of my hands are resting on my belly--unusually domed outward. My shirt has been bunched up, framing the distended swell and accentuating it even more.

"Ooohh…nnngh….mmmmph…" I moan as I press my fingers all over my belly. With each pressing, you can tell that my stomach is packed tight as my fingers don't sink in as much as they should. The unhappy, constant grumbling from my insides is also a give-away that there's something filling it all up and making things really uncomfortable.

My eyes find yours.

"Nnngh…w-welcome home, babe." I mutter. "Phew…nnngh…stomach is taking a long time to process today. Whatever's in here has been in here for the last four hours and only now decides it's going to kick up a fuss." I mutter, patting my distended belly for emphasis and mewling in discomfort at the achey reverberations from the slapping.

A devious smirk stretches on your face as you approach the couch. A silver glint catches your eye and you reach for the conveniently-placed tools. My crochet hook case included space for lace-hooks--needle-like, milimetre or less in diameter, rounded at the end just enough to not pierce when it jabs into flesh--not easily, at least. You pick up two, a stray lace hook that I likely used to get at a stray strand of something, haphazardly left on top of the caddy rather than inserted back into the holder. The other is the 3.5mm that I've been working with. Gripping one hook in each hand, you get to work.

Using the 3.5 as something like forceps, you dig it into my navel. I flinch, squealing as the cool metal prods at my overly-sensitive navel. You advance, knee coming up to straddle my legs as you reach in with the lace-hook and begin to poke around, swirling it in the deep cavern that is my sensitive innie, using the 3.5 to push and pull flesh out of the way as you try to find a good view of the deepest part of my core.

My stomach gurgles angrily, intestines indignant at being poked so harshly with the hooks.

You snarl, still unable to see the bottom of my navel. A new hook joins yours in the search, me having grabbed a 3.0mm. I take over with the 3.5 and use them to pry my navel open for your scrutiny. You poke around with the lace needle, reaching over to free another from the holder.

"Oooh…nnng…" Open-mouthed groans and mewls reach your ears as you piston the lace hooks one right after the other, scratching and poking at the deepest parts of my navel. "Nnngh…b-babe…c-carefull. I'm s-so full…i-it's r-really sensitive right now." I murmur.

You continue to poke around, stretching the sensitive flesh of my navel to uncover the hiiden folds in the flesh, poking and prodding with the hooks as you do. My intestines grumble angrily after particularly sharp jabs, clearly disturbed by your actions.

Send me your best responses--where do we go from here?

#tummy kink #navel kink #tummy ache kink #upset tummy #stomach ache #tummy noises

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crackshipparadise · 10 months ago

Text

Until I Found You Chap. 7-Your Name is Moonjumper??

I’m excited to share this chapter! This chapter has been in my head for weeks since I planned it! I quickly had to work on this story before working on any other fanfictions, which I was doing until my brain said, "Work on this one before anything else" or “Why not both?!”

Also, give big thanks to @bittybattybunny for the drawing they made for me! Go check out their stories! She writes really good fanfictions and is an amazing artist!!!

Give a big thanks to @gigilefache and @mun-auroralore for being my beta readers!

Enjoy!

Sara slowly opened her eyes-and quickly gasped upon noticing that she wasn’t on the ground, but flying in the air.

“W-What?!” She exclaimed, confused as to why she was flying. She looked up-and felt her heart drop when she noticed a ghost carrying her with his puppet strings. She tried to remove the strings from her hand, but couldn’t.

“H-Hey! What are you doing? Put me down!” Sara yelled.

The ghost looked down, causing Sara to shiver as she saw his mask. They took her up onto a rooftop so no one else could see them.

Once she was on her feet, Sara struggled to get the strings off her-but the ghost went ahead and removed them from her. After the strings were removed, She was able to meet the ghost face-to-face.

He wore a red regal outfit, a crescent moon-shaped mask, and had blue hair.

Sara stepped back-but saw she was on top of a roof and yelp.

“W-Why did you bring me up here?” she asked.

The ghost titled his head, confused. He floated closer to Sara.

She realized she couldn’t step back any further and was terrified.

“Don’t come any closer!” she cried.

The ghost froze. He looked hurt by Sara being so upset.

“I told myself: No more ghosts, no more entities, and no more supernatural crap!” Sara cried.

The ghost tried to reach out to her-but she slapped his hand away.

“Go away!” Sara screamed, turning away as she started to cry.

The ghost stood there for a while; he didn’t do anything other than watch her cry. He felt bad, and decided to leave her alone for a bit.

Before the ghost could leave, Sara took a glance and saw him floating away from her. Once she was calm, she brushed the tears from her eyes, and slowly went over to the ghost.

“Hey, sorry I snapped like that,” she said, calmly. “I just had a bad experience with ghosts and entities, especially those with puppet strings.”

The ghost turned to her, then looked at his hands, before frowning.

“It’s not your fault,” Sara reassured him. “You don’t know me.”

The ghost’s eyes widened. He looked like he was trying to speak, but he couldn’t.

If I speak, she’ll know who I am, he thought to himself.

As Sara stared at the ghost she realized he looked different than many of the entities she’d met in her life.

“You act different than many of the entities in my life,” she stated.

The ghost tilted his head in confusion, mouthing the words, “How so?”

“Well…” she started, “for starters, you're not that creepy-and two, you don’t talk.”

The ghost frowned and tried to talk-but he shook his head.

“I’m guessing you can, but you don’t want to,” Sara ventured.

The ghost’s eyes widened as he nodded with a smile.

“So, do you have a name?” she asked.

The ghost nodded. He opened his mouth ready to say his name, but held back. He thought for a bit-and snapped his fingers when an idea came to mind. He then used his fingers, showing Sara he had two words in his name.

It then came to Sara that the ghost was doing charades to help her guess his name.

“Okay, your name is two words,” She realized.

The ghost nodded and pointed at the sky.

She looked up and tried to guess what the ghost's name was. “Is it Sky?”

The ghost shook his head and pointed at the sky again.

“Star?” She guessed again.

The ghost sighed and decided to point at the moon this time, hoping to help her.

“Oh, Moon! Your name is Moon?” Sara answered.

Moon nodded in reply. However, he motioned his name had two words and had to act out word number two. However, Moon was stuck, as the movement to part of his name had to involve legs.

He was going to try though; it shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Moon made movements to look like jumping up and down-but without legs, it looked like he was stretching.

Sara thought hard, because she wasn’t sure if it was Moonstrech or Moonjump. “Is it Moonjumper?” she guessed.

Moonjumper’s eyes sparkled with stars as he smiled and nodded. He flew and hugged Sara tight as she guessed his name.

“Okay! You're a friendly ghost,” she said as Moonjumper nuzzled her. “Not gonna treat me like a puppet, or make deals with me?”

Moonjumper’s eyes widen in horror as he let go of her. He shook his head, denying he’d do anything to harm her. He then pointed at her, as if asking if that happened to her.

Sara nodded. “It’s a long story. If I tell you, you’ll hate me,” she stated.

Moonjumper frowned and put a hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him and sighed. “I know you want me to bring it up, but I’m just not ready yet.”

Moonjumper nodded and hugged her, understanding that he wouldn’t force it out of her.

“Thank you,” She said.

Moonjumper gave a wide smile to say, “You're welcome.”

“Now,” Sara sighed as she tried to find a way down, “I’d like to go home, please.”

Moonjumper smiled and pointed at his hand, wanting to use his strings to take her home.

Sara’s eyes widened as she felt nervous. She hated the feeling of having the strings around her hands again.

Before she could react, Moonjumper put his strings around her torso and lifted her off the roof, setting her down gently on the ground below. Once safely on the ground, he removed the strings from her.

“Oh! T-Thank you,” Sara said, slightly blushing.

She then started walking-but Moonjumper was right behind her.

“Making sure I’m okay, huh?” Sara asked.

Moonjumper nodded, giving a snicker. He waited a bit before surprising her by lifting her with his strings and putting her down again.

She turned and saw him chuckling, which made her smirk.

“Really funny, huh?” she asked.

He smirked back as he rolled his eyes. When he looked back, he saw Sara was gone, and got worried as he flew off looking for her. When he turned a corner and didn’t see Sara, and it scared him.

Moonjumper then felt a tap on his shoulder, which caused him to jump. He turned and saw it was Sara.

She chuckled at her little joke, which caused the ghost to smile and blush at the girl.

“Gotcha,” Sara said.

Moonjumper smirked and sighed; he couldn’t top a prank like that.

The two kept on walking back to Sara’s apartment. On the way there, he picked up a red carnation from a closed flower shop and held it close so Sara couldn’t see.

“Well, here we are,” Sara said. “Thank you for keeping an eye on me.”

He smiled as if saying, “No problem.”

He then handed her the carnation-which surprised her.

“O-Oh thank you,” Sara said, taking the flower. “Wow, it's beautiful.” She smiled.

Like you, He thought.

Without thinking, Moonjumper leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

Her cheeks flushed, eyes wide as she turned toward the ghost.

The ghost got embarrassed, and quickly flew away in the blink of an eye.

Sara stood there in shock, feeling the spot Moonjumper kissed her.

~~~~~~~~~

“I’m telling you, Wiatt, it was weird! You have to have something about what I was with tonight!” Sara exclaimed.

Once she went inside her apartment, she decided to call Wiatt, as he was the expert on mysterious creatures.

“Sara,” Wiatt groaned on the other line, “I don’t know why you couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning. I’m exhausted from today.”

“I-I just need to know if this ghost was something you knew of,” She explained.

“Look, I'll bring in my books about weird ghosts and creatures to work tomorrow. Right now I need to sleep,” Wiatt reassured.

Before Sara could reply she heard the phone hang up, causing her to get frustrated. She collapsed on her bed and tried to go through her contacts to find someone else she could talk to-but soon saw Artemis was calling her.

Quickly she answered. “H-Hello!” she exclaimed.

“Hey Sara, you made it home okay?” Artemis asked.

“Y-Yeah. I walked with a friend,” She answered.

It was a lie; she walked with a mysterious ghost-but she wasn’t going to tell Artemis about that.

“Oh, that’s good,” Artemis replied

Now, it was Sara’s turn to ask questions.

“Is everything okay?” Sara asked.

“Y-Yeah!” Artemis answered though it sounded a bit nervous.

“You sure, you sound a bit nervous?”

“I am. Positive!”

Sara frowned. She knew Artemis was keeping something from her. She could relate.

“Well, alright. If anything is wrong let me know, okay?” Sara reminded him.

“Okay,” Artemis replied. “Sleep well.”

“You too. Night.”

They both hung up for the night.

With a sigh, Sara collapsed on her bed and looked up at her ceiling. She was too tired to call anyone else, and decided to wait until morning and see if Wiatt or anyone could give her info on Moonjumper.

#a hat in time #ahit #covetmoon #welcome to dreamworld #wtdw #crossover crack ship #crackship #wtdw sara #ahit moonjumper

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