#look at all that RUMP

[tojisbbygworl]

Good Gawd

[tremendousmothergoat]

(source)

[hippieuncle]

We are cringe but We are free ♥

[nexus-nebulae]

tumblr needs to rlly make a tag filter that's "do not even show me a hint of this existing whatsoever" and then another one that's just "i need a lil warning first" bc sometimes i would react less badly to certain things if i just knew what was coming beforehand

[quill-pen]

*wears green leggings to church today for St. Patty's*

*gets look in bathroom mirror of how chicken-legged I look*

*reminded of how knobby my knees look when I sit down*

*sighs* Yep. Can't wear leggings without a long skirt anymore.

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | masterlist

root

tw: alcohol/drinking, puke/vomit

Your period is late. 

She is a fickle bitch—always coming and going whenever she pleases, often arriving without warning and then popping back in for one last hurrah just when you thought she’d left. For once, she is quiet. You know she is here somewhere, lurking where you don’t want her to. 

The nail on your thumb taps against your phone screen as you count days and weeks on your calendar. One. Two. Four. Twenty-six. Twenty-eight. Today makes twenty-nine. A synodic month; perhaps your body wishes to align with the phases of the moon rather than your own biological clock. Lunar—your sweet Luna. The push and pull. The wax and wane. An ethereal force is here to guide your body until it is pliant—respectful. 

Though, you are exhausted with the supernatural; the otherworldly. With things infinitely stronger than you. With things that diminish you into some infinitesimal creature. 

Your Ghost. 

Vibration from your phone erases all memory of your Ghost from your psyche as a message pops up on screen, obscuring the calendar you’ve been staring at for the better part of half an hour. 

Jane: Here! Ready to head out? 

Thick cut chips from your friends’ favorite pub coats your fingertips in grease. It shines, gossamer beneath the flickering sconces that hang above your head like bombs waiting to fracture on the floor. You’re perched at a round table, elbows resting as you lick yourself clean. They chirp like birds as they lament about their long weeks at work, a sentiment you nod along with as you choke the neck of your beer. Its head sizzles, foam thick and heavy upon the amber liquid. 

Everyone else is already on their second, but you’re still struggling with your first. It tastes stale. Washes over your tongue like flat soda and sawdust. Every ridge along the roof of your mouth shrivels at the flavor. Noisome. Rancid. 

How’s your dream visitor doing? 

They ask their questions in jest with curling lips and pearly teeth. Their words poke like a needle—14 gauge straight through the skin, ripping through epidermis and cartilage. You’d bleed dry, but you slap a bandaid over the wound with a smile. 

“Dunno. Must be off on vacation.” 

It’s a lie. Ghost doesn’t take vacations. 

Not from you. 

He still visits you regularly when you’re in limbo—that purgatory that weighs on your chest and eyelids as you yearn for the freedom that lies on the other side of your paralysis. The most recent time you ran into him, you were on your stomach. Neck craning to the side, you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Warmth on your back, hands on your hips, holding your rump into the air to piston into you. You think if you dusted your skin, you’d find his fingerprints lingering on you like a brand. 

You carry him with you, though you often question both your sanity and the validity of his tangibility. 

Your friends quickly drop the subject—bored with your strange dreams and tired eyes—and you are grateful for it. Drowning your discomfort with the hoppy taste of beer, you force the churning in your stomach into submission as you nod along with their stories. Work. Their husbands. A fling. Good sex. Bad sex. 

Something twists. Gnarly fingernails find purchase in your torso and it writhes. Deep. Kicks its feet in your solar plexus. The oxygen it saps from your lungs leaves you dizzy. World spinning. Body too light, table unsteady. 

You excuse yourself to the washroom where the air is cooler and not as thick, but the shock leaves your muscles twitching. The faucet turns on with a squeak. You look at yourself in the mirror, at the face you hardly seem to recognize anymore. Three stalls stand behind you—looming like gallows. As soon as you dip your hands in the water to wash your face, your stomach lurches. 

All the contents of your evening—beer, salty chips, and grease—spills into the bin. The alcohol tasted bad going down, but it’s ten times worse coming back up. Bile, rot; the apotheosis of shame and madness. As soon as you think you’re finished, the scent of it overwhelms your nose, hitting it with bilous acidity, and your stomach contracts again, leaving you to dry heave. 

A tender hand rests on your back between your shoulder blades, pressing into your spine, and your head snaps to the side as you cough. A stranger. Mussed hair, bright blue eyes—her cheeks are florid, though you can’t tell if it’s from her intoxication or her makeup. 

“You alright, sweets? Let me grab you a water.” 

Your friend takes you home afterwards. She doesn’t bother to wait around to watch you enter your apartment before speeding off to rejoin everyone at the pub. Heat plagues you with severe hot flashes that leave you sweating through your clothes. You strip, baring your feverish skin to your apartment before wandering off to the bathroom where you sleep on the floor. Algid tile embraces you. It’s the warmest hug you think you’ve ever received. 

Chalking it up to your impending menstrual cycle, you start wearing pads when Monday rolls around. You’re conscious of it. Too aware. The bulky item presses against your sex as you uncomfortably sit at your desk. Each time a wave of discharge expels, you rush to the bathroom, eager to find blood and endometrium. 

There is nothing. 

You are pusillanimous in the drug store. Head bowed, shoulders curled—the family planning section feels like a cage. One with cameras that show your face and the lack of a ring on your finger as you grab a pregnancy test kit from the shelf. A laughing stock. Something to pity. Something to smirch. You are plenty old enough—no longer some teen girl about to break terrible news to her parents—but you are not ready. 

Incapable. Too dim witted. You are not ready for a child. 

But you can’t have a child—you can’t be pregnant. You remind yourself as much as you make it back inside your apartment. When was the last time you even had sex? Well over a year ago. No, more than that. Your celibacy has outlasted any gestation period. 

You are not pregnant—you tell yourself this as you flee into the bathroom, locking the door behind you as if there is someone who might interrupt you if you don’t. Still wary of the eyes you swear lingered on you at the pharmacy. Cardboard tears as you break into the package, yanking out the stick as if you hold the elixir to your cure—to whatever sickness ails you. Something to quell this madness. 

You are not pregnant—you repeat this as you yank your pants down and sit on the toilet, legs spread awkwardly far. Anxiety blocks your bladder, makes it difficult for you to do your business, but you remind yourself that there is no reason to fret. This is for peace of mind only.

You cap the stick as soon as you’re finished and place it on the counter for it to sit as you clean yourself up. Button clasped, hands washed; you rub at your face as your heart slithers through your esophagus. Each pulse threatens to crack your ribs, so you breathe deeply, you expand your chest to give it more room so that silly muscle might show you mercy. 

After all, you are not pregnant. 

Though, the two lines staring up at you beg to differ.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 10)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

In the wee hours of the morning, you wake up to a man’s hands tilting your pelvis back. There’s a pillow propping your hips up, your cheek pressed to the mattress and rump high in the air. You must have been sleeping when he turned you over onto your stomach. Maybe you turned over in your sleep and he took advantage of the fact, hooking an arm under you to lift your hips up and stuff the pillow under there.

Either way, he has you right where he wants you. Rough hands spread the cheeks of your backside apart to give him space to lap at your sex from behind. The moment you feel his tongue part your folds and lick a line up the center of you, you panic. Sleep sloughs off you in a single rogue wave that submerges you before you swim your way to the surface, skin tingling and heart frantically beating in your chest.

Your memory of the night before comes back piecemeal, only the soreness between your legs registering at first. You kick back weakly, trying to rip yourself away from the stranger behind you. A desperate, panicked noise tumbles out of you when he doesn’t so much as budge. 

The man pulls away from you just long enough to growl, “Quit fussin’—’s just me,” before giving you a tight smack across your rear. 

You’re awake and present now, jolted forcibly into consciousness. When the sound of John’s voice washes over you, your panic abates. Not a stranger, not a stranger, just your husband. It quells the fear in your belly that threatens to spark off a wave of hysteria. 

Then he runs his tongue up your slit again, his beard chafing the delicate skin of your sex, and you howl into the pillow.

Thick fingers stretch you open until you’re loose enough to take him again. He says as much in your ear before climbing over you and feeding his dick into your cunt. When his hips surge forward, hands braced on your shoulders to hold you in place, you choke on a gasp. He gives you no time to recover. The slow adoration of the evening’s love making is long forgotten, replaced by the mindless rutting of a ravenous man. He woke up with an empty belly.

You can feel his hunger when he bears down over you, holding you in place. The frantic pace of his hips. Hairy chest and belly to the tacky skin of your back. The lurid, wet sound of his flesh smacking against yours, thick cock spearing you open again and again. He bottoms out with every thrust, reaching a depth that feels impossible. All you can do is take it.

“John—” you start, but he reaches around to wrap a hand around your mouth, trapping the rest of your sentence behind his palm. Your cry comes out muffled, incomprehensible. 

“Shh—just let me—” John grunts, trailing off into a groan when your walls squeeze around him. You can’t help it. 

A disgusting thing in you is thrilled that he wants you this badly, that he loses control of his faculties this way. Trades in that veneer of a righteous man for animal lust. A sick deviance that you didn’t know you possessed raises its head and relishes in his need. It makes you cant your hips back to take him better, the new angle making you see stars. 

You find yourself infuriated at being denied the chance to look at him, sweating and panting like a bull, muscled chest rising and falling with his breaths. 

He’s too deep in the fog of exhaustion to say more than a few words. He’s mostly rough grunts behind you, breathing heavy into your neck, his sweaty palm still clamped over your mouth. He keeps it there even when your tongue lolls out and presses against his palm. 

Everything is hot and dark under the cover of night. Frustration builds and builds beneath your skin as you can hear his breath grow labored, your husband on the verge of coming. Unlike a few hours ago when he had you on your back, the root of his cock doesn’t grind against your clit in this position, pulling you back from the edge every time you think you’ll tip over.

He sucks and licks at the skin of your neck, his big palm swallowing up your pathetic mewls. When he fits his teeth into the crook of your neck, pressing down lightly, you give a whole body flinch. Any shame still lingering in you melts right out. 

When he comes, you feel the flood of warmth inside of you. The breath whooshes out of you when John puts his whole weight on top of you, forcing your body down into the mattress. He fucks you through his orgasm, the last few thrusts jostling you in his arms and making you cry out. Like he wants to make sure you take every single drop. 

You lie there panting until he pries his hand off your mouth, stroking up and down your side. For a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave you like that, right on the verge of reaching your peak, unsatisfied. Then, your eyes go wide when he shoves a hand under you and gropes around until his fingers find your pearl, rubbing it until your breathing goes high and hitched, coaxing your orgasm out of you. 

Your orgasm leaves you limp and sated. A mess in your bed. Too exhausted to even think about cleaning up. 

“Thank you, honey,” John mumbles, turning your head with the same hand that just made you come to draw you into a kiss. “Needed that.”

You don’t have the energy to respond, so you just hum instead. You don’t know how long it takes you to fall back asleep, but you lie there panting and twitching until it takes.

The morning has you fluttering around the house all nervously, somehow unsure of yourself. It feels like there’s been a fundamental shift in your marriage, like the house has finally settled in place. The next couple days are much the same. 

John just seems as self-assured as usual, almost smug about it. That drives you a bit wild.

He’s never been shy about touching you, but you hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back before. It’s like he can hardly bear to take his hands off you now, tugging you into his lap at night during his Bible study, something you follow along half-heartedly, your faith being more of a consequence of birth than anything. His faith is built on stronger foundations. You imagine he could quote verses from memory if pressed. 

In truth, nothing changes in any significant way. All that worrying for naught. John still takes you on trail rides to show you the lay of the land, taking you out so far as to see the herds of bison and wild horses down in the valley. You watch them silently from a distance as they graze, sustaining themselves on wild grasses and forbs. Cloves, daylilies, and milkweed. 

“Where are the bears?” you ask curiously. John snorts.

“I ain’t taking you out to see them, darlin’.”

In the evening after supper, John takes the horses into the stables and you offer to groom them while he sets up targets for shooting practice. He’s been insistent on teaching you how to shoot. It’s another skill that you otherwise might have gone your whole life without learning, but John makes it clear in no uncertain terms that you’ll learn.

Most of your shots are wildly off target, the birds in a nearby tree bursting into flight and taking to the skies when you accidentally shoot into the lower branches. You wince. John just laughs, showing you how to reload your gun.

Just like with learning how to ride a horse, you wake up in pain the following morning, moaning when your husband nudges you awake. He’s familiar enough with the sound of your pleasure to know that this is anything but that.

“Think you’ve earned a week off, bug,” he says, turning you over onto your tummy and massaging your shoulders.

You sigh. “Thank goodness.”

John laughs.

You squirm on the ride into town, muffling a yip when John pinches your thigh. It’s not your fault that the brute has been working you like a draft horse. When you tell him as much, he rolls his eyes.

“Think you can handle being on your own today?” John asks, his eyes locked on yours.

You’d roll your eyes if you didn’t think that would land you with a raw backside by nightfall. Over the last few weeks, he’s indulged your attitude more than a handful of times, relegating his discipline to a few curt words or a quick smack across your rump, but even you aren’t willing to test the limits of his leniency.

“Yes, daddy,” you quip instead. A little lip hasn’t hurt you yet.

You recognize the grave mistake you just made when you see the glint in his eye. “Daddy, huh? That right?”

You stare up at him blankly, struck dumb. “Uh. I didn’t…” The way he says the word makes your mouth go dry, mind empty. A desiccated tumbleweed rolls by in the distance. 

John’s lip curls up into a smile. Your stomach flips at the sight of the hunger receding in his gaze, descending back down into the abyss. “We’ll talk about that when we get home.”

“You’re not leaving me with Kate?” you ask, clearing your throat. A desperate attempt to steer the conversation away from your unfortunate slip up. It’ll be a cold day in hell before John Price lets go of an opportunity to use your own words against you though. 

He must be feeling rather magnanimous though because he holds your gaze for a moment longer before saying, “Not today, m’afraid. She has business out of town for the next few days, so she has someone minding the shop while she’s gone.”

You frown. “She went on her own?”

“‘Course not—Kyle went along with her. Sure she’ll be pleased that you asked though.”

“She’s been nice to me,” you mumble, mollified. A bit embarrassed to be caught worrying about anyone other than yourself.

It’s not entirely unreasonable. You have a hair trigger worry cultivated from the life you’ve lived. The events of the last month have only worsened your disposition to fret. Though Kate carries herself with the quiet confidence of a woman fully capable of taking care of herself, you can’t help the way your stomach aches at the thought of her traveling between towns on her own. That lonely, deserted stretch of road.

“I’m not planning on leaving town today—got no reason to. Figured you might enjoy having a day to look around town on your own, but you just give me a holler if you need me and I’ll come running the second I hear you.”

You understand the bigger picture here. He’s not quite letting go of the reins, but he is loosening his hold on them, giving you some slack. A few weeks ago, you would’ve waited until he rounded the corner and then bolted for the train station, luggage be damned. Even a stage coach would have sufficed. 

You can’t seem to locate that same impulse now. Instead, you find yourself nodding and then leaning up for a parting kiss. You almost feel a bit bereft as you watch John walk off. Almost lonely.

Without someone watching over you, you feel adrift. Lost at sea. It’s concerning to learn how dependent you’ve become on the company of others. Back home, there were stretches of days where your voice would go rusty from lack of use. 

Now you feel strangely unmoored without someone within earshot. 

You’d bet your bottom dollar that John really would come running if you were to shout though. The thought makes your heart flutter. You’re a far cry from the girl that came into town not that long ago. You can’t imagine how she’d feel about the notion—that all you need do is raise your voice above a whisper for the county sheriff to come running.

When you think of the lawmen you used to fear though, John’s face seems incongruous with the image in your head of a grim-faced sheriff chasing after you, rifle and handcuffs in hand. Not that he couldn’t be that man, of course, but it feels like a version of him far removed from the man whose bed you share. 

The John you know stands behind you when he teaches you how to hold a gun and pull it tight into your shoulder. The man you know helps you up onto Buttercup’s saddle and guides you with a hand on your back and stomach to help you find your rhythm. 

You shake the thought from your mind. You spend enough time around the man—you don’t need him occupying your every thought as well.

You take your midmorning coffee at the inn, catching up with the woman you met on your first day in town. The innkeeper gives you a perfunctory greeting upon your arrival before settling behind the front desk to tally up the week’s earnings and review the ledger. His wire-rim glasses slip down his nose whenever he has to bend down to better read his own notes. His wife notices as well, tisking at the tenth offense in as many minutes. 

The coffee grounds are visible at the bottom of your cup when you see yourself out. 

It occurs to you as you make your way around town that you know practically every person you pass by. Perhaps not intimately, but enough that you can hardly pass one of the buildings without someone stopping you to say hello. You bounce a baby in your lap at the bank, eat a slice of cake at the restaurant with the owner, and even stop in for a spot of tea at the courthouse when the circuit judge sees you pass by on your way to the library.

The camaraderie is disconcerting. You’ve gone the bulk of your life invisible, for all intents and purposes, and the attention you garner through your affiliation with John has you on edge. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but it gets under your skin after a while. Perhaps it is unpleasant. 

Your feelings are, as always, complicated. Knotted.

A former scullery maid could not hope for a better improvement to her life, but isn’t it unfortunate that it took someone else for the world to see your worth? You could resent them for it, all of them. But it’s pleasant to be sought after, lovely to share a conversation that doesn’t end in a command. How could you begrudge John for giving you that?

The library is quiet when you arrive. A simple two-room building situated close to the town church. An older woman fusses over you when you walk in, fetching you a cup of tea before showing you to a comfortable place to sit. 

“Were you looking for anything in particular, dear?” she asks after handing you a floral print cup with a dainty little handle meant for no more than two fingers. 

“Well actually,” you start, worrying at your lip with your teeth. “I was wondering if you might have anything…instructive.”

She blinks. “Instructive?”

“Yes, um…” You abruptly recall the story that John had concocted about your former life as a school teacher. The desire to reveal to this woman that you cannot, in fact, read suddenly stills on your tongue. “Poetry maybe?” The request comes out feebly. 

She brightens, however. “Of course. I should have some Dickinson, if you’ll give me a moment.”

You thank her when she returns with a book that has clearly just been dusted off, streaks of grime still present on the cover, but when you crack it open, all you can do is stare at the words on the page hopelessly. While a few you recognize as words you’ve heard read aloud or seen on signs or on the front page of the newspaper, you can’t make heads or tails of the rest. All you can do is pretend to read, flipping the page every couple of minutes when the librarian happens to glance over at you.

Now is the moment of your discontent. It’s not long before you get up and tell her that you have to be on your way, thanking her profusely for her hospitality. You leave disgruntled though, upset that you hadn’t considered the implications of John’s story. Another fabrication catching up to you. It leaves you feeling restless, no choice but to wander aimlessly through town.

Despite knowing most of their faces and names, you feel indescribably lonely. 

Your wandering leads you to the general store, where inside Kate’s replacement stands behind the counter and smiles politely when you come in. You contemplate turning right back around at first, but there are still plenty of hours left in the day and your plan to spend the afternoon in the library practicing your words is now in shambles, completely upending your schedule. You could return to the inn to practice your needlework with the innkeeper’s wife, but you don’t want to overstay your welcome. 

You sigh. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll be able to convince John to let you stay home alone. There’s plenty you can do around the house. 

If Kate were minding the store, you would’ve pulled up a chair, but instead you duck towards the back of the store to peruse the aisles in peace. The majority of the shopwares line the walls around the store—buggy whips, horse tack, lanterns, pails, and various farm tools—but the few standing shelves at the back of the store hold a variety of foodstuff that you’ve never seen before. Canned goods and spices, dried food and tins of ground coffee. 

Had you thought to check the pantry earlier, you might’ve been tempted to purchase something. You still have a half-full coinpurse in the pocket of your dress. It’s not as though you’re penniless.

You chew on your lip. You will, at some point, need to broach the topic with John if you don’t anticipate leaving for a while. You might as well have some spare change on hand.

The bell above the door chimes when someone else walks in, cutting off your train of thought.

At first, you pay them no mind. Tucked away behind the aisle as you are, there’s no chance of them seeing you. No reason for you to peek your head around and say hello. The floorboards creak under the weight of their boots with every step as they approach the counter. The sound of their footsteps has an interesting cadence, almost an arrogant swagger; you can tell that it’s a man. You can hear Kate’s replacement greet them. 

The spurs on his boots jingle with each step.

Curiosity nips at you, but you stay rooted in place, fighting the urge to get up on your tiptoes to look over the top of the shelf. Your stomach churns though. Despite not a single word spoken, the atmosphere in the store feels tense.

“Pardon me,” the newcomer finally says, his voice a molasses-thick drawl, almost sticking to the roof of his mouth. It’s not a voice you’ve ever heard before. “I’m wonderin’ if you might be able to help me with somethin’, seein’ as how I just got into town.”

“However I can, sir. What do you need help with?” the shopkeep asks.

You hear the man take something out of his pocket and then unfold it, the paper crinkling when he spreads it out across the counter. “Name’s Graves. I’m lookin’ for a girl and wonderin’ if she mighta passed through town. I’ve got a warrant to bring her back east on account of a murder charge.”

Every inch of your body goes cold.

[moonmaiden1996]

There's a Dog in My Spot

Astarion catches you in bed with with someone else. Humour

The soft glow of the campfire had long since faded, leaving the world swathed in a serene, quiet darkness. the last embers of the fire softly curling in the gentle wind. The night should have been peaceful—ideal for restful slumber or perhaps something more mischievous.

Astarion had been on a hunt, reveling in the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of finding a particularly robust boar. Its blood was rich, leaving him warm and feeling slightly frisky. Frisky enough to perhaps to indulge in a little rump in your bedroll tonight. He made his way back to camp, eager to spend the night in the company of his beloved partner-in-crime.

But instead of a warm welcome, he found this.

A sharp intake of breath escaped him as his crimson eyes settled on the sight before him. “Absolutely unacceptable,” he muttered, his voice slicing through the still night like a dagger.

You stirred, cracking one eye open groggily. “Huh… what?”

“This!” Astarion hissed, gesturing dramatically toward the foot of your bedroll while tapping his foot with exaggerated impatience. “This betrayal of the highest order!”

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you blinked blearily, trying to follow his gaze. It led you to Scratch, who lay blissfully curled up, tail twitching in his sleep.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice heavy with sleep.

He crossed his arms, looking affronted. “Your furry companion has claimed my spot—right there.” He jabbed a finger at the space beside you. “My place, darling. Mine. I can hardly believe my eyes.”

Still half-asleep, you blinked again. “Astarion, it’s just Scratch. He’s warm, and he was already here when I laid down.”

“That is no excuse!” he declared, his tone sharp and faintly wounded. “I step away for a mere moment—one!—and suddenly, I’m replaced in your bed by a mangy mutt? What’s next? A bear? A snake? Or…” He shuddered dramatically. “Even worse, Gale?”

Suppressing a laugh, you sighed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am not,” he insisted, clutching his chest as though he’d been gravely injured. “I’m simply pointing out the sheer audacity of this situation. And look at him! He doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty!”

Scratch, oblivious to the chaos, let out a soft snore and stretched his paws, clearly unbothered.

Your lips twitched as you fought to keep from laughing. “If it bothers you that much, why don’t you just move him?”

Astarion shot the sleeping dog a look of disdain mingled with reluctant hesitation. “Move him? Me? With my hands? Darling, he drools.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up fully. “Fine. I’ll move him.”

“Absolutely not,” Astarion said quickly, stepping forward as though to stop you. “You’ve done quite enough damage by letting this happen in the first place. I’ll… handle it.”

Lowering himself into a crouch, he reached out, poking Scratch’s side with the utmost delicacy. “You. Yes, you, fur-covered usurper. Off you go.”

Scratch stirred, blinking awake before wagging his tail with unbridled enthusiasm. In a display of canine affection, he licked Astarion’s outstretched hand, earning a strangled noise of horror.

“Ugh! Disgusting!” Astarion recoiled, wiping his hand furiously on his trousers as though he’d been branded. He turned to glare at you, as if this entire ordeal was your fault. “I’ll need to disinfect thoroughly after this.”

Despite his protests, Scratch eventually rose, stretching lazily before padding a few steps away to settle down once more with a contented yawn.

“There,” Astarion said, standing and dusting off his hands as though he’d performed a monumental task. “Crisis averted.”

You shook your head, amused. “You’re absurd. You know that, right?”

“Am I?” he asked, sliding gracefully into the now-vacant spot beside you. “Or am I simply a man who understands his worth?” He flashed you a smug smirk, leaning back with all the self-satisfaction of someone who had just triumphed over a formidable foe.

Smiling, you laid back down, tugging the blanket over both of you. “You’re something, all right.”

“Something irresistible,” he quipped, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You let out a sleepy chuckle, nestling against him. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

His voice softened, his earlier indignation melting away as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, my darling.”

Nearby, Scratch let out another snore, causing Astarion to sigh in exasperation. “But truly, the audacity of that dog…”

You only smiled, drifting off to sleep, content in the knowledge that both your vampire and your canine were exactly where they belonged.

Sooooo- What do you think? I am loving writing these cute little fics. As always LIKE.COMMENT.REVIEW. If you have a request make sure to leave anything you want to see.

[moonstruckme]

I have a fae!sirius ask, but only if you want to write it. I’m just dying to know about that long afternoon by the creek you mentioned. Love me some whimsy smut♥️♥️♥️

Thanks for requesting!

cw: smut mdni

fae!Sirius x whimsical!reader ♡ 609 words

It’s the sort of spring day that only truly warms after the sun is well and high. Patches of shade make one wrap their arms around themselves and shiver, but the grass by the creekbed feels warm underneath Sirius’ stomach. The daisy petals kissing your bare skin are soft and dry. 

You shiver anyway as the delicate inside of your thigh rubs against Sirius’ cheek. 

You’re laid on your back under the sun, Sirius between your legs and your skirt pushed up to grant him access to the bright, wet glisten that dwells there. A few strands of your hair have made their way into the creek, but he doesn’t think you’ve noticed. Not with his hands under your rump angling you upwards and his tongue licking greedily up your slit. 

Of all the new and interesting flavors you’ve brought Sirius, this is his favorite. He can’t get enough of you. Of the warmth of your thighs around his face, jumping whenever he detours from his task to nip at one of them. Of the sweet nectar he laps up from inside you. Of the delightful, breathy sounds that keep leaving you. 

“You aren’t saying anything,” he notes as he finds again the small bead at your center. 

You make an amusing noise. “I—I’m a bit preoccupied.” 

Sirius smiles, kissing the bead to get that same noise again. “I’ve never known you to be this quiet.” 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“That you’re enjoying yourself. Are you?” 

“I’m—ah—I’m enjoying myself.”

Your thighs start to tighten again. Sirius gives your bum a pinch so they fall away. 

“That’s nice to know.” 

“You knew already.” 

“Did I? And how might I have deduced that, lovely?” 

“Because I—you—” You trail off into giggles, the sound as sweet as tinkling bells. His funny girl. 

“What?” Sirius asks. 

“Look.” 

He leaves the cavern of your skirt-clad thighs. The muscles of his back ache pleasantly at the stretch after so long being still, and your eyes find his as soon as he comes into view. There’s a dragonfly perched on the tip of your nose. 

Truly, it’s a terribly endearing sight. Sirius thinks he probably falls more in love with you every day, an endless and torturous descent that worsens each time you smile or step carefully over an anthill or bring him flowers you picked in the meadow of his own forest because they made you think of him. If there’s a bottom to his love for you, he hasn’t found it yet. 

But you already know all that; now, Sirius wants to play. He schools his features and gives you a flat look. 

“Not enjoying yourself quite so much, if you’re so easily distracted.” 

“Sirius.” You don’t buy it for a second, tilting your head down to smile at him. The dragonfly flies away, but your eyes don’t follow it. They stay on him, pinched with happiness. “See, now look what you’ve done.”  

“What I’ve done? He was intruding.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair.” You sit up on your elbows to see him better. It seems as though you’re taking a break, but you wet your lips, gaze dropping to Sirius’ as you do. He thumbs some of your wet from the corner of his mouth just to watch your eyes follow the motion. “We’re in his home.” 

“It’s my home, too.” 

“Well, we have to share it.” 

Sirius hums. “I think I preferred when you were being quiet.” 

You laugh as he ducks back beneath your skirt, resuming where he left off, but your giggles soon peter off into gasps and sighs. Sirius doesn’t hear much else from you after that.

[twola]

just saw a post that said “missionary, so we can keep arguing” and i feel like you’d do that justice if you’re ever in the mood to write it lol xx

Oh holy shit. I’m now in the mood. Here’s a low honor Arthur secretly has feelings, but they are way WAY underneath. Also shoutout to @shootybangbang, who insisted on a few points to add to this.

Fortitude

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Next

“Who is it?!”

“It’s Arthur, idiot!”

His deep voice booms across the camp and the onion you were dicing suddenly becomes victim to very vigorous chopping. The knife slams on the butcher table loudly as you grit your teeth.

Mary Beth looks up at you with a curious stare. “Are you…alright?”

“Never better.” You mumble as you continue to chop at the onion.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, letting out a long breath.

“Oh, Arthur, how nice of you to return!” Dutch’s sarcastic reply echoes across the way as he moves to clap his hand across Arthur’s back in welcome. “Anythin’ good out there?” He hands Arthur a bottle of beer, and immediately Arthur begins to drink.

“Shoah. Plenty to keep me out there. Better than loungin’ around here.”

Dutch guffaws at the pointed comment.

You grit your teeth again as you pick up the next onion. Laughter surrounds the campfire for several moments as you continue to chop. Arthur slugs back the rest of his beer before tossing it to the ground. “Now if you don’t mind me, I have a lady to see.”

You try to ignore his heavy footsteps approaching.

“C’mon now, missy. Let’s get outta here fer the night.”

You pause a moment before placing the knife down. Mary Beth gives you a look as you sigh, wiping your hands on your skirts. You give her a mumbled farewell as you turn to Arthur.

He stands there, all six feet of the fearsome enforcer of the Van der Linde gang. Able to tear men limb from limb. Hand on his gunbelt, the brim of that old gambler’s had shading his eyes against the sunset. A beard showing weeks out on the land.

Damn him, damn him to hell. 

You take his outstretched hand and follow.

-

It’s not terribly far away from camp. Just far enough not to be bothered. He stops his horse in a small forested glen and swings off of the saddle, tying the mare to a tree branch.

“C’mon now, girl. You seem so pleased to see me.” Arthur grunts as he unloads his small tent from his saddle bag, turning and immediately starting to 

“Very pleased. Been waitin’ on you every night to come back.” You retort, sliding off of the rump of the horse and turning to unfasten the bedroll from his saddle.

“That’s more like it,” He smirks back at you as he pitches the tent, “Don’tchu worry, I’ll get you right.”

When he’s finished with the tent, you stoop down and roll out his bedroll on the ground within, climbing inside as the dusk falls. Arthur follows you, stooping to his knees at the entrance of the lean-to. He tosses his hat toward the back of the tent.

“Get on yer knees.” Arthur orders as he starts to undo the buttons of his workshirt.

“No,” you huff, sliding back on your bottom atop the bedroll. You start unlacing your boots and pull them off, chucking them toward the entrance of the tent.

“No?” Arthur’s eyebrow quirks as he rips his gunbelt off.

“I ain’t gonna let you treat me like some two-penny whore. You’re gonna at least have the decency to look me in the eye.” You rasp up at him as you start unlacing your dress.

He kicks his boots off smugly. There’s something ironic in the way the two of you are quickly shedding your clothes to the back and forth going on in the tent.

“Oh, too good to bend over but not to get on your back for me?”

You shimmy out of your dress and quickly pull your chemise over your head. He works his pants down with his drawers. 

“Too good for you to fuck me like I’m any other hole.” 

“We’ll see about that-” Arthur chuckles as he stands on his knees opposite you, completely nude, cock blood-swollen and bobbing with his movements. His hands grab at your hips, grasping those dainty bloomers you’ve taken to wearing and pulling them down your thighs, over your knees, and completely off, chucking them to the side.

He licks his lips, the bastard, at the sight of you on your back for him, naked in the waning hours of the day. And yet, here you are, angry but desperate to be wanted, you just want… a little something more.

Arthur spits in his hand, slathering it on his cock. Climbing atop you in his bedroll, you spread your legs for him. The head of his cock catches on the rim of your cunt and he pushes inside, growling as he does so.

A whine, desperate, claws its way out of your throat as you clench at his forearms at the feeling of several hot inches of him splitting your core, filling you fit to burst. It’s the pain on a knife’s edge that seems to placate the aggravation in your soul.

He’s not gentle - you know that, you’ve never expected him to be. He fucks like he works - with physicality and brute strength. 

He does, at the very least, stay buried within you for a moment, his hips shoved completely up against yours, all those hot, pulsing, hard inches of him having carved a blazing path through your core. He does, at the very least, give you that moment to accept him, grow used to him, before grabbing your hips and starting to buck against you mercilessly.

“You’re -hah- infuriating,” Arthur spits out, locking his elbows as he finds a rhythm of slamming his hips into yours, the slap of skin on skin loud within the tent. No wonder he dragged you away from camp.

“You’re a lowlife -ngh-” You are able to grit out as he tries to fuck you into submission. But you know this game, you know his game. He may be the feared enforcer of the gang, but you’re not some feeble woman willing to let him do with you what he wants.

“Ain’t too low for you to let me fuck you.” He growls, words interspersed with his thrusts.

“Ain’t the same gettin’ myself o-off.” You sputter as he slings your other thigh over his shoulder and slams his hips down on you to effectively cut you off. You cry out in surprise at the change in angle of his thrusts, loudly to the point he slaps his hand over your mouth as he moves above you.

You sink your teeth into the meat of his palm. He hisses, pulling his hand away quickly. He looks down on you with annoyance.

“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?”

You grit your teeth against the anger that has been eating at you this whole time.

“I missed you, asshole.”

Arthur stops, jaw unclenching, cock halfway sheathed in your warm cunt. He looks down at you, eyes wide, brow unfurling, and the fire in his gut subsiding.

“Ain’t you ever think when you’re out for weeks at a time that you got someone to come home to?” You scowl up at him as he slowly lets your leg down from his shoulder.

Arthur frowns, biting the inside of his cheek.

“When you’re gone for weeks at a time, then come back bragging about it, it’s like you ain’t want to be with me. At least that’s what you got me thinkin’.” You lower your voice and encircle your fingers around his forearms. Your thumbs rub gently at his wrists, “So when you drag me out here to fuck you, are you telling me that’s all you want?”

“No.” He gruffly responds.

“Then act like it.”

He lowers himself to his elbows slowly, his cock slipping further inside you and you give a little whine in response. Arthur angles his forearms inward, giving him the ability to brush some of your hair from your forehead. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, plastering your bodies against each other fully. 

“Just - try not to stay out as long. Or maybe take me with you. The cot gets awful cold without you in it. If we’re together, I want to be treated like we’re together.” You whisper, the anger in your blood finally dissipating. 

He hovers above you, finally, a fond smile replaces the previous bombastic smirk on his face.

“Want me t’ write you some poetry?”

“Kiss me, you fool.”

He immediately complies, smashing his lips on yours, tongue pressing against your lips, which you open to him. You moan throatily as he rolls his hips in a full stroke, pulling his cock near completely out and thrusting back in. He repeats the motion again and again.

“Want to be beneath me every night? That’s what my girl wants?”

Your reply is half a scream, “Y-yes! E-every night, Arthur-”

“Goddamn- yes, oh shit, that’s it-” he babbles as his strokes start to come unwieldy.

The molten fire burning in your core licks at your gut, the muscles in your legs start screaming - you know that you’re quickly going to reach your end with each time that he shoves his cock deeper inside you.

“I’m go-gonna come, Arthur -ngh-”

“That’s it, darlin’ girl, come all over my cock.” He croons, changing his motions by pushing himself as deep as he can before gyrating his hips, trying to hit everywhere within you.

You seize up, your thighs clamping around his waist as you cry out to the heavens above, some garbled noise that sounds like the syllables of his name.

Arthur coos, in that teasing way that he does, shutting his eyes as he takes in the feeling of your pulsing core on his cock. The gush of wetness that surrounds him, starting to leak out onto his balls as you thrash and cry.

When finally you begin to calm down, he yanks himself from you and sits up on his knees as he squeezes his eyes shut, pumping his cock as if coming would save his life. 

You shoot up, leaning on one elbow, and bat his hand away from his cock, wrapping your fingers around his base and guiding it into your mouth.

“Aw fuck honey-”

He doesn’t last long. How could he? Not with your perfect mouth around him, not with your tongue pressing against the sensitive slit, not when you suck. With a strangled shout of your name, he comes, spurting warm down your throat. Salty and bitter, just like him - but you suck him dry as if you couldn’t get enough.

He flops down on the bedroll next to you, panting as you curl your body against his, placing your head upon his chest, your hand spread wide over his racing heart. Another centering moment later, he winds his arm around you. 

He’s not going to confess his love for you. You may never get that. But being tucked in his embrace as he holds you to him - for now, you are placated.

He kisses the crown of your forehead gently. You snuggle even further into his embrace.

This you could work with.

[shotmrmiller]

What if the boys were out at a pub, and they started getting maudlin over the fact that they return to an empty home, but not John Price.

"I've got myself a cat."

Johnny's a dog man, so the only thing he says is, "Ach. That's a choice, sir."

Kyle's only logical thought is, "How do you even manage to keep it fed?"

John pauses to take a swig of his beer, "She's a very independent kitten. There's plenty of food around for her to eat."

Simon, though. Simon's a cat man, through and through. And he's noticed how John doesn't gush about it like others do. Doesn't bring up the breed, where he got her, nothing— but he keeps quiet until it's last call at the bar. Johnny and Kyle get up, say their goodbyes, and leave but Simon stays behind with John.

"Hey, boss. You gotta picture of tha' cat?" The smile John gives him is risqué, all but confirming Simon's suspicions.

"Sure." John pulls out his phone, searches through his photo album and shows Simon his cat. A woman wearing a fluffy cat ear headband, a thin, delicate collar with what looks like a bell. Pet play, Simon thinks, John bloody Price is into pet play.

"She's very cute, sir."

"Don't I know it. Come over for a nightcap? You can meet her," John softly chuckles under his breath, "She'll well trained. Doesn't scratch nor hiss. Not unless you pull on her tail."

Simon clenches his jaw to stop himself from releasing a groan. A tail.

Taking in a deep breath, he agrees with a slow tip of his head. "Yes, sir, I would."

John gives him a hearty pat on his back, and jerks his head towards the door. "C'mon then, let's not keep her waiting."

Simon has no idea how to react. He doesn't want to overstep, but goddamn if you aren't the cutest thing he's ever seen. Your face is so soft, fragile, lovely— in his rough, worn palm as you nuzzle it.

John is quietly observing you two, sipping on his favourite whiskey. He must pick up on Simon's hesitance because he instructs, "Go on, Simon. Give her tail a tug."

Simon stiffens, but you're already turning around, shapely rump facing him. Your back is arched and face resting on the floor— this view gets Simon's cold, bitter heart racing. He thickly swallows, because there's no way he isn't dreaming this. But then, you wiggle your hips and whatever inhibitions he had disappeared.

He extends his arm and runs his hand from where your tail is inserted down to the tip, and then twists it once around his thick fingers and tugs just a bit, enough for him to see your ring of muscle expand.

The sound that escapes your lips is a sharp sibilant hiss, and you audibly drag your nails on the fibers of the carpet which makes Simon huff out a laugh. "You were right, sir."

John's eyes that were locked onto your form flick up to look at Simon. "Hm? About what?"

"That she only hisses and scratches when you pull her tail."

John simply smirks. "Kitten," you languidly crane your neck to look at him, "get on Simon's lap, eh?"

i dont do pet play but id fucking meow or bark at him if he so much as thought it. borf borf.

[hgfictionwriter]

Self Control: Part Five - A Glimpse

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: It's time for the first ultrasound. Jessie's overwhelmed with emotion at getting to see your baby for the first time. And if you happen to be feeling better for a spell, no better time for you and Jessie to satisfy some needs.

Warnings: Needy, passionate smut. G!P. Grinding and edging, oral (r receiving), G!P sex, preg and breeding kink, mention of cockwarming, language.

A/N: The rest of the Control series can be found here.

Jessie sat, your hand gripped tightly in hers, next to the exam table in the obstetrician's exam room as you underwent your initial visit.

You'd barely let go of her since you left the apartment. You held her hand the entire time leading up to the point when Jessie had to step back as you gowned up and prepared for your baby's first ultrasound. Jessie's heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears for most of the visit, but she put on a calm, brave face for you.

The obstetrician, Dr. Mal, had been warm and patient as she walked you both through the journey as new expecting parents, and for that, Jessie was grateful. She even beamed proudly, pushing past her bashfulness as the doctor praised her for her dutiful note taking and eagerness to be involved.

A large portion of the visit involved extensive cataloging of family medical histories, reviewing a schedule of upcoming appointments and milestones, and general information and instructions. Jessie released a subtle sigh of relief when Dr. Mal very confidently relayed that she had no concerns about your pregnancy at this point.

Now, it was time for the ultrasound. While it was to confirm the placement and size of your baby, as well as estimate your due date, it was also your first chance to see your baby. Jessie was a bundle of nerves and her mouth was dry.

"We aren't able to do an abdominal ultrasound this early in the pregnancy, the embryo is too small and we can get clearer, better images this way," Dr. Mal explained. "I know this is not the most comfortable, but do your best to relax and let's see what we find."

Your hand gripped Jessie's tighter as the wand was inserted and Jessie rubbed your shoulder with her other hand.

Soon, all three of you had your eyes trained on the monitor next to the table. Jessie's eyes scanned the screen as different grainy images came and went until things more or less were static. Jessie stilled as she saw a little round dark area with an even smaller shape inside of it. She stared unblinking as she quickly made out the tiny figure in the image.

"And there's your baby," the doctor said as she pointed. "They're only about an inch at this point, but you can see here we're starting to see some defined features. Here's their head, their rump - and you can see where their teeny tiny arms and legs are just starting to form."

"Jess." Your shaky voice broke Jessie out of her reverie and she glanced down at you, mouth slightly agape as she tried to process everything. A watery smile crossed her face right away when she saw the tears in your eyes as you stared at your baby on the monitor. She squeezed your hand tightly and leaned down kissing your forehead as her own tears started to form.

This was your baby. This baby that you made together. They were made out of love, passion and devotion and they were real.

"And look at that. Or rather, hear," she went on with a smile and glance over at Jessie and you. "That sound is your baby's heartbeat. And that flickering on the image there - that's the heart beating. We can't always hear it this early on, so that's fantastic. Really strong."

Jessie's breath caught in her throat and the tears welling at the corner of her eyes started to spill over as a low steady beat sounded from the monitor.

"Oh my God," Jessie breathed in absolute wonder.

"Pretty amazing, right?" The doctor asked.

"Beyond," Jessie said, wiping at her eyes and refusing to tear her gaze away from the screen.

When Jessie looked down at you again, you turned your head towards her and she saw the trail of tears on your cheeks. Jessie's emotions bubbled up again at the sight and she let out a small, happy sob. You looked lovingly up at her and kissed her hand.

By the time you both left the office, you had a couple of copies of the ultrasound, Jessie insisting on getting physical copies in addition to the digital. She hugged the photo to her chest as soon as it was handed to her.

You weren't even back to your car yet when Jessie and you collided in an emotional and tender embrace. Her shoulders and yours shook as you both cried happily at the gravity and relief of this moment.

This was happening. It was no longer a hypothetical or a maybe, it was so incredibly real - Jessie saw your baby with her own two eyes and heard their heartbeat loud and strong. She held the picture that proved they were real; that you and her had come together to create this tiny miracle who would grow. And 8 months from now, Jessie would be holding them and taking them home.

Jessie sniffled as she pulled back enough to see you, laughing softly at herself.

"I'm a wreck," she said as she wiped at her tears again. You laughed and wiped away her tears for her.

"Well that makes two of us. Oh my God," you said still in awe. You looked at Jessie, eyes shimmering as a quiet smile played across your face. "We're having a baby," you said in wonder, your voice thick with emotion.

"We are," she affirmed, feeling her throat grow tight again. She rolled her eyes with a laugh. "I'm gonna cry again." She sniffled and looked at you resolutely. "Thank you. Thank you carrying our baby. For choosing me. I've always thought you were amazing, but what you're doing now," she shook her head, "you are truly incredible. I love you so much."

Jessie kissed you deeply, vainly hoping that she could pour every ounce of her love for you and this family you were building right into her kiss.

"Jessie." Your gaze flit away and you dabbed at your eyes. "Now I'm crying again," you laughed. "We chose each other. There's honestly no one I could want to raise a family with more than you. There never was and there never will be. It's us," you placed your hand on your lower stomach. "and now this little one as well."

------

Originally, Jessie was planning to Zoom with her family over the weekend to share the good news. You both agreed to wait until the first trimester was over before you'd tell friends and others, but Jessie simply couldn't wait to tell her family. The morning after your doctor's visit, she was in the family chat coordinating a group call for that evening.

"You ready?" Jessie asked as she gave your leg a squeeze as you sat next to each other at the table, chairs pressed up against one another's, laptop set up in front of you. She was practically buzzing with excitement. You nodded and kissed her sweetly.

"Least if I have to make an impromptu disappearance, to you know, heave up dinner, they'll understand now," you said with a sly grin.

"Are you feeling sick?" Jessie asked, energy changing completely as she examined your features.

"No," you chuckled as you rubbed her leg. "I'm feeling fi-"

Your response was cut off by voices joining the call. You all waved and greeted each other cheerfully, exchanging some initial pleasantries and updates before Jessie's sister cut in.

"Okay, what's the deal. What's with the call, Jess?"

Jessie held back a smile, but her eyes shone bright and her posture opened up at the prospect of what she was about to relay. You both looked at one another. You gave her a subtle nod of encouragement.

"Uh, well," Jessie said somewhat melodramatically. She glanced to you again. "we, um, have some news."

Jessie caught on the video the way you watched her adoringly. She smiled as she retrieved the ultrasound photo off of the table. She took a small breath before lifting it up to the camera, ensuring it was in focus.

She wore a bright smile and watched their reactions intently, her eyes darting from picture to picture on the screen.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Oh my God!"

"Holy shit!"

A scatter of excited exclamations came through the laptop speakers and Jessie watched on, beaming, as her family reacted with joy.

"I know we haven't talked with any of you about this at all, so it probably seems sudden, but we really wanted this and we're ready. We're so excited."

"Honey," her mom said warmly, "you've been far more mature than your age since you were a kid. I have no doubt you're ready. You'll be amazing parents. Congratulations! I'm so happy - I'm going to be a grandmother! And Y/N, you are glowing already."

"It's probably just the sheen from my morning, afternoon, and evening sickness," you quipped before blushing. "I'm sorry. Thank you," you finished measuredly. Jessie just smiled at you and gave your leg a reassuring squeeze.

"I had it so bad when I was pregnant with Jessie," her mom went on in immediate empathy. "If you're like me, it should go away in the second trimester. How far along are you?"

"Ah, so it's really Jessie's fault," you joked as you gave her a playful nudge. "We're 8 weeks along."

By the end of the call, each of Jessie's family members had committed to flying out sooner rather than later to sneak in the first of what they all hoped were more frequent visits.

They also blocked off their calendars for when the baby was due or the month or two after so they could visit in shifts to help. It was bordering on overwhelming, but Jessie was grateful. You loved her family, taking them on more as your true family than your biological one by this point, so you were thrilled, too.

"It's no wonder you turned out so well," you commented affectionately as Jessie was closing the laptop. "I mean, you're sweet by nature, but growing up with such a loving and supportive family, it's not a surprise you've been able to become the person you are today." Your gaze dropped momentarily. "I hope we can provide an environment as loving and warm as you had growing up."

"We absolutely will," Jessie said without hesitation. "I know you didn't have that growing up, but just you noting this shows how much you want things to be different for our child." You nodded and Jessie saw you actively working to keep darker thoughts at bay.

"You're right. I know exactly what I don't want for our child. I know what I needed but didn't get growing up, and I want to make sure they have it," you said as you rest your hand on your stomach. Jessie leaned in and kissed your shoulder.

"You're going to be an amazing mom. I don't have a doubt in my mind about that." She saw a shred of insecurity still showing on your face. "You know how important family is to me, I wouldn't want to start one with someone who didn't fit into the vision of what I want for one."

"You're too sweet to me," you told her as you squeezed her hand.

"My family's your family, you know," Jessie reminded you. "And now, we'll have our own."

----------

That evening, Jessie laid in bed, splayed out and relaxed, her arm behind her head as she read her book and waited for you to come to bed.

She heard you come in from the bathroom and continued reading as she felt the bed shift as you climbed on. She was mid-sentence when you plucked the book out of her hands. Her hand remained in mid-air, a frown on her face as she processed what was going on. Further confusion set in when you rest your hands on her torso and straddled her hips, clad in pajamas which, as usual, consisted of just an oversized night shirt and underwear.

"How's your book?"

Jessie's frown lingered as she stared at you a moment. "It's fine," she said noncommittally, skepticism in her voice as she finally lowered her hand, letting it rest at the crook of your knee.

"What part are you at?" you said lightly, shifting subtly as you readjusted your position. A jolt shot through Jessie, centering between her legs under the friction and heat of your body. Her whole body began to tense up at your newfound proximity, but she did her best to relax.

With how you'd been feeling, you hadn't slept together in a couple of weeks. Reflecting upon it, Jessie felt ridiculous for even remotely considering it a dry spell. Before you, she'd gone for months or even years at a time without sex. She wasn't a one-night-stand or casual kind of person, and truthfully, the lack of sex didn't bother her. However, since being with you, she couldn't get enough. And since that fateful morning when this whole journey started, she'd been insatiable.

Sure, sometimes you went weeks without sex because she'd be at tournaments, but that was different. Even when you first started seeing each other, though Jessie was fully ready to take it slow, by date two she was in your bed - and stayed there until the following afternoon.

Regardless, she was dedicated to ensuring you didn't feel any pressure to have sex unless you were feeling completely better and ready. And, well, her lonely cock starting to harden in her boxers and jut up into you would harm her cause.

She did her best to think about her book.

"Uh, just reading about how the allocation of parking spaces affects property values and urban development," Jessie said evenly, keeping her eyes trained on yours as you listened attentively.

"Mm. That part's really interesting. Have you gotten to the part about urban heat islands?" You asked, dropping your gaze briefly as you toyed with the hem of her shirt, your hands sneaking under and resting on her stomach once more. Your thumb slowly grazed along her abs. She clenched her jaw briefly.

Right. She somehow forgot in the moment that you already read it. In fact, you're the one who recommended it for her.

"No," she replied, doing her best to not sound abrupt. She gave herself a moment. "I haven't gotten there yet."

"Hm," you voiced as you leaned forward, removing one hand from under her shirt to retrieve the book again. Jessie swallowed a groan as you settled back down on her. She swore you rolled your hips as you did so. You opened the book.

"The prioritization of parking spaces in urban planning not only influences property values but also reshapes architectural design..."

Your mouth was moving, but your words weren't registering in Jessie's mind anymore as you, not so subtly now, began to slowly grind yourself against her cock. Jessie's gaze shot to the ceiling as she tried to retain control.

Her breathing was quiet, but laboured, her teeth now grit together as she returned her eyes to see you oh so nonchalantly reading to her as you rocked your hips and idly traced across Jessie's stomach with your thumb.

With the heat of your core, thinly veiled by your skimpy panties no less, along with your sensual movements made this a losing battle for Jessie. Her brow furrowed with concentration as she tried valiantly to ward off her arousal, but the blood rushing to her member made it impossible.

"Uh, babe?" Jessie interjected, her voice more strained than it should've been as she subconsciously gripped your legs that were gorgeously spread around her hips.

"Hm?" You asked innocently, your movements stilling as you lifted your gaze from the book to look at her. Jessie's eyes fell to your core before rising back up.

"I'd really like to listen to you, but, um," she swallowed inadvertently, "you might have to move."

"What's wrong?" You asked innocently once more, the expression on your face giving no hint of what you intended as you began to leisurely grind against her growing length once more.

Jessie bit back another moan and her hands came up to your waist now. "You know what you're doing," Jessie said, a slight edge in her voice.

"Oh? Well, thank you," you said as you set down the book once more and gave a flirty shrug of your shoulders. Jessie exhaled audibly as she fought an eye roll.

"Babe. I'm trying to be good, here," Jessie went on, her response stilted as she was distracted by the way you rose and lowered against her.

"No need," you told her simply, not letting up.

Jessie blew out a breath, digging her head back into the pillow and looking up as she struggled to focus on anything other than the way her length was straining up against the fabric of her boxers and how a pulse would jump through her every time you brushed against the head of her cock.

"I take it this means you're feeling better?" She grunted out as she met your gaze again, doing her best to ignore the way your whole body sensually moved as you teased her.

"At this moment in time? Yes," you smirked.

"What brought this on?" Jessie inquired further. You cocked your head to the side in mock contemplation before you responded.

"As I was getting ready, I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you. You're sweet, thoughtful, intelligent, funny," you paused, "and then I came in here and was reminded of how incredibly hot you are, too." You leaned in, capturing her lips between your teeth and tugging before kissing her. "Besides, I haven't had any action or relief."

Jessie shoulders slumped as she recalled you teasing her about her extracurriculars in the shower. Another blush formed on her face.

"The doctor said we're allowed to have intercourse throughout the pregnancy. Or as I call it, dirty, hungry, needy, rabid fucking."

You really were worked up.

"Hey, stud?" You asked, a teasing lilt in your voice as you pulled Jessie's earlobe between your teeth and gave it a teasing lick. "She was pretty impressed with how quickly you knocked me up."

Jessie's eyes rolled into the back of her head, made worse by how you gave a particularly needy roll of your hips against her now rock hard cock. She was already aching and desperate for release.

"Guess it's a good thing we always used protection before," you whispered. "Who knows - you might've put a baby in me that second date." Jessie groaned. "God, this would be our fourth or fifth by now."

"Oh shit," Jessie said, her voice both warning and pleading. She grabbed your waist and rolled you both so she was on top. She held herself up and off of you as she looked down at you with a bemused look. "I'm gonna blow if you don't stop. Let me take care of you first."

You looked up at her with a very self-satisfied look and Jessie narrowed her eyes playfully at you.

"Yeah, you fucking know exactly what you're doing." She huffed before stealing a quick kiss. "You love it."

"Love making you blow your load without me ever really touching you? Yeah," you replied nonchalantly with a mischievous quirk of your shoulders.

Jessie exhaled and let her head fall before smiling and lifting it once more. She gave it a shake.

"I don't think I could love you more," she said with an amused laugh and began shifting down the bed.

She lifted your shirt and very gently kneaded your breasts, being mindful of how sensitive they've been. She kept it short, not wanting to push you, but leaned down and took one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking lightly and flicking her tongue across it. She grinned as your back arched off the bed.

Jessie continued to kiss her way down your body. Her hands grasped your waist and she planted extra soft and tender kisses on your still-flat stomach.

"I can't wait until you start to show," Jessie nearly groaned.

Jessie had to keep herself in check. The image of you in her head - you walking around the apartment, one hand on your back and the other rubbing your belly that was so full and heavy with her baby - had her throbbing. She would've never anticipated these urges, but you being pregnant with her baby not only made her love you impossibly more, but it ignited some primal part of her DNA. Thankfully, you didn't seem to mind.

She blushed at how she found herself absently grinding her still-restrained hard-on against the mattress.

"Mm," you moaned, oblivious to Jessie's pining, your legs fidgeting in arousal as you shifted beneath her.

Jessie stayed on task. She shuffled further down, hooking her fingers into your panties and inching them down your legs. She pulsed as a string of cum stretched from your dripping pussy to your underwear as she removed them.

You bent your knees and planted your feet by Jessie's shoulders as she began to kiss her way down the inside of your thighs. She loved the way you gripped the sheets in anticipation.

Jessie teased you, making her tongue firm as she traced up and down between your lips, before softening and giving a faint lick across your sensitive clit, relishing how you jerked in response. She dipped her tongue inside of you, making several passes to scoop up the arousal she found there. She swallowed.

"I swear you taste even better somehow," she said, mesmerized.

A small whimper worked its way up your throat followed by her name tumbling out of your mouth. That was all the encouragement Jessie needed. She wrapped her arms under and around your thighs, tugging you down the bed and tight against her face as she buried herself in your pussy like there was nothing in this world she wanted more.

Jessie's face rocked up and down and side to side as she devoutly looked after you. Your moans of pleasure were like music to her ears.

It wasn't long before you gripped Jessie's forearm, nails digging in and you panted, "Fuck. Jessie, I'm gonna cum."

Soon, you were convulsing, your hips jerking off of the bed and into Jessie's face while you gasped high in your throat. While she relented to some degree, letting you unwind slightly, eventually slowly lapping at your entrance to drink up your juices, Jessie's mouth didn't leave you.

You were just starting to relax when her slow, languid licks started to pick up again. Low moans started to fill the room once more as your hand came to Jessie's head, playing softly with her hair.

"Oh shit, Jess," you whimpered as you began to subtly grind into her once more.

She turned her attention again to your clit and even with your thighs flexed around her head, she could hear the way your breath hitched as she tended to you.

She opened her eyes as she felt your legs start to quiver. By now, your fingers were digging into her crown, sure signs that you were nearing the brink for a second time.

You gripped Jessie's hair and gave a sharp tug. The force was enough that it jerked her head forward. Alarm went through her momentarily, worried she'd done something wrong when you spoke urgently.

"I need you up here. I need you inside of me," you begged, words clipped as you struggled to speak. They weren't even out of your mouth as you grabbed her wrist and tugged again.

Jessie was all too willing. She was climbing up your body before her mind even fully registered it. Her gaze was fixed on yours as she positioned herself between your legs, so caught up in the moment she only now remembered she still had her boxers on. She went to move back to remove them, but you grabbed her by the waist pulling her in again.

"No, I need you now," you told her desperately as you pulled her into a kiss. She moaned heavily into it, a second later reaching down to open her boxers to release her painfully erect cock. She broke your kiss momentarily as a small grunt caught in her throat when her fingers met the wet fabric of the front of her boxers, damp with precum.

She kissed you hard again as she reached in and pulled out her cock. In her frenzy, she uncharacteristically blindly poked around, fumbling a couple of times before positioning herself appropriately and slipping inside with greater force than intended. She apprehensively held herself still inside of you, relaxing as soon as she heard your wanting moan. Your hands were immediately on her ass, gripping hard and urging her to move.

Jessie began pumping into you with urgency. The part of her brain that was working determinedly to delay her orgasm was losing resolve quickly as her senses were overwhelmed with you.

She grunted, pulling back from your kiss to look down at you as she continued to make love to you. Your lips were parted and your cheeks were flushed as you held her gaze. Most notably though, your eyes were dark with lust and you ran your fingers through her hair, caressing her.

"This is the exact position I was in when you put this baby into me."

A stuttering groan fell from Jessie's lips and she threw her head back, eyes fixing on the ceiling. She panted above you, nearly wincing as she tried to hold off, but her impending climax became undeniable.

She lowered herself onto you, her ragged breath in your ear as she pumped into you. A desperate whimper escaped her as she started to speak. "You know what this means. You're truly mine now. And I belong to you. We're connected forever."

Whether it was her actions or words that did it, your blissful cry was suddenly in her ear and you gripped her length so tightly she immediately came with a small yell, her cum pouring into you with strong, jetting pulses. She gasped several times as her climax washed over her.

She collapsed on top of you as the tension began to drain from her body. You were both so spent and exhausted that neither of you spoke as you stayed in your embrace. Your fingers tiredly weaved through her hair, absently caressing, until sometime later your hand stilled and your breathing evened. She peeked one eye open - you were asleep. The last thing Jessie was aware of was the soothing warmth of your body as she fell asleep inside of you.

[unsurprisinglyren]

Sammy’s First Time Squirting

Got this idea from the thought of Dean fucking Sam so good he comes multiple times and when he can’t come anymore – spent and shivering and breathless – Dean keeps going, relentless, until he makes Sammy squirt.

A tremulous thing; the harsh sounds of their combined breathing. The soft, breathy noises Sam makes underneath the weight of Dean’s body; his knees pressed tightly against Dean’s sides, pale thighs spread wide, the twitch of his wet, softened cock against his lower belly, the plumpness of his sack. The clench of his ass as Dean refuses to slow his pace – chasing his own climax dogmatically – and it’s all too much, a blooming, aching kind of pleasure, too deep, and he can’t control it, can’t stop it from happening.

A moment stretched thin, slowed down – and Sam watches the way the tendons in Dean’s neck stand out in stark relief as he thrusts harder, grunting from the effort, gripping Sam’s hips in a bruising hold, white-knuckled, inexorable. It catches inside Sam, the sheer pleasure Dean gets from taking him and it loosens something else within him, something sinuous and heated and struck through with a caustic edge that snares behind his naval – and then he’s spilling over his belly, a warm gush and splatter, copious.

He can’t stop it. Can’t control the way his soft cock trembles, leaking piss with every consecutive rough thrust of Dean’s hips.

Dean’s got his head tipped back, a jut of his chin, eyes closed, long lashes fluttering, but at the pitiful sound Sam makes; lost and beseeching and so fucking humiliated, he looks down, catching sight of the mess, the dribble of piss wet across Sam’s abdomen and chest, warm-smelling.

Sam wants the mattress to swallow him whole. He wants to bury his face in his hands but there’s no time before the tears are upon him; stinging at the corners of his eyes and his breath catches so painfully that his throat hurts from it. Or maybe that’s just the sob that launches up his oesophagus. Unremitting.

“Shit, Sammy,” Dean doesn’t stop moving. In fact, he pistons his hips faster, pressing – if possible – deeper inside the clench of Sam’s tender body. Pummelling Sam’s insides with a fervency he’s never displayed before. A flex of his abdominal muscles, the flicker of his pulse in the hollow of his sweat-dampened neck. “Fuck.” Quietly said. A breathless word. Almost it sounds like an entreaty.

Sam wants to tell Dean he’s sorry. Sorry, De, I didn’t mean to! I don’t know how it happened. I’m so disgusting. But his throat feels stuffed full of jagged rocks. He gnashes his teeth together, sniffling wetly as Dean bends down, changing the angle, fumbling for Sam’s wrists and pinning them above his head. Leaning his entire weight down, capturing Sam, caging him against the mattress, making sure he can’t escape, can’t scurry away for the dubious safety of the motel bathroom.

“It’s okay,” spoken roughly against the damp skin of Sam’s neck, a rush of hot breath that makes goosebumps spring up across his skin. “It’s alright, Sammy. It happens, yeah?” A slower thrust like Dean is trying very hard to keep his composure. “Sometimes when it feels really good it happens. It’s normal. Promise.”

I pissed myself, Dean. How is that even remotely okay?! He can’t say the words out loud. Can’t look down his chest at the wet mess of it. The vulgarity of it. Damp sheet, a wet patch under his rump, a glisten of it on his torso.

“I fucked you dry, I think,” a huff, a graze of teeth to the underside of Sam’s jaw. A shiver down his spine. A twitch of his over-spent cock, too tired to harden again. “Made you squirt for me though, didn’t I.”

God. “Dean!” So wrong! Don’t say stuff like that.

A guttural laugh from Dean. It’s muffled against the corner of Sam’s mouth and then Dean is kissing him fully, warm wetness and the velvet lick of his tongue against the seam of Sam’s lips. He opens his mouth with a trembly inhale through his nose, allowing Dean entrance.

Below, he feels Dean’s cock jerk inside of him, held still, but Sam is aware of every inch. Thick and flushed and holding him exactly where Dean wants him to be. The kiss turns messy, clicking teeth and slurping noises, adolescent desire leading the charge. As Dean pulls back from it, breathing hard, a thinning strand of saliva connected to their bottom lips before it snaps, wet against Sam’s chin, Sam thinks he hears Dean whisper, too quiet to be certain, “Good boy.”

Then, louder, for Sam to hear, he says, “Just a little more, okay, Sammy? I’m close. Then we’ll get you cleaned up.”

[h4untedgrl]

blind eyes red | k.mg

"you want somebody who can touch you like i did..." - minnie

—♱ genre/au: exes with benefits??, slight dom!mingyu x kinda mean bratty fem!reader

—♱ warnings : cursing, unprotected sex (wrap that shit.), hair pulling, oral (f rec), slapping, pet names (princess, baby)

—♱ word count : 1k

Even months after the break up you can't help but to notice how Mingyu still watches your socials, hearting every post he can.

Reminding himself of your existence any chance he can.

You had just posted yourself in some red and black lingerie, what you would've worn for him on valentines day. A small part of you wanted him to see this, hoping he would take the bait.

PING.

min9yu_k Replied to your story : fuck

min9yu_k Replied to your story : i miss you

min9yu_k Replied to your story : let me come see you

min9yu_k Replied to your story : please princess

A chill runs down your spine. Since when was he so needy? It's not like you wanted to date him again. However... It won't hurt to fuck one more time.

your.user : you know where i live.

Letting out a deep sigh you throw your phone on the bed, surprised by your own boldness. All you could do is wait now, seeing if he'll take you word.

—୨୧

PING.

min9yu_k : be there in 5

The butterflies in your tummy start to flutter, goosebumps raising against your skin and before you knew it...

KNOCK.

You walk to the door, fixing your hair before opening the door. Mingyu's large frame stood in front of you, "There's my valentine." He smirks at you, "Gonna let me in?" You nod, moving at the way so he can step into your apartment.

Mingyu's hands immediately find your waist, holding you close to him. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating "Hmm, you smell good... New cologne?" He looks down at you and smiles, "Anything for you baby." Your clit throbbing at the pet name, his hand traveling down to rump of your ass giving a firm squeeze.

You grab his free hand, leading him into your bedroom, ridden with deep red lights. "Set this up for me?" Mingyu chuckles to himself, "Don't get ahead of yourself Mingyu." Your words somewhat stern, his head tilts in confusion. You laugh at his expression before laying on your bed, spreading your legs in front of him.

"I know you want somebody who could touch you like I did" Your voice smooth like silk. A shiver runs down Mingyu's spine, he licks his lips hungrily before kneeling in front of you. His large palms your cunt, feeling the moist lace that covers it. Your hips bucking up at his warm touch.

Mingyu pulls you closer to him, putting your pussy close to nose, "Fuck you always smell so good." He sighed out. Mingyu then proceed to slide the lace over to expose your glistening cunt, wasting no time to start working his tongue on your puffy clit.

His hard licks makes you see the stars, your hips bucking up to his mouth. Mingyu's grip onto your hips brings you closer to him, as he's whining against your cunt in pleasure. It's such a sight to see, having a 6'2 man yearning to get you off.

Your hand coming down to tug at his hair, Mingyu's eyes looking at you pleadingly. That eye contact was all you needed as your orgasm came crashing down. Your thighs trembling beside his head as he eagerly licks up your release.

"Fuck me already Gyu" You say out of breathe, moving the hair out your face. Mingyu wastes no time what so ever. Unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants pulling them down leaving him in just his boxers. You can't help but to notice the wet spot of precum on them, licking your lips at the sight.

You crawl over to him, pulling the band of his boxers just enough to expose his needy cock. Mingyu gasps at your touch before regaining his composure and forcing you to lay down at the edge of the bed. He strokes his cock using his precum like lube as his jaw clenches.

“Spread your legs for me princess” You follow his command spreading your legs, leaving your glistening cunt in display. Mingyu takes his thick cock, slapping it against your puffy clit before prodding at your hole. It's like you almost forgot how big he is, the feeling of him filling your cunt a mix of pain and pleasure.

His head falls back as he bottoms out, holding a firm grip on your hips. You bite your bottom lip as Mingyu's pace picks up. The way the head of his cock hits your spot sends a wave of heat across your body.

"Fuck, I missed this pussy" Mingyu's voice is husky as he pumps in and out of you. You have no words for him aside from the slutty moans that escape your lips, Mingyu taking the opportunity to rub his thumb against your swollen lips, his way of asking you to open your mouth. You stick your tongue out before you suck on his thumb. His thrusts slow down before exiting you, leaving you eager for more.

"Mingyu stop fucking around~" You whine out, as you bring your hand to your neglected clit. Mingyu grabs your wrist, "Relax princess, I've got you" Next thing you know he's flipping you over, leaving you face down ass up.

He realigns himself slamming his cock back into you. You gasp at the force, "Oh my god fuck~" You yelp out. "Fuck baby, keep squeezing me just like that." He grunts, as he grabs a handful of your hair, his pace building back up. His balls slapping against your clit, giving you all the right stimulation. "Gyu feels so good" You babble, just repeating yourself to no definite end.

Mingyu's free hand giving your ass a rough slap. The pain was exhilarating and was all you needed felt to cum all around him. "There you go princess, cum around me." He knew exactly what to say and do. Not even changing his thrusts as you ride out your high.

Once you finally come back down, you take your free hand to massage his balls. Mingyu hisses at the filthy touch, "Baby I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that." His thrusts become sloppier as he falls apart at your touch. "Maybe that's what I want" You tease him. Mingyu quickly pulls out at your words, stroking his length as cums on top of your swollen cunt. "Fuck, I love how you talk to me." His breath hitching.

"It won't hurt to do this more often right?"

"Absolutely not."

—♱ taglist : @vampzity @scarfac3 @dvrktvnnel @dollywoo @planetjaeyun @yyaurii @desirehorizon @cypher-03 @atinytrashcan @crownj1min @smuttaburger @hyunniesgh0st @losrpark

[mammoth-clangen]

Behold! Big Kitties!

I wanted to make one of these for fun mostly, also because I wanted to slightly update how I draw the Fleets to fit the Homotherium mummy; mostly in the lack of carpal pads and that brown is the wildtype colour uvu

Notes that didn't fit: - Eye colours can be anything natural-looking except in Ice Fangs, which are always blue (that's actually where their name comes from) - None of the colour variants are sexually dimorphic (though some may be sex linked) - All species can be fluffier than shown here (especially in winter), I just shaved them here to show the varied anatomy - All the cats probably have a melanistic and albino variant but there aren't any in Kindred so I didn't include them - I'm never gonna draw the characters in Kindred with detailed patterns as shown here, that would take 554637 hours per page cx

Don't @ me about paleo inaccuracies bc there's a lot of intentional exaggerations e.g. how variable they can be, for the sake of making characters actually fun to work with + the Tuft Tails are basically just lions because their skeletal anatomy is sooooo similar but bigger (and lions are pretty)

Image ID

"Kindred of the Mammoth- Pleistocene big cats"

Fleet Fang- Homotherium serum. Tireless hunters of the steppe. Male: Tom Female: Molly Nonbinary: Motte Young: Cub Grouping: Kindred A drawing in a slightly more realistic style than Kindred of a brown Fleet Fang with green eyes and extensive barring running down her sides. There is a headshot of a tom with shaggy grey and white fur, who has his mouth open in a slight pant to show dental anatomy. Notes read: "Inverted neck hackle Patterns run laterally. Tufted ears Heart-shaped nose. All teeth are serrated No carpal pad Claws don't retract fully Skin usually dull pink Paler under-tail No sexual dimorphism Huge incisors, tiny lower canines Tundra morphs shaggy and pale grey" There are a few natural variants shown as well: dilute few spots, joined-barring (lateral stripes instead of broken spots), Open-saddle ginger, melanistic with paler grey markings.

Ice Fang- Smilodon fatalis ssp. Powerful hunters of the north. Male: Boar Female: Sow Nonbinary: Urs Young: Cub Grouping: Sounder A drawing in a slightly more realistic style than Kindred of a white, grey striped Ice Fang with blue eyes . There is a headshot of a boar with pale golden fur and a darker beard under his neck. He has his mouth open in a slight pant to show dental anatomy. Notes read: False eyes on small ears Powerful neck/shoulders Vertical stripes Very short tail Bear-like lower lip Only sabers are serrated Very large dewclaws Skin usually dull pink/brown Boars have a goat-like 'beard'. Wide nose, sideways nostrils. Huge incisors, tiny lower canines. There are a few natural variants shown as well: Faded stripes with a pale warm grey coat, Few stripes only on the shoulders and rump, Tawny morph with broken stripes (they form vertical bars), Abundism- heavy stripes that are interlocking and covering the whole body.

Tuft Tail- Panthera leo atrox Coordinated hunters of the plains. Male: Lion Female: Lioness Nonbinary: Leo Young: Cub Grouping: Pride A drawing in a slightly more realistic style than Kindred of a golden tawny Tuft tail (lioness) with amber eyes. There is a headshot of a lion with greyish fur and a tawny underbelly. He also has a darker mane around his neck. He has his mouth open in a slight pant to show dental anatomy. Notes read: Larger ears Long, flexible spine Nose darkens with age Robust non-serrated teeth Dark pawpads Patternless or faintly spotted Long, tufted tail Lions have a mane (but less full than African Lions) Lions much heavier than lionesses. There are a few natural variants shown as well: Completely spottless warm grey with a tawny underbelly, orxy type dark markings that outline the paler underbelly, retained juvenile spots and a reddish tint, fully grey morph that is entirely desaturated.

A note at the bottom reads: Kindred of the Mammoth, art, and these speculative depictions belong to PencilPavlova [END ID]

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Four: daddy needs his lunch

tw: threats, minor threats of non-con, minor character death, surprise austrian death

The remnants of your life rattles in your lap as you trot along campestral American terrain. 

You sit on the back of Kyle’s horse—a large, sweet beast named Bear—with your carpet bag on your lap and your legs thrown over the side of the animal. Unforgiving heat plagues the back of your neck as the mid-morning sun reaches high into the beryl sky, beating down and baking the earth and you along with it. Anxious hands grip your bag as you keep your head down, eyes staring at the sage brush and thickets that pass you by. Grasshoppers jump through the air as the earth around them is disturbed. You smile as their wings flap. The dirt looks just the same as it does in Penmosa, but the air smells fresher without the livestock to kick up muck. 

It’s been hours since you’ve departed from the camp, and a single word has yet to leave your mouth. Your rump aches from your uncomfortable seat, but you keep your kvetching to nothing more than a thought in the back of your mind. Really, you’re glad that you’re here with Kyle rather than any of the other men. Riley intimidates you, Soap is too odd and mouthy, and John Price makes your skin crawl with a nervosity you can’t quite name. 

Quiet chatter bleeds from the front of the pack where John Price leads the way as you cut through untraveled lands, but it sounds like buzzing flies to you. Unimportant. Something not meant for your ears. You keep your head down and mouth closed as you allow them to chat away. As the horse sways, you remind yourself that you’re nothing but a guest here. 

(It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.)

The only thing you’ve been able to think about all morning—despite the fact you’re absolutely looney for traveling with such disgraceful men—is how you missed Daddy’s sermon this morning. You wonder if the church feels quiet with your absence. You wonder if he even realizes the gaping hole left in the pews. Your fingers gingerly reach for the cross on your necklace as if your guilt can absolve you from your skin. 

“Awfully quiet back there,” Kyle suddenly hums. His voice has your head perking and back straightening. Angry muscles tighten along your spine from your poor posture, but you hide your wince. “Doing alright back there?” 

You aren’t aware of how dry your mouth is until you swallow. “Yes, thank you,” you answer monotonously. 

“Comfortable?” he presses. 

“It’s a little warm,” you admit. 

Kyle nods in agreement. “There’s a canteen in my saddle pack if you need it.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Course,” he shrugs. “Exposure can kill just as easily as a bullet. Need to keep yourself fed and watered if you wanna survive out here.” 

You’re embarrassed by how quickly your fingers reach for the clasp on his pack. It comes undone with a simple flick of your fingers, and you’re eagerly reaching for the leather canteen before your mind can fully process it. It’s not cold, but it is fresh. As you take a sip, you let the water sit on your tongue, hoping it’ll rehydrate your mouth and bring it back to life. 

“You got a hat?” Kyle asks as you put the canteen back. 

“Afraid not,” you murmur. You pause as you secure his saddle pack. “I’ve got a scarf.” 

“You should put it over your head,” he recommends. “The sun can be brutal out here on cloudless days like today.” 

Taking Kyle’s advice, you rummage through your carpet bag until you find your headscarf. It’s made of thin, dainty silk that you put over your head and tie under your chin with ease. You pray the sun’s rays haven’t done too much damage to your skin, but the reprieve lets you breathe easier. 

“I hope Riley didn’t scare you too much last night,” Kyle then says. “He can be rather crass at times, but I promise he’s all bark and no bite. Well, concerning us, anyway.” 

“It’s alright,” you assure. “After all, I was the one who trespassed.” 

“I thought you were just wandering?” Kyle teasingly goads. 

“Well, the trespassing was an accident.” 

“Of course.” 

Bear interrupts your conversation with a peeved huff as the small caravan crosses over a particularly rough patch of terrain. His hooves slip over the chossy terrain, kicking rocks on either side of him, but he manages to keep steady. Kyle coos as he leans forward, hand patting the animal along his neck to calm him. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you murmur just loud enough for only the two of you to hear. 

“Didn’t you already?” Kyle deadpans. 

You huff. “Well, another one.” 

“Of course.” 

“Why the… you know. The mask? It’s a little off putting.” 

Kyle’s shoulders hunch before falling limp. He leans back with a sigh, but straightens himself back up when he feels himself bump into you. “Dunno. Guess he was accused of killing his family back home in Manchester. England, yeah? Showing his face would get him accosted, or worse. I think he’s just grown used to wearing it, that's all.” 

“He killed his family?” you repeat, hushed. 

“Oh, course not. No, he’d never. His family meant everything to him. Simon spent weeks tracking down the people who framed him and killed them. Settled the scores, and avenged his family. Couldn’t quite clear his name, though. He’s a good man,” Kyle recalls. 

“Is that why he’s here? To get away from that?” you question. 

He shrugs. “Part of it, I suppose.” 

You nod your head as you adjust the scarf on your head from falling past your hairline. “What about you?” 

“Why am I here?” Kyle clarifies. “Price was about all I had back in England. Lost my parents from consumption. Well, my dad died from consumption, but mum’s pneumonia wasn’t much easier. He’s taught me everything I know, so when he left, I did too.” 

Your throat grows tight as he reminisces about his parents—about their deaths. You pull your carpet bag closer to your chest as you shift on the horse, as if your pitiful belongings can be of any comfort to you. 

“I’m sorry about your family,” you offer. 

“Yeah, me too,” Kyle sighs. 

You swallow and change the subject. “So then, Mr. Price?” 

A long pause settles between the two of you as you come to a vast, verdant pasture. Bear begins to move smoother on the kinder land, and you notice you’re not being jostled around as much as you were previously. Wildflowers brighten the slade with vivid yellows and purples, and suddenly the sun no longer feels quite as overbearingly warm. 

“It’s a long story,” he finally relents. 

“Oh,” you chirp. 

It’s difficult to hide your disappointment at his evasion—it soaks your tone until it’s dripping wet. Feeling how your letdown emanates from your bones, Kyle looks over his shoulder at you before nodding at the short train of horses ahead. 

“Soap’s also got a long story,” he explains. “I dunno much about it, if I’m being honest. All I know is that he doesn’t seem too keen on returning to Scotland.” 

“He’s a curious man,” you note. 

“That’s a polite way to put it,” Kyle deadpans. 

“Is that why his accent is different? Because he’s from Scotland?” you wonder. 

He nods. “Yeah, he’s up further north than any of the rest of us.” 

“Is that why his hair is so strange, too?” 

Kyle’s laughter is so forceful that it nearly scares you out of your seat. He manages to calm himself quick enough so as to not garner too much attention from the others, but his words still titter. 

“No, I think it’s because no one’s been brave enough to tell him otherwise,” he humors. 

The mirth Kyle shares with you is so contagious that you catch yourself chuckling as you sway on the back of his horse. Now content with knowing that you’re well hydrated, he allows silence to fall between the two of you once more as the small band of outlaws, cowboys, and a wayward woman continues to cut through the lush pasture. 

A duo of deer stand proudly along the environs of a small weald that skirts the edge of the pasture. Perking up, you blink at the creatures as they curiously watch you pass by. One of the deer—a beautiful doe with a wiggling, wet nose—prods at her young calf, but the boy does not seem alarmed at all. He stares, unwavering, before eventually listening to his mother and returning into the safety of uncultivated trees and bushes. 

After another mile or so, the speed of the caravan begins to dwindle, and you find your body leaning to look around Kyle. John Price has his head held high as he surveys the land with his horse stopped. She whinnies as he orders for her to trot in a circle, and he doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with what he sees—a lack of people. 

“Right then. What do you say, boys? Lunch time?” he prompts as he looks back at his crew. 

When everyone begins to nod and grunt in agreement, they quickly dismount. Kyle awkwardly manages to swing his leg over Bear’s back without kicking you, then he offers you his hand to aid you down. The moment your feet hit the earth, you feel every muscle in your body scream. Your tailbone pops as you stretch your legs, and your bum feels numb. Sighing, you place your carpet bag down before stretching your arms high into the sky as if you could cup the sun into the palm of your hands. 

It’s then that you realize most of your pain comes from more than just riding a horse through the hardly civilized backyard of the United States. Though you’re not particularly disfigured, your cheek still throbs with that dull ache, and your scraped knees scream at you when you bend them a certain way. The skin is still angry, and its sting is hard to ignore when you walk. But there is a pleasant breeze, and the wildflowers wave at you as you adjust the skirt of your dress. This country is as good of an emollient as any, and your father’s steeple isn’t even here to ruin the view. 

“Hungry?” 

John Price’s voice has your head whipping to the side so fiercely that your scarf falls down the back of your head. You don’t even bother to fix it as he stares at you expectantly with his arms extended. In his hands lies more of the same jerky you were given last night for dinner, along with a generous amount of hardtack. 

“Thank you, Mr. Price,” you murmur. As you take the food into your hands, your thumb swipes over the hardtack, forcing a few crumbs to flutter into the uncut grass at your feet. You wonder if this would count as your daily bread. 

“Just John is fine,” he waves. You stare down at your food as you wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. Thumbs hooked into his belt buckle, he continues to stare at you. “How’s your cheek?” 

Blinking, you look up at him and fight back the urge to press at the wound. “It’s fine.” 

John hums. “The swelling isn’t too bad.” 

“Yes, it’s… fine,” you repeat, gauche. 

Still, he does not leave. Harsh, cobalt eyes wander over every inch of your face before he trails lower. His gaze sears your skin as it settles on your throat, and then your collarbones. When you shift, uncomfortable under the pin of his gawking, he looks back up at you. 

“Ought to keep that necklace of yours hidden,” he recommends. 

Looking down, you witness the way the charm on your necklace glints in the glory of the sun. It’s so bright it nearly burns. “Why?” you ask. 

“You shouldn’t put stealing past anyone who we might run into out here,” he shrugs. “You might get hurt. Or worse.” 

Swallowing, you feel the sweat on your palms begin to soak into your hardtack. “People would kill over a silly necklace?” 

“I’ve seen people get killed for less, and that’s a fair amount of gold you’re lugging around, little lamb,” he says, his voice grave. “If you won’t take it off, at least keep it tucked underneath your blouse.” 

All you can do is stand there and blink as John walks away, leaving you with your hands full of food and your mind riddled with worry. Shoving salted jerky in your mouth to hold between your teeth, you quickly shove the charm of your necklace between your breasts, keeping it well hidden beneath your clothes. You don’t think your heart could handle losing the only trinket you have left of your mother. 

Only then do you allow yourself to enjoy your meal. As much as one can enjoy hardtack, anyway. It is—well—quite firm against your teeth, and as you bite into it you fear you might crack the enamel and splinter it into a million pieces. It’s bland and salty on your tongue, and you find your lips puckering. No more easier on the jaw but more tasty, you chew on your jerky next. It’s certainly nothing compared to your salted pork—a luxury you can no longer afford now that you’re out in the thick of the heartlands—but it’s enough to fill your stomach and quell its growling. 

Kyle offers you his canteen again when he notices you’ve finished eating, and you use it to wash down the sawdust texture stuck on the insides of your cheeks. Then, you stretch your legs. Miniature daisies dance at your feet as you wander the pasture, and you revel in the kind zephyr that teases the skirt of your dress. 

It’s strange to be here. As if it wasn’t odd enough being in the middle of nowhere with four men you don’t know, it’s even worse knowing that you should be working. Pews need cleaning, and Daddy needs his lunch—something you always prepare—and here you are, enjoying a makeshift picnic with a band of outlaws and crooks. Teeth sink into the flesh of your lip, and your face throbs. Guilt erodes your chest until your ribs are brittle enough for your heart to puncture, and still you ignore it as if your bones aren’t turning into dust at the soles of your shoes. 

“You hear that?” 

Riley’s gravelly voice cuts through the quiet afternoon, ripping your attention away from the nature around you. He stands staring at the hill on your left with quiet eyes and tense shoulders. Rolls of lush grass sway as it covers the earth better than dirt covers a grave. Riley stares past the hill, eyes squinting at the horizon while his fingers itch for iron. 

“Hear what?” you question. 

He snaps his head in your direction as if he had forgotten all about your existence. Jaw flexing, he motions you away. “Get back,” he bites. “I think someone’s coming.” 

Breath catching in your throat, you quickly fumble with your scarf as you pull it back over your head. His warning has caught the attention of the other men, and they all stare at the same hill that Riley does. Stumbling over a small thicket, you quickly make your way to Bear who’s busy eating his own lunch as his head dips low to graze on the grass. 

You situate yourself next to him just in time to witness someone come up over the hill. A large man on an even larger horse gallops over the horizon. He travels at a leisurely pace, then halts the moment he catches sight of the group. The stranger sits back on his horse, but not even the distance can erase the anger emanating from his body. 

“I think we just found trouble,” Soap murmurs. 

“There’ll be no trouble unless he makes any,” Riley chuckles darkly. 

A single gunshot rings throughout the air, quickly followed by a squeak that rips its way through your throat. The sound echoes over the rolling hills, and it’s enough to get the horses to perk up. 

“Don’t worry, he’s not shooting at us,” Kyle assures. “He fired a round in the air.” 

“He’s headed this way,” Riley huffs. 

John rubs his hand over his chin as he looks back at everyone. His eyes stay on you for longer than what feels comfortable before he brings his attention back to the stranger. “Just be quiet and let me do the talking.” 

It takes the man little time to close the distance with his horse galloping at full speed. Riley’s hands shake with the hardly restrained urge to reach for his gun, but John stands cool with his hands on his belt and a smile on his face. 

The stranger slows the moment he’s within talking distance, and your tongue shrivels up at the sight of him. He’s the largest man you think you’ve ever seen—even larger than Riley. He sits proud and broad on his horse who huffs and puffs with exertion like he’ll be crushed beneath the weight of his master soon enough. Similar to Riley, his face is obscured by an odd mask, though it’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Nothing short of an executioner’s hood, black cloth obscures the entire circumference of his head and face, excluding two holes in which his pale eyes peer through in a glare. 

“You’re on my property,” the man barks in an odd accent. It’s different from John’s, and even stranger than Soap’s—something else you don’t quite recognize. 

“My apologies,” John chuckles cordially. “We’re just passing through. We thought we could cut through here off of the main trail. We’re in a bit of a hurry.” 

The man adjusts his grip on the reins of his horse, and it’s only then that you see the pistol in his hand. It flashes in the rays of the sun, bright enough to singe your eyes, and despite the heat baking you alive, you feel your blood run cold. 

“Do you think I’m a fool?” he spits. “Do you really expect me to believe that you weren’t aware this was private land? That makes you a trespasser, doesn’t it? And trespassers get shot.” 

John’s shoulders tense through the cotton of his shirt and the leather of his vest. His six shooter sits loud and proud on the side of his hip, yet he doesn’t reach for it. 

“Or,” he says, hands gesturing to either side of his body, “we leave and you never have to see us again.” His voice is too firm for his words to be a suggestion. 

The stranger is quiet for a long moment as if sincerely contemplating John’s offer. His pale eyes scrutinize every detail of his face before glancing at Riley, then to you. His gaze burns you to the point you nearly wince, but you attempt to save face by keeping your feet steady as Bear continues to peacefully graze next to you. 

“Or,” the man counters, “we could make a deal.” 

John hums, sincerely surprised. “Well, I’d never say no to an offer,” he chuckles. “What’s your proposal?” 

“Times are tough. I work these lands with these animals and sparse crops by myself. No ranch hands or workers, just me. I’ve no wife to come home to, or children to raise.” A swift air of arrogance surrounds the man as he holsters his pistol beside his hip. Your head grows light when he points a finger in your direction. “If you let me take that one there, and I’ll consider it fair payment for your trespassing and let the rest of you leave without a bullet in your back.” 

It’s as if every last bit of air has been syphoned from the earth. No matter how much you will your lungs to expand, your diaphragm refuses to relent. Instead, the useless muscle seizes and flutters as you stare at this man and replay his offer over and over in your mind. His words echo just as bad as his gun does; relentless and deadly. Your feet urge you to run, but you’re stuck in place. 

John’s chuckle is sonorous and warm. Stomach churning, you watch as he looks back over his shoulder at you with florid cheeks and bright teeth. His gaze is warm and kind despite the chill his titter sends down your spine, and if you were any more like your father, you would have slapped him for the gesture. 

“I’d take good care of her,” the man assures with a haughty grin lacing his tone. “I just need a bitch for breeding and-” 

John doesn’t even give the man any time to explain himself before his fingers wrap around the holster of his six shooter. Head whipping around, hand raising, he pulls the trigger before anyone can comprehend his actions. A single shot fires and leaves a cacophonous screeching in your ears as your hand covers your mouth in an attempt to swallow your scream. With wide eyes and a fluttering heart, you watch as this stranger falls off his horse and plummets to the ground like a boulder crashing off the steep palisades of a canyon. 

Once his body stills, you notice a newly made hole in his mask sitting right above the two for his now lifeless eyes.

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