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margowritesthings · 2 years ago

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A Job Well Done

pairing: Arthur Morgan x reader (f) word count: 4944 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, oral (f giving), rough oral, a little choking, a touch of voyeurism, explicit language, it's pretty much a blowjob fic authors note: idk what to say... this started as a little drabble because me and my fiancé love having a little smoke together at night and.... well, here we are I guess?? i hope you enjoy you lovely lot, and if you've asked to be tagged and you're not please let me know!! I have a new system for keeping track of my taglist and I may have lost some requests in the transfer

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i *if i've missed you please let me know!!!*

You pull Arthur’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, settling into the old wooden chair while it creaks beneath you. Thanks to being in the middle of the Lemoyne swamps, it isn’t too cold despite the moon hanging so high in the sky above you, the jacket is more for comfort. From where you sit, you can see near the whole camp, watching lanterns flicker off incrementally as each member of your makeshift family retires for the night. A few of the boys stay up, drinking by the fire, their voices muffled and distant in the thick air.

It’s been a week to the day since you last saw Arthur, before he left to track a rather sizable bounty down and attempt to cushion out the camp funds, and God do you miss him. The days feel so much longer, nights so lonely you’ve considered saddling up and finding the bastard yourself just to bring him home sooner. Comfort can be found, though, in the ways Arthur’s presence has bled so deeply into your life that his physical being doesn’t even need to be here.

His smell lingers on the jacket he left (the one he wore every day before he had to leave just so you could wear it when you missed him), that perfect mix of tobacco and whiskey and something so ineffably Arthur that you soak up every time you wrap it around your frame.

He’s there in the routines you've built your lives around, intertwined as they are, the ones you can’t shake even if he’s not beside you. The cup of coffee in a morning, his so much better tasting than yours but you try anyway. The first morning after he left, you made two, ending up giving the extra to a very grateful Abigail to save face.

There’s a nightly routine, too. The one where you get ready for bed, then climb through the window to meet him on your balcony. He’s always there waiting with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting his lap ready for you to crawl on. He’ll drag a match across his boot, (or sometimes the bottom of yours, if you’re still wearing them) lighting up the smoke before handing it to you. You’ll pass it between each other, catching up on your days, limbs entangled just how they should be as you watch Shady Belle fall asleep around you.

Without him, those routines bring you comfort, grasping onto the remnants of your cowboy until his safe return. That’s why you’re sitting in this spot, pulling a cigar out of the little tin stash box Arthur left behind. Normally it’s just a cigarette, you could never survive a cigar a night and have the throat to tell the tale, but there’s something inexplicably Arthur about this brand of smokes, something you’re seeking tonight.

You pluck a match from the tin, striking it against the table beside you, never having gotten the knack of igniting the thing on your boot as effortlessly as Arthur does, and light the cigar between your lips. The all-familiar woody essence dances across your tongue, your tired muscles relaxing from the first few tokes.

It’s just you, the moon and the crickets as you sit on the balcony, Arthur’s smoke between your lips. You wonder what he’s doing. He should be sleeping, but knowing him he’s probably up planning, or doing exactly what you are right now. You pray he’s safe, hasn’t been gotten by the law or worse, gotten himself killed. You can’t let yourself even think about that, the very idea bringing a tremble to your limbs. To combat the sudden spike in anxiety, the next time you bring the cigar to your lips you drag in just that bit more smoke, letting it soak down your spine. Not nearly as experienced in smoking as Arthur, you cough a little, but you recover much quicker than you used to.

Memories of that first time, of Arthur offering you the little brown stick and you nervously nodding, bring a little smile to your face. Oh, how you spluttered, Arthur giving you his drink on instinct, only realising that the whiskey burn would do the opposite of help once it was too late. You’d have been in your right mind to be embarrassed as hell, but by the way he chuckled as he rubbed circles around your back told you that he found it nothing but adorable.

You sit there for a few minutes, basking in the precious peace so seldom found nowadays and taking a drag every now and then, the smoke riding a sigh from your lips. Your eyes slip closed, trying to shut off as many senses as you can to really connect with that smell and taste, imagining him emerging from your bedroom window to be here with you.

He’s much less graceful than you are, often catching some part of his person on the windowsill when he climbs out onto the balcony. So many nights spent patching up little holes in his pant legs, right where that out sticking nail used to be in the frame before he ‘bested it in combat’ (i.e. pulled it out with a hunting knife and threw it ceremoniously in the lake).

Manifestation is a powerful tool, you’ve always believed that, but you still nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a large hand grasp your shoulder just as you imagined, Arthur’s gruff, hushed whisper tickling the words “hey, sweetheart” into the skin of your neck. It takes you a second to catch your breath, heart racing from the shock before everything registers and reality sets in.

“Arthur?”

He’s here.

“C’mere, darlin’.”

You fly out of your seat, the rickety old thing nearly splintering under the force, launching yourself into his open arms to burrow yourself into him. Every part of him consumes your senses and you drink it all in like an addict. The smell, the real thing, much more of that Arthur essence than the whiskey or cigars, probably because he forewent breaks in his journey for those little pleasures to get back to you sooner.

He seems to be taking you in as much as you are him, inhaling long through his nose and sighing it out contentedly, feeling whole again after so long without you in his arms.

“I missed ya’, beautiful.” He says softly into your hair, holding you tight against him, his knuckles brushing up and down the small of your back through layers of clothes you’ve stolen from him.

“I missed you so much…” You mumble into his shirt, hardly able to breathe through the wall of hard chest muscle you’re pressed against, caring even less.

It’s only then do you remember the cigar, forgotten and abandoned, smoking away on the table propped up on a jar lid turned makeshift ashtray. Most of the boys don’t bother with one, and neither did Arthur, until a fateful night a few months before you started dating when you first handed him the jar and told him you read something about birds and rabbits eating the butts of cigarettes. He kept the little piece of junk right next to his bedside, waiting for you to find it after that first night together.

Arthur spots your momentary pull of attention, pulling his chest away to raise a brow down at you with a little chuckle rumbling his chest.

“Having a fancy smoke of a night, are we?”

A cheeky little smirk- Arthur’s favourite, actually- tugs at the corner of your lips, waiting patiently for him to kiss it away.

“The smell reminds me of you…” you play coy, earring yourself that kiss when Arthur lifts you up to his height, kissing you softly, letting his world and yours fall back into place together.

“Well I’m here now, angel. Wanna sit? Could do with a nice cigar with my girl to celebrate a job well done.”

You’re eager to nod, heart fluttering at the prospect of getting to sit with him and hear all about his trip. He untangles from you to sit down first, patting his lap for you to crawl into. You fit perfectly together (you should do, you were made for eachother), head resting on his shoulder, legs splayed over his thighs with your arm draped over his shoulder. The cigar has gone out, so Arthur strikes a match so expertly on his spurs before shaking it out and placing his hand on the small of your back for support. You lean into him, watching him take puffs of the cigar and feeling the tiniest bit of tension leave his joints. He looks so natural with a smoke between his teeth, commanding an air of power with each movement he makes. Smoking doesn’t suit just everyone, you think, but God, does it suit him.

“We’re celebrating? You got the bastard, then?”

“Sure did,” he says, smoke spilling from his lips with each syllable. Arthur looks you over again, drinking in the dearly missed view, before kissing you on the forehead and flipping the cigar between his fingers to offer it up, “Eventually found him up in Fort Brennand, but he weren’t alone. Nearly lost a damn eye, but luckily only Woffard had to be brought in alive, so I dropped the other bastards and ran.”

You hang on his every word, your hero. You know he’s downplaying the fight, the danger of it all, but he does it so that you don’t worry every time he’s gone. It never works, and you always do, but you love him for trying.

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re alright…” You coo, pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the weeks worth of stubble scratching against your palm. He nuzzles into your touch, not unlike a cat, and your find yourself keeping your hand there to mindlessly play with his hair, tipping his hat off to put on your own head. He chuckles, reaching to adjust it on you.

“Course I am, couldn’t leave you here all alone with this buncha’ fools, could I? Besides, someones gotta bring home the bacon around here, and you know Marston’s too trigger happy to bring a bounty in alive.”

“So you got the full price?” Your eyes gleam, the proudest smile on your features as Arthur nods and shifts both your weights for a moment to pull out a stack of bills and smack them on the table dramatically.

“You’re damn straight I did, baby.”

Of course he did. Arthur never fails, and God knows how much the camp needs this right now, freedoms diminishing by the day as Dutch makes more enemies and plans jobs that just seem to keep going wrong. But you don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, there is only you and Arthur, and the promise of a whole night spent with him uninterrupted. You hand him the cigar back, along with a stolen kiss, and he takes another mesmerising drag. The way he holds it, every so often tipping the ash into the first gift you ever gave him, it does things to you that you just can’t explain. It’s just a cigar, and yet you’re pressing your thighs together tight to futilely subdue the tightness coiling between them.

“I’m so proud of you… I always am.” Unkempt locks of hair are twisted between your fingers, your face so close to Arthur’s you can pepper his cheek, temple and lips, whenever not occupied, with little kisses, Arthur’s hat sometimes tipping up against his forehead on your head. The two of you are always like this after a few days apart, unable to get enough of each other or keep your hands off one another. You shift your weight to access him better, catching his bottom lip between your teeth to press a long, tender kiss there. He hums under you, hand splaying under your jacket to grasp at your shirt. It’s seconds before you feel it, that hardening that nudges up against your thigh, prodding and reminding you just how much Arthur has missed you.

You pull away from the kiss, just enough to raise a teasing brow at how sensitive your cowboy is to your touch. He shrugs, unashamed, with that cheeky grin and those glistening eyes directed right at you.

“What? I missed ya…” His words are accompanied with a pinch of your ass, which makes you writhe on top of his stiffness, the friction dragging a low growl from deep within his chest.

“I can see that, cowboy… I missed you too. I missed you more.” You emphasise, nipping at his lip again and splaying your fingers across his chest. He rises to your touch, and you feel him stiffen more so under you. It takes a second of manoeuvring, but you’re soon straddling him, hovering above him like the angel he sees you to be. From this angle, with the moon behind you, you’re glowing.

“You absolutely did not, you little siren…” He growls again, pulling at the flesh of your ass so that you’re grinding against him, the friction of denim against denim igniting you both and burning so wonderfully.

“Oh, yeah? I can prove it.” There’s a little cock of your head, a raise of one teasing brow as you start to slide off him. He looks confused, disappointed, even, until your knees rest on the planks of wood on the balcony floor and he instinctively spreads his legs to give you the space between them. Your fingers splay across his thick thighs, and they tense under your touch, as does Arthur’s jaw. He’s starved after a week without you, clearly trying to reign in a control he’s struggling to possess. There’s no wonder, having his girl knelt before him like this.

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” He growls out, abandoning the still smoking cigar in the jar lid. You look up at him, peeking out from under the rim of his hat.

“No.” You reach for the cigar, taking a few drags yourself before flipping it in your fingers just like he did and placing it between his teeth, “Finish your smoke.”

A distant laugh captures Arthur’s attention for a second, reminding you both just how close you are to the other gang members. You’re somewhat hidden by the railing, but if they looked in your direction, Arthur is fully visible from the chest up. A simple bob of your head- and you’re planning on plenty- would bring you into view.

The look Arthur gives you when he quickly diverts his attention back from Marston and the others is downright feral, especially when your hands reach for his belt buckle. Nimble fingers make quick word of the obstruction, and you’re soon pulling Arthur’s thick, long length out from his jeans. He groans at your very touch, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your hand.

You laugh, the sound a tempting little giggle as you tell him “Patience, cowboy…”

He almost snarls in response, clearly having been goddamn patient enough over the last week where all he could do is fuck himself with your name on his lips and the thought of you knelt just like this between his legs at the forefront of his mind, always.

Just as you lean in, when your soft lips trace over his rosy, swollen head, he pulls you back by plucking his hat from atop your head and throwing it to the side. He rests the cigar between the fingers of his free hand to free his mouth to speak to you.

“Need to see you while I fuck that pretty little moutha’ yours, angel…”

His words soak through you (and soak you through), and you just can’t wait a second longer, needy to have his cock deep down your throat, desperate for the burning of your lungs and the stinging in your eyes when he loses that control he so often vehemently clings to.

Unable to wait a second longer, you run your tongue from base to tip, feeling every vein pulsing under your muscle and eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. When you finally take him in your mouth, his hand reaches to cup your cheek, following you down as you take as much of him as you can.

“Fuck.” He groans, fingers reaching to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp. He’s probably louder than he should be, your eyes flickering to the general direction of the others as a warning, but they soon snap back to your cowboy, an intense eye contact burning at your skin as the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. Arthur never takes his eyes off you, guiding you up and down his length and bringing the smoke to his lips. The tip of the cigar flares a deep, fiery orange, and smoke billows from his mouth with each laboured breath you coax from him. The way he’s sitting, fingers of one hand pulling at your hair, controlling your movements, and the other limply holding the smoke, he exudes a power many seek to master but never quite get. It makes your heart swell and your cunt throb for him, knowing on your knees before him is the only place you ever want to be, knowing only you inhabit it.

You can taste Arthur, his salty essence leaking from the pure ecstasy you’re providing and spit pools in your throat, mixing with it and dribbling down your chin. Arthur catches it with his thumb, guiding you off his cock to push the digit into your mouth and let you suckle from it. You do, hungrily, adjusting on your knees to better take Arthur deep down your throat and-

“Arthur! That you?”

Marston.

For eyes widen at each other, Arthur instinctively pushing you a little lower by your shoulder to keep you out of sight. John hasn’t seen you, and you’d like to keep it that way, being in the incriminating position you are between Arthur’s legs.

You spot the irritated sigh, the twitch of Arthur’s jaw as he plasters a fake friendliness onto his features and peers over the balcony to see his brother standing on the clearing below.

“Sure is. Whatchu’ want?”

Straight to the point.

“We didn’t hear you get back. How long’ve you been here?”

All that tension you’ve worked so hard to dissipate comes back to Arthur’s form with a crashing force. You can almost hear his plea for just one second a’ goddamn peace, merely by the way he sighs before answering.

“Not long, thought I’d try and sneak past you fools and get some shut eye.”

Subtle, cowboy.

Ever oblivious, or simply not caring, John continues, “How’d it go, then? You got the bastard?”

He has you pressed against his thigh to hide you from sight, cock standing to attention right beside your face. It’s too tempting, especially with a none the wiser Marston stood right below. When your tongue darts out, hovering above Arthur’s twitching, aching cock, his eyes flick down to you, warning residing deep in his eyes. You take it as less of a warning, more a challenge.

You wouldn’t.

Oh, but I would.

And you do. You lift up, just enough to fit the head of his throbbing cock past your lips and slide the whole length in. It bumps the back of your throat, but upon hearing Arthur’s strangled, poorly hidden groan, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

“Y-uh… Yeah, I got ‘em…”

It’s impressive, how he can just about hold a conversation despite his cock being so far down your throat his balls rest on your chin.

You can’t see John, but you can only imagine how his head must tilt and his brows must pull together at the strange response from Arthur.

“You alright, brother?”

He won’t be.

You blink up at Arthur, feigning an innocent, near angelic expression as you inhale through your nose and push him even further into you. You hum, low and quiet, letting the vibrations pass through him. Arthur whimpers, instantly knocking any and all sounds you’ve ever heard from top spot and replacing them as your favourite in the whole world.

“I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tries to hint again, to no avail. His fingers are digging into your shoulder with a bruising force, that control slipping bit by bit with every passing second, every little movement. Tears prick at your eyes, that burning in your lungs you’ve been reaching for finally igniting. You’re stuffed with him, feeling so full that it’s hard to breathe. When you go to release him, to be able to gasp for precious air, you realise you can’t, Arthur’s huge hand holding you right in place with his palm flush against the back of your neck. Revenge.

“Where’s the Mrs?”

A raise of a brow. You’re not married, but everything is so naturally right between you and Arthur that the gang just seem to have defaulted to that. It makes you beam, wanting nothing more than to be this man’s wife, the kind of wife that makes him cum down your throat while he has a menial conversation.

“S-She’s- fuck…” When he grips harder at you, you gag around his length, tears now streaming down your cheeks and mixing with your spittle and the little bits of precum that leak out from Arthur. “She’s in bed. I-I better go check on her, a-actually.” He whimpers again, fingers now gripping into your hair to keep you in place. You’re not sure how much longer you can last like this, struggling to breathe, overflowing and, God, so wet for him.

John sounds unconvinced. You’d giggle, if you could.

“Alright… Well, g’night, brother.”

Arthur barely manages a grunt, and you can feel his thighs tensing and twitching from the sheer effort of not bucking his hips up into you and giving the pair of you away. He stills, most likely waiting for Marston to fuck off already, before he rips you away from him and pulls you to your feet, gripping your aching jaw with force enough force to keep it open.

“You goddamn siren.” He isn’t mad. He’s trying to be, but you know Arthur far too well, and he’s burning with a fire far hotter than mere anger. Need.

The mischievous glint in your eye is all you can offer for response, what with his iron grip on your face, but you do manage to slip your tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, tasting the mixture of fluids still lingering.

It’s all getting too much, knowing what you just did and who you did it around, hearing Arthur unable to string a sentence together because of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so desperate for a release that you’re pathetically writhing in Arthur’s hold. He notices, forced anger on his features replaced with a cockiness that only comes from knowing he’s regaining the power in the situation.

Your cheeks tingle when he releases you, sitting back in the seat and leaning back, one elbow resting on the arm of the old wooden chair and picking the cigar back up. God, you could ride him in that chair till morning, if you thought the wood wouldn’t splinter under the force.

“You gonna finish what you started, my little siren?” He asks, taking an especially long toke from the smoke while he waits for you to drop to your knees before him. Your cunt throbs, screaming out for his attention, but it would seem your antics have earned you punishment.

Your knees hit the wood with a force, though an involuntary whimper escapes you, hips grinding pathetically against nothing. Arthur notices, smirking like a goddamn cheshire cat at his little wanton whore.

“Patience, angel.” Your own words echo back to you like a slap in the face. You definitely deserve this.

The grip you had on the power in this game you’re playing with Arthur officially disappears when his hand snakes around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair and winding it around his wrist like a leash. You have to tilt your head so the tugging at your scalp is a mere burn rather than a sharp pain, but that’s just where he wants you.

“Now, little siren, I’m gonna teach ya’ some manners, and you’re gonna finish what you started, alright? And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll think about getting that sweet little cunt of yours off…”

It’s all it takes, the promise of Arthur’s fingers deep inside you while he sucks on your clit just how you like it, lapping up your juices like a man starved, and the defiance in your eyes dissipates. Arthur bends you to his whim, messy, sloppy putty in his hands as he drags you onto his weeping cock. You’re all but drooling for him, leaking out of the corners of your mouth when he slips into you. Your scalp tingles with the pull, especially when Arthur involuntarily tightens his grip with a hiss of his breath. His tip bumps the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop even when you’ve fit all of him in that you can.

“Fuck, good girl, just like that baby girl…” he groans, and when you open your eyes to look up to him, he is watching you with a gaze so intense you feel like it could tear you apart. The tension burns between you, coiling so tight the chirp of a nearby cricket could snap it.

There’s an unspoken question in your eyes when you start to nearly choke on his length of when you’ll be released, but his eyes darken, “Come on, baby, you can take more, can’t you?”

He seems to register your fear, but it phases him little. It seems more a challenge, really, coaxing him into rocking his hips into you, pushing you even further onto his cock until you feel it start to breach past your throat in a way you didn’t even know possible. You splutter, wriggling and writhing as you try your hardest to breathe through your nose.

“Shh… good girl,” he coos, a ravenous look taking over your usually so lovable cowboy. You’ve pushed him, and God do you live for it. “Not much further… wanna see you take all of my cock, alright? You gonna do that for me, angel?”

You can’t nod, but it isn’t much of a question, not much choice available with your limited movements and the way Arthur has completely commandeered your body. You’re irrevocably his, body and soul.

It doesn’t feel possible to fit more of him in, your throat burning for relief that won’t come until Arthur is satisfied, but when he bucks his hips into you, you feel his base press against your nose. He groans hard, the noise initially from the sensation of having your throat wrapped around his cock, but when he sees the sight of you, tear stained and gagging on him, the moan is pulled out into a noise of pure ecstasy.

“Good girl… my good fuckin’ girl.”

His thumb rubs lovingly over your wet cheek, a sensation you cling to as the corners of your vision get fuzzy. Fuck, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, but you’re so desperate to feel Arthur’s spend trickling down your throat, feel him lose control and moan just for you that you’d honestly be willing to die for it.

Your expression, complete with lust-fogged, watery eyes, and beautifully flushed skin, teases the last of Arthur’s restraint like a razor thin blade against that final thread. When it finally snaps, you’re allowed one gasp for air, before he’s thrusting back into you hard. You can feel him stiffen, even more so than before, as his hips splutter into your mouth and he starts to tumble over the precipice into that realm of pleasure that only the two of you share.

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” But he interrupts himself with a visceral, primal groan, the vibration of it shattering the both of you. You take advantage of his practically inebriated state to regain some of your own anatomy, managing to swirl your tongue around his pulsing head inside your mouth. The hot, salty spend blooms across your tongue at that, Arthur guiding you by the cheek to bob up and down on his cock while he paints your throat white. His moans are a melody you’ll never tire of, animalistic and vulnerable all the same.

It feels like it never stops, Arthur’s spend filling your mouth up and leaking out from the corners of your lip. You can hardly stay still, writhing your needy cunt against your own heel, desperate for a reward you’re earning when you look him in the eye and swallow it all down. Pride blooms across Arthur’s features, saturated with a love that warms you from the inside out. His thumb caresses your face softly, wiping the tear tracks as you finally release his cock from your mouth and he guides you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

“My good girl…” He coos, barely above a whisper as you breathe each other in, both as breathless as the other. Your throat aches, your jaw burning, but you’d do it a thousand times over to experience what you just did all over again.

“Now…” He splits the sentence with another kiss, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Get on inside, sweetheart, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

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taintedmind6669 · 2 days ago

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Do I have an ongoing Billy Batson fic that I’ve been avoiding working on for months? Yeah. Anyways heres this open-ended drabble I’ve been keeping in my notes app since November

Trigger warning for mildly graphic descriptions of life-threatening injury, its not super bad but if you’re sensitive to that kinda thing you prolly shouldn’t read this

SOS

No no no no no this could NOT be how he went out. Not from a stray bullet fired during a drug deal gone wrong. Billy clasped his hand to his stomach as he ran, gasping for air but desperate to get away lest the criminals turn their focus away from each other and onto the little kid who had been snooping on their business and had let out an unfortunate yelp upon having been shot directly in some very vital internal organs. Billy wasn’t sure how far he ran, time was beginning to swirl and slide away from his grasp with every heavy footfall and little black dots speckled the corners of his vision, threatening to take over his sight entirely.

He hadn't even intended to investigate the pair’s shady dealings, he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong form, seriously, the one time he wasn’t getting the scoop for his radio gig just had to be the one time he got mixed up in something genuinely life threatening. Billy’s rotten luck was starting to really get on his nerves. It took a lot to get Billy well and truly worked up, especially when it came to injustices enacted against himself as opposed to civilians, but come on? There was only so much bad luck he could endure before wondering if perhaps some other pantheon of Gods had it out for his patrons and decided to take it out on him. Most Gods weren’t exactly known for their emotional maturity.

Minutes and seconds congealed into one mass of sticky uncertainty taking up space in the forefront of Billy’s mind, he couldn’t focus, the air in his lungs was leaving him faster than he could replace it with shallow shaky breaths.

Fuck, he was really going to die in a dingy alley as Billy Batson, the homeless runaway that shoveled peoples driveways for a little extra food money. He bit back a cry of agony as he dropped down against the wall of a building, he couldnt tell what building his was leaned against, he couldn’t recognize the street, he could barely see through the dark fog circling his line of sight.

He pulled his cold pale hand away from the bullet wound, his heart dropped at the fuzzy sight of blood gushing out, eager to vacate his body’s rapidly dying husk. His already red shirt turned a deep crimson-black in a wide circle around the hole. He couldn’t think straight, his eyes shook and pain pulled at every inkling of a thought he managed to form, somehow, he gathered just enough strength to pull his Justice League communicator out of his pocket.

With limited control over his trembling fingers and a weak grasp on consciousness Billy sent a message to the unofficial leader of the Justice League.

Billy’s last thought before the dark dreamless sleep pulled him under was that he should really look into luck spells if he happens to survive this.

…

A shout pierced the quiet Gotham night, like the chime of midnight, echoing and demanding attention.

Batman and his ward zeroed in on the sound that served as a verbal spotlight, the scuffle was relatively simple: a masked man grappling with a woman for her purse while stood on the doorstep of a skinny and sad looking apartment complex.

Robin looked up at Batman with starry eyes, Batman responded with a curt nod, allowing his sidekick to handle the situation on his own while he observed from the nearby rooftop.

Bruce could tell the aggressor was young based on his stature, his body language hemorrhaged inexperience by the gallon, it seemed like a safe enough bet for his student of a little under 3 years to handle alone.

Just as Robin had finished tightening the zip ties around the perpetrator’s wrists Batman felt a buzz from his JL communicator. It wasn’t often that Batman received an alert on the device, he had made it very clear that the communicators were only to be used in the most dire situations or if there was an urgent matter the whole group needed to discuss.

Half expecting to find a message from Flash about the Watchtower being out of granola bars, Batman pulled the device from his utility belt.

He was mildly surprised to find that it was Captain Marvel who had messaged him, it wasn’t as though the hero was too proud to ask for help, it was simply that the “World’s Mightiest Mortal” didn’t typically need it.

The last time Marvel had needed the assistance of the Justice League on Fawcett business was when Mister Atom was on a rampage, exploding buildings faster than Marvel could evacuate them and the demigod had asked for help getting civilians to safety while he dealt with the robot.

Batman glanced back at his protégé, he watched Dick hand the woman her purse with that boyish smile on his face and he felt a warmth bloom inside of him. Robin could manage babysitting the would-be purse thief during the few minutes it took for the cops to arrive at the scene, in the meantime he could read the Captain’s message and determine the next course of action.

Upon opening the message Batman’s eyebrows furrowed and that warm sense of pride was washed away by a distinct concern.

“SOS”

The message was joined by a little square with a blinking red dot smack dab in the middle, matching red text underneath the dot displayed the hero’s exact coordinates.

As if on cue, red and blue lights illuminated the street, Bruce gestured for Dick to leave the man and follow him, the authorities were close enough that the man wouldn’t be able to run far enough to get away. Batman and Robin were never really known for staying to chat with Gotham PD, a pattern which would have to continue as now the two had somewhere to be, and a demigod to save.

#feel free to use this as inspo/a prompt for your own fanfic writing endeavors #I really dont envision a future where I make this a full fic #billy batson #bruce wayne #dick grayson #billy batson and dick grayson #billy batson and bruce wayne #dc captain marvel #shazam #robin #batman #batman and robin #timeline based on absolutely NO canon known to man #idk how yall keep track of all that but I choose to bullshit and pick whatever I can think of that suits my purposes best #tw graphic #tw graphic description of wound #tw graphic description

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toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

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night walks masterlist

Updated Jan 17, 2025 (Alt timeline - basement breeder)

mood board by @milla-frenchy 🖤

This is an AU moreso than a series. Very little plot. Joel, an older neighbor you've been walking with late at night, asks you into his basement to sell him weed. Turns out he's a little obsessed with you. You find him irresistible, despite your initial efforts to stay away.

OVERALL WARNINGS: Non-outbreak AU, drug use, Dubcon, unsafe P in V, dirty talk, stalking

gif by @iamasaddie. see bottom of post for more art

reader curated spotify playlist

MAIN TIMELINE

NIGHT WALKS (2k) - ORIGINAL. Joel gets you in his basement and you fuck.

"Deleted Scene" - Joel reveals his breeding kink.

✨neighbor stuff (800) - Grocery store run-in

Night Walks 2 (1.9k) - When you don't come back for more, Joel takes matters into his own hands.

Night Walks 3 (1.4k) - Joel breaks in and has his way with you. (Darkest, can skip)

Liquor store run-in (350) - You run into Joel in public and he gropes you.

Night Walks 4: All dressed up (1.3k) - You run into Joel at a gas station and end up fucking him.

Restaurant drabble (400) - You run into Joel when you're out with your friends.

Night Walks 5: Harder (2.8k) - You get jealous. You hang out and can't get enough of him.

BLOW (2k) - You do a line of his dick then give him an amazing blow job and later he puts it in.

Night Walks 6: Morning After (900) - You wake up at Joel's and he's not ready for you to leave.

Night Walks 7: Soaked (3.5k) - You're still there and it's storming so you stay for a while.

Night Walks 8: Menace (4k) - You're set up on a date, but Joel reminds you why you want him.

Interludes: 4th of July (200?) - You go to the pool. POV: Neighbor (Ethyl).

✨tired (1k) - comfort fic

Night Walks 9: Late Night Dip (2.3k) - You go to the pool and he dicks you down. Interlude: Ethyl's house.

Beach walks - Prequel (3.8k) - Joel is acting shady and you hook up with someone else.

Beach Walks (7k) - Joel can't let you go. surf shack lore

HCs, ALTERNATE READERS & TIMELINES ⤵️

Headcanons

If someone refused him - What would Joel do if someone flat-out refused him and really didn't want it?

Alt. timelines (AUs of AU)

FUTURE: Sleeping beauty (750) - You and Joel have a consensual non-con agreement. He breaks in, chloroforms you, ties you up.

FUTURE: Day walks (150) - You and Joel are out hiking and he's being irresponsible.

night caulks (100) - Joel being a rascal

ALT: Leopard print (4.5k)- ft. Tommy

ALT: Basement breeder (1k) if Joel were a serial breeder. spoiler alert he gets fixated on you

DIFFERENT READERS (AUs of AU)

(2003) Night Chalks (400) - Joel takes a liking to Sarah's engaged teacher and starts to seduce her.

Night Chalks 2 (380) - Joel gets her in the back seat of his car.

(2008) Night Talks (2.8k) - Joel gets Sarah's best friend high and takes her virginity.

(2018) Night Drives (1k) - You order a lyft after a girl's night out and end up in Joel's basement.

Misc: If you're desperate: Dr. Rock has NW roleplay (1st person)

NIGHT WALKS GHOSTFACE

Every inch

Every inch 2

Every inch 3

main joel miller masterlist

Art & Visuals

POV Ring doorbell by @swedishscumfuck.

Joel on vacation w/ blurb.

Man cave/basement floor plan

Booty text by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog and @missannwinchester

TRAILER (video) by @iamasaddie

meet me in the moonlight by @iamasaddie

mood board by @milla-frenchy

gif by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Pumpkin mood board

beach walks collages by @lunitawrites

nw collage by @selfproclaimed-moviecritic

beach walks by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

sleeping beauty by @milla-frenchy

night walks vibes by @xdaddysprincessxx

Silhouette edit by Milla

#joel miller x reader #night walks!joel #joel miller smut #creepy!joel miller #sleazy!joel miller #neighbor!joel miller #dark!joel miller #toxicanonymity ☠️#pedro pascal fic #joel miller masterlist #toxic masterlist #nightwalks☠️#tw flickering #💝

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 9 months ago

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Blood Sport

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble part 4 - 2.6K WC

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 (you are here!)

Part 5

Part 6 NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: violence, blood, fighting, Baron and Reverend Mother being shady af, pretty fluffy, reader is just built different, knife throwing, full on fight, blood licking?, slow burn, two passionate people trying to protect each other, I completely made up the language of Succo so don’t come for me, not proof read but then again none of my fics are

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

You woke early, a slight crack in the curtains letting the blindingly bright black sun of Geidi Prime stream across your face. You groaned as you threw your arm over your face; the bed felt cold, lonely. You looked over to where Feyd slept last night, rolling towards his pillow. His scent still lingered - sweet blood mixed with musky sweat. You breathed deep before your maids entered the room.

“What?” you hissed at them, holding your hand out to pause them in their place. Your blood magic felt stronger than it had in days now that you had fed, especially from such a strong host.

“The Lord Na-Baron Feyd Rautha has requested your presence in the training arena princess. He gave me a message for you.” your maid said not looking you in your eyes.

You made a ‘come here’ motion with your hand, your magic dragging her towards you. You set her down, she handed you the note with a trembling hand. “Out.” you said dismissing them. They scurried out like frightened rats.

Fitalitum veritanic et alumi read the slip of parchment. You smiled to yourself, in your own mother tongue of Succonant he wrote “There is beauty in ferocity”. You placed the note in the top drawer of the bedside table before getting out of bed and readying yourself. You purposefully picked out one of your long dresses instead of training gear. He wanted to see beauty and ferocity, you would give it to him. As you adorned your dress you couldn’t help but admire how every piece of it could become a weapon. The sharp shoulder pads could be taken off and used as individual throwing knives. The belt became a barbed whip. The long sleeves hid two painfully thin blades, dainty but they hurt no less than a regular Cruor blade. Each layer on the dress had razor sharp edges, if you spun they were sure to carve your opponent. Finally a diadem which encased your shield should you need it. Cruor fought without them but you didn’t want to risk marking your face days before the wedding. You finished admiring yourself before grabbing your beloved Cruor sword and heading down the corridor to the training arena.

As you walked down the cavernous halls of the Harkonnen palace you were confronted with the Reverend Mother herself, as if her ghostly form sprouted from the floor itself.

“Princess Y/N” she stated in an unimpressed tone.

“Reverend Mother.” you said, equally displeased.

“Are you prepared for your wedding?” she asked, reminding you that the end of the week was approaching rapidly.

“Of course.” you replied, bored.

“You may think yourself above the rest Cruor, but you must remember where you are. And who truly rules.” she said with spite in her voice.

“How could I forget Reverend Mother? Your shadows haunt these halls.” you said viciously, referring to her Bene Gesserit sisters.

“You are fortunate the Voice does not affect you. But there are other ways to make you cooperate.” she said, stepping closer to you in an attempt to be imposing.

You twisted your fingers, your magic forcing her back and making her stumble. “Unfortunately for you, you are not and will never be immune to blood magic. It is built into my very being, not some trick to be learned. You do not frighten me, and I will not cooperate with you unless I alone agree to it.” you snapped at her.

“There are always ways to make one cooperate. Should something happen to your husband, the Queen will be looked at intensely as a suspect. With my advice.” she said with an unsettlingly soft smile.

“And what makes you think I care for him in the slightest?” you asked, despite knowing it wasn’t entirely true.

She hummed curiously, “Good day princess.” she said before walking away from you.

“Cunt.” you whispered before pushing on towards the training arena.

When you entered the arena Feyd was nowhere to be found. You honed in your accelerated hearing, listening for his heartbeat. Your scarlet eyes narrowed to your left but a blow hit you from the right. You rolled to the ground with a groan. Feyd looked down at you with nothing but malice.

“What the fuck? That hurt you ass.” you coughed, hand holding your ribs which felt slightly cracked.

“What makes you think I care in the slightest?” he said with venom in his voice. He stomped towards you.

You knew he overheard your conversation. This was no longer training, this was a fight. You kept hold on your side, continuing to pretend like you were in immense pain. As Feyd stood before you, you kicked out his ankles with one swipe of your leg. He fell to the ground, you held your nails to his neck. Feyd grabbed your wrist, yanking you towards him, he threw you over him. Using your momentum he rolled with you, pulling his knife out and stabbing it next to where your shoulder would have landed if you had not pulled yourself towards him as you rolled. You smacked your forehead into his, pulling one of your shoulder blades out and stabbing at his shoulder, the blue shimmer of the shield vibrating the small blade. You pushed off each other, both of you getting to your feet.

You tossed the small shoulder blade away from you, “You want to fight? Fight.” you said, pressing the main jewel on the diadem. Your blue shield shimmer faded before you tossed it off entirely. Feyd followed suit. You smirked at him which only seemed to anger him. He lunged at you, blade thrusting towards your chest. You made an ‘X’ in front of you with your forearms, the thin blades in your sleeves caught the knife, you twisted until he dropped the blade. He brought his armored arms down, breaking the thin blades. You backed up, kicking his chest to push him away. Feyd tried to rush you but you spun away, the dress ends slicing through his armor and into his thigh slightly. You took your belt off, lassoing his ankle before pulling him. He landed on his back. You snatched the lasso back, wrapping it around your knuckles before you squared up. He attempted to swipe your leg, instead you caught his and punched him in the side, hearing one of his ribs crack. Feyd groaned as he bent over slightly, holding his side.

“Now were even.” you said, tossing your belt to the side.

Feyd pulled you down by your dress, rolling you beneath him before he snatched one of your remaining shoulder blades. Starting right above your belly button he dragged the knife, cutting your dress up to your neck. A thin cut trailing your skin from the very tip of the knife, making you suck in a sharp breath as you felt drops of your blood seep out. You reached up to grab him, he held both your wrists down after tossing the small blade away. Both of you breathed heavily, chests hitting each other with every inhale. His eyes looked into yours, alight with fire. His hips nestled between your legs. Your dress fell open, revealing the cut he left behind, hardly keeping your breasts covered.

“You learn quick.” you smiled beneath him. “You are not your weapons. You are the weapon.”

His eyes wandered to the cut he left up your torso, he saw the few drops of blood that dripped to your side. He slowly lowered himself down your chest, keeping his eyes locked with yours. You watched through a haze as his tongue flicked out before he dragged it up the cut between your breasts. You sucked in a breath, your eyes closing as your back began to arch into him. You felt his tongue leave you all too quick.

“Absolutely vile.” he said, savoring the way your iron tasted on his tongue.

You heard the door open and shut, a Harkonnen maid entered without looking at either of you, “The Baron has requested your presence in the Great Hall my Lord Na-Baron Feyd Rautha.” she said before scurrying out.

Feyd stood, offering you a hand to help you up. You tugged your dress closed with one hand, accepting his help with the other. Chest to chest once again, time felt as if it had froze. Your breaths matched each other, breathing each other in and out. Feyd leaned in first, his forehead going to rest against yours. You moved to kiss him, not entirely sure why but every fiber of you ached for him and him alone.

Before you could close the gap, the Barons voice boomed throughout the arena. “Nephew! We have much to discuss. You are dismissed princess.” He said waving you off.

You tightly held your dress together, ripping yourself away from Feyd and exiting the room. You checked, making sure no guards or maids were around before remaining right outside the door, honing your hearing in on them.

“Holding knives to your bride? I figured you’d be a brute in marriage like you are in battle. Try not to break her in too rough, they’re much less likely to oblige. Although… we could always have someone hold her down for you. Like I had to with you the first few times.” The Baron chuckled.

You could hear Feyd’s heartbeat, his soul was crushing at the memories and yet he was calm. The Baron confirmed what you had seen when you drank Feyd’s blood, he had abused Feyd - physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually. Your body warmed with anger, you had half a mind to go and rip the Baron’s throat out with your own teeth. He was an animal, he should die like an animal.

“That won’t be necessary, I’m perfectly capable of taking her on my own.” Feyd replied.

Your heart sank and a low boil of fear started in your stomach. You felt stupid for starting to feel anything for him besides hate.

“She is strong willed, thinks she knows best. Tame her, break her. She need only produce and heir or two… then you can dispose of her.” The Baron said.

Feyd’s eyes widened slightly as his head whipped up to meet the Baron’s gaze. He composed himself once more, “Of course.”

You couldn’t listen to anymore. You hastily made your way back to your chambers, tearing off your gown once inside. As you moved to put on more comfortable clothing you caught sight of your reflection. You could see bruises forming along your side, and the blood that had dried on you from the cut that was still present up your chest. As soon as you had finished cleaning yourself up, dressing your wounds, and changing into much looser clothing you heard the door slide open.

Feyd looked at you, startled by what he saw. Black veins around your eyes were ever present as your pupils looked like that of a cat. Instead of your regular two fangs you had four. You looked like you were ready to devour him mind, body, and soul. “Y/N?” Is all he said.

“Are you here to break me? Tame me? Are you going to hold me down or will your guards be doing that?” You asked with so much loathing in your voice it made his head spin.

“You know I’d never hurt you-“ he started.

“Do I?” You cut him off. “You breathe because I allow it. Do not forget who comes from the more powerful house. Who carries generations of magic within them. Who feast off the very life source of others.”

Feyd could see how much you distrusted him, and yet he saw your eyes getting misty.

“You are a beast, Feyd Rautha. A beast and a monster. To believe I ever thought otherwise…” you trailed off.

“I may be a monster but at least I am not some unfeeling blood magic wielding wench who cares for no one but herself. I overheard you with the Reverend Mother.” Feyd argued back, both of you now heated and angry.

Your jaw dropped. How could he be so thick? So fucking oblivious? “I said that to protect you!” You yelled at him, stepping closer.

“What do you think I was doing?” He yelled back, throwing one of your empty glass jars to the side.

The jar shattered as it hit your light disc he had gifted you. The disc faltered, the stars and Rubrum disappearing as the disc finally died, “No!” You yelled, rushing to it, forgetting the argument at hand entirely. You knelt next to it, picking it up and trying to make it work again.

Feyd watched you, his eyes softening. You were scared and alone on a planet you had never known, surrounded by people who viewed you as strange and lesser, whose only purpose was ultimate obedience, to be used any way that would benefit House Harkonnen without regard for you.

You sighed, letting the star disc clatter to the floor. You remained on your knees, a small sniffle emanating from you. You hated looking weak, but you knew this was coming; everything was too much. You wanted nothing more than to go back to Succo.

Feyd knelt in front of you, gently taking your arms till you rested against his chest. You let out a heart wrenching sob. One that had been held in for quite some time. “I would never hurt you, I am loyal to you above all else.” He murmured as he stroked your back, trying to calm you.

You leaned into him, finally letting out all that had been held in since you left Succo. “I don’t want to hurt you either. I have no one on this planet but you… I wish for us to be equals; us against any who oppose us.” You said between sniffles.

Feyd pulled you back so he could see you. Your face had returned to normal, as did your fangs. Black tears cascaded down your cheeks, he gently wiped them off. As you looked at one another you could feel it. The same need to be understood, wanted. You both leaned in, lips finally meeting. Both of you let out sighs, the long awaited tension finally breaking. It was slow and sweet but gained momentum. You nipped his lip with one of your fangs, causing him to reel away from you in surprise.

“Sorry…” you blushed.

He shook his head, “Don’t be… we should rest…” he said after a few moments.

“We have much to discuss.” You said.

“And we will. But for now, let us rest.” He said, his hand coming up to hold your cheek.

You placed your hand over his, closing your eyes before nodding. He stood first, guiding you up as he stood. You climbed into the large satin covered bed. You watched as Feyd discarded his armor, along with his shirt. He held it for a moment, hesitating if he should or shouldn’t do what he was thinking.

You reached out a hand for him, “Come to bed.” You said sleepily, already laying down amongst the pillows and blankets.

Feyd smiled softly as he set his shirt down and climbed in next to you. He did the same as the first night, sleeping far from you. You peeked at him through the haze of sleep that was rapidly consuming you. You tugged on his arm, making him scoot closer to you. You wrapped yourself around him; one leg around his hips while you laid yourself on his bare chest. You snuggled in for a moment before finally drifting off. Feyd caressed your hair as you slept, thinking of how he could protect you from his uncle because you were, by far, the most precious thing to him.

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

Naboo's Note:

This took 3 days to write but I think it was well worth the wait. We're finally getting somewhere romantic! I know ya'll are horny but patience is a virtue and trust me it will be worth it. We've got wedding bells coming the next chapter! Thanks for all the support around this series, I'm having a lot of fun with it :) I love comments and find them super encouraging so be sure to drop me some XOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXO

taglist:

@wo-ming-bai

@reemoony

#feyd imagine #feyd x reader #feyd smut #feyd rauth harkonnen #feyd rautha #feyd x you #feydpaul #feyd rautha harkonnen #house harkonnen #baron harkonnen #harkonnen #dune part two #dune part 2 #writing #dune movie

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scudslut · 1 year ago

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em's masterlist/guidelines

fluff - 𐙚 || smut - ♱ || angst - ✾

➳ Daryl Dixon

one-shots: sins and honey flavored sweetness 𐙚 ♱ ✾ heartsease 𐙚 ♱ a summer wasting 𐙚 midnight refreshments 𐙚 a new years surprise 𐙚 ♱ lazy mornings 𐙚 stay with me 𐙚 ✾ too sweet ♱

drabbles: taste me ♱ head w/ daryl 𐙚♱ daryl’s uncut ♱ s4 daryl 𐙚 ♱ ✾

cannock chase 𐙚

➳ Scud Frohmeyer

one-shots: take me however you want too ♱

drabbles: cockwarming w/ scud ♱ scuds a slut (canonically) ♱

➳ My Edits

normy's bday dhl burn, burn, burn new bottega

please send requests!

About Me!

em | 21 | gemini

hi everyone! this is so long awaited (i’m legit so lazy) but finally i have a masterlist/about me!

╰─▸ my names emma, i’m obviously in love w daryl dixon/norman reedus. i love to write and make edits — u guys should totally follow my tiktok account @mrsemmadixon or otherwise known as scudslut;)

i met norman jdkskajajs at the nyc comic con 2023, he signed the back of my phone case, i’ll actually die on a fucking hill. yes, he’s just as godly in person.

in my day to day life i work with animals 10 hours a day, they are my main passion aside from writing and whatnot, so if i post a photo of a really cute dog i met, that’s why lmao.

i have 2 cats right now, my baby lily i got last year and sophie who i’ve had since i was a kid. typically we rescue all our animals!

i deal with extreme anxiety and depression from a major accident that happened in my life a few years ago (so if i don’t respond or have trouble posting sometimes… that’s why and i really hope everyone understands.)

I love, love, love music. I play the piano and guitar, probably not very good but who cares. some of my all time favorite artists are.. and here we go on a rampage... deftones, cigsaftersex, wheezer, nirvana, mac, frank, lana, djo, catpower, the vines, dinosaur jr, labi siffre, the kills, tom odell, strokes, velvet underground, kendrick, norah jones, red hot chilies, the smiths, billy idol, the cure, no vacation, mazzy star, fleetwood, empire of the sun, pinegrove, otis redding, neil young, etta james, summer walker, motley crue, guns'n'roses, foo fighters, biggie, shady, nelly, jay-z, $uici$ide boys, gucci... and so much more, my music taste is actually bipolar.

on that note, i actually have a playlist for daryl + norman (music he reposts/i think he’d like) lmk if u want me so share them.

i’m canadian

my parents are both extreme alcoholics, so i suffer from a multitude of childhood traumas as well as current ones. we love it here!:) but id like to think i relate to daryl in some sense, if its the only comfort i get from it.

i could live off of pasta, watermelon and coffee alone

i spend my time either at my job, reading, writing, editing or spending time with some close friends.

and that’s pretty much me!:)

please feel free to ask me questions or request fics, i will absolutely love to do them! (as long as they follow guidelines) if your unsure, just message me to clarify!

My Guidelines:

absolutely no rape/SA/even slight connotations of it.

no incest.

hitting, slapping, or any extreme violence during play, is a no.

age play - i will dabble in this but nothing major where reader is barely an adult. the most i’ll do is early/mid 20’s and daryl is his canon age.

oh yes, and i will write for all norman reedus characters! if you want someone else, messsage/ask me!

gifs/dividers from @cafekitsune

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kuwdora · 6 months ago

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Witcher Recs - Villains & Bad Guys Edition, part 1

Please enjoy these 23 fic recs featuring Emhyr, Dijkstra, Radovid, Vilgefortz, and the Wild Hunt. I tried to indicate what witcher canon is predominant but sometimes people blend the canons. I'm a voracious reader when my brain lets me read, and I read so many different things. I have many tastes! I haven't done a witcher recs post since 2022 and I have 18 billion more recs in the pipeline that I had collected since like 2021.

With any luck and squeeful motivation I'll share more villain recs in the future.

These recs feature mostly rarepairs. I'm still experimenting with formatting these recs on tumblr, let me know what y'all think on that front. Hope you enjoy the fic!

This got pretty long so I'm putting it under a cut.

Emhyr

Prickly Urchin by @seventfics. Game canon. Dijkstra/Emhyr. 2200w. Pre-relationship and tagged ‘Shady Rich Parties with Questionable Ends.’ Based the prompt ‘cursed’ and Dijkstra meets a prickly Duny. Few people still alive can say they've met the emperor before his ascension to the Nilfgaardian throne. A young Count Sigismund Dijkstra is one of them. It's just that neither of them knew.

A great little AU/missing scene, tackles the premise of these two meeting shortly after the Law of Surprise in a great way.

the sweetest flower by @witch-and-her-witcher. Ambigious canon. Emhyr/Yennefer. 700w. Explicit. Oral sex, cunnilingus, power dynamics. Satisfaction comes when Emhyr relinquishes power.

The way Cee opened up my brain with this ficlet made me gorge myself on everything in the Emhyr/Yen tag after I first read this. The possibilities of this pairing, whew. This ficlet sdlfjasldfkjasldfkjasl.

Quills by @bittydragon. Game canon. Emhyr/Geralt. 7500w. Teen. PTSD, Flashbacks, nonsexual touch. Emhyr can feel the quills and claws growing from underneath his skin again. It’s only a matter of time before they burst out—so it’s lucky that a witcher has ended up in his rooms.

There’s so much great Emhyr/Geralt fic out there, and I’m such a fan of this one because of Geralt managing to soothe Emhyr during an anxiety attack.

Animal Symbiosis by @seventfics. Game canon. Emhyr/Dandelion. 3400w. Teen. Soul bond, Fake/pretend relationship. An emperor and a bard accidentally tie their souls together.

I can’t get enough of where sevent’s ideas take me. This pairing sounds wild on the surface and it is but I am so fucking compelled by the dynamic, esp when it’s been an accidental bonding.

Wild Hunt

Schneeweißblind by jo_writes_fic. Game canon. Emhyr/Eredin. 2200w. Explicit. Temperature play, political sex, unsafe sex. Pre-TW3. Eredin’s been coming to Emhyr’s temporary court in Vizima for several months now, about once a fortnight. At first it was to weasel information out of Emhyr, to try and find Cirilla, but the elf quickly learned that Emhyr knew less than the king of the wild hunt himself about his daughter’s whereabouts. And once he realized that, their meetings turned into the pretence of a tentative political alliance to cover up the carnal truth of what really happens when Eredin deigns to visit. Ice magic and masochist Emhyr.

My brain whited out from how brilliant this fic is and I think it changed my brain for the hornier.

Plaything by @eatingcroutons. Game canon. Geralt/Wild Hunt. 100 words. Explicit. Rape. Voyeurism. Eredin and his Riders enjoy making use of Geralt in their down time.

😈😈😈

Outplayed by zemyr. Game canon. Geralt/Wild Hunt. 100 words. Explicit. Rape, size difference. Remix of crou’s Plaything.

🔥🔥🔥 This drabble lives rent free in my brain.

Commander’s Discretion by @witch-and-her-witcher. Game canon. Eredin/Geralt. 100 words. Explicit. Anal fingering. Eredin has a soft spot for pretty, lethal things under his possession.

😳 Cee still making me go wild with this drabble.

Radovid

Spymasters and secrets by @dancingwiththefae. Show canon. Radovid. Radovid/Dijkstra. 3400w. Explicit. BDSM, daddy kink, impact play. Radovid always pushed and pushed Dijkstra. Sometimes he needed to be put in his place.

Faye serving up a heaping mess of with this messy messy Radovid with Dijkstra. I could have put this in the Dijkstra section but ahhhh I wanted it here with the Radovid fic. 🔥

Villains Aren’t Born, They’re Made by ALJordan. Game canon. Radovid/OC, Radovid & Philippa. Mother/son relationship. A storm counts omens as Radovid hunts Philippa Eilhart to stand trial for treason.

The worldbuilding with the OC and vibes and characterizations in this fic are outstanding.

The Shade of Your Eyes by @kuwdora. Game canon Radovid & Philippa. Post game, canon AU. Body horror, existentialism, magical theory as torture. He remembers the weight of the crown that used to sit upon his head but he doesn’t remember his own name. Anger and resentment curdles because he cannot recall his mother’s face or the last food he ate before he died but he knows the source his ire. It originates from the woman who chortles when she sits at the table. Her laugh stokes the rage in his disembodied soul.

Philippa tortures Radovid’s soul. Radovid POV. I couldn’t help but play around with the darkfic idea for Phil getting some revenge.

Don't worry I have a whole other stack of Philippa fic to rec later.

Dijkstra

You Seem To Enjoy The Feeling by galactic_roses. Game canon. Dijkstra/Gaunter. 2800w. Explicit. Dijkstra has made a deal with a merchant of sorts in exchange for something he values above all else: information. However, the price he has to pay is not quite what he was expecting, and now he has to face the consequences of his words. Sharing a body, smut, body horror, some more tags,

My favorite tag from the author: dijkstra is an adult he can enter into a sus contract with a sort of demon man if he wants to. This is like the most galaxy brained rare pair idea and can’t stop thinking about it when I consider rare pairs that changed my brain.

Diagram: Master’s Weapon Repair Kit by butt_muncher_seven. Game canon. Dijkstra/Geralt. D/s, PWP, 2500w. Djikstra knew men the way Geralt knew monsters; how to kill them, how to hunt them, what their motivations were, what they were going to do next. And in Geralt he saw a man about to do something incredibly rash and self-destructive. A normal man would've gone home, drunk himself stupid and got in a fist fight with the nearest person he could beat. Maybe he'd recover, maybe he'd burn his life down around him, because the chaos of such upheaval was worse than the certainty of reprisals, of consequences. It was the kind of thing a skilled spymaster knew how to counteract proactively. For a less valuable player he had less personal means of redress, but for Geralt… Geralt required a personal touch.

This Dijkstra fic is my everything and I fling the link to anyone I can because it’s so fucking good.

Hostages by @limerental. Isengrim/Dijkstra. Book canon. 26k. Mature. Rescue missions, fairy tale elements. When Isengrim Faoiltiarna's commando is taken captive by the Aen Elle, Sigismund Dijkstra must play unlikely hero in order to come to his rescue.

Lim’s written so much great Isengrim/Dijkstra that I want to rec it all but if you are a fan of some plot and amazing storytelling, hostages is a great gateway. Click to see Dijkstra’s feelings for Isengrim as he mounts a rescue for his old elven husband.

He Comes With Gifts by @bittylildragon. Game canon. Dijkstra/Geralt. 4800w. Explicit. Slice of Life, King Dijkstra, snarky Geralt, PTSD and more. A little slice of life with King Dijkstra and his sometimes-resident witcher boyfriend.

I live for bratty snarky Geralt and Dijkstra putting him in his place. It’s fucking delicious and hot.

Bath by GilliganGoodfellow. Dijkstra and Bart. 1200w. Mature. Fluff and humor, slice of life. Dijkstra gets a relatively good idea of how his evening is going to go when, while descending into the basement to check on his troll, he slips on the ladder.

I can’t help but love anything with Bart and Dijkstra and this is so cute and lovely.

Bloody little beast by @gleaming_silence. Game canon. 100 words. Gen. Domestic Gruff. Dijkstra with a kitten. Even after Geralt broke his other leg, daily life goes on for Sigi Reuven and Novigrad’s underworld never sleeps.

This fic was written for me so I love it. Cutest drabble for a Novigrad crime lord.

Degradation for degradation by @limerental. Book canon. 1700w. Explicit. Geralt/Dijkstra. Humiliation, facials. Over a decade later, Dijkstra finally has the opportunity to repay the humiliation Geralt subjected him to in the wake of the Thanned coup. He doesn't expect both of them to like it so much.

I can’t get enough of this Geralt and Dijkstra dynamic. Eating it up with a spoon and always wanting more.

Vilgefortz

The Need For Love, Revolting by ptork66. Show canon. Rience/Vilgefortz. 2200w. Explicit. Dubcon, posessive sex, choking, drugging, bdsm. Vilgefortz wants to consume Rience like Rience’s fire consumes the air.

🔥🔥🔥 Fucked up fic for a fucked up pairing. All the kuwdos from me.

the mirror man by seasofglass. Show canon. Rience/Vilgefortz, 12,000w. Mature. Canon divergence, d/s, manipulation. When a mysterious benefactor frees Rience from prison after the fall of Cintra, he decides to play along in his dangerous game and try to further gain Vilgefortz' favor. Little did he know that playing with fire was the fastest way to also get burned by it.

This is a messy intense look at Rience getting swept up in Vilgefortz’ plans. The shaving scene drives me up the wall in the best way. I love me posessive fuckedupness in this pairing.

Yours, lock and key by zemyr. Ambiguous canon. 100w. Explicit. Rience/Vilgefortz. Master/Servant, magical sex toys. prompt: possessiveness kink deluxe while fucking.

Zemyr’s fic melts my brain in the best way, and the drabbles are 100 words of hotness.

Staves by @sassaffrassa. Show canon. Geralt/Vilgefortz. 100w. Explicit. Object insertion. inappropriate use of vilgefortz's magical staff.

😈 This drabble gets me cackling.

Ouroboros by @kuwdora. Show/book canon blend. Geralt/Vilgefortz. 20,000w. Explicit. Show/book canon blending, fanon continental art history, illusions, sexual fantasy, dubcon, masturbation, d/s, body worship. Geralt turns Vilgefortz proposition down at Thanedd. Vilgefortz makes a Geralt painting and masturbates to it and it spirals into an elaborate sexual fantasy.

Okay this is the fic that ate my brain while writing it last summer. It has layers of book and show references, literary inversions and way too many metaphors.

You know that tumblr post "you're so obsessed with imagery and symbolism, you stupid homo"? That's this me with this fic, lmao.

So come for 20k of Vilgefortz wanking to the Geralt fantasy in his head. Warning that the fic seemed to have driven the 8 people who managed to read and finish it and sounded insane after reading so take it with a horny grain of salt.

Previously on Kuwdora's Witcher Recs:

Istredd Recs

❤️❤️❤️

#i'm probably forgetting tags here...sorry. and if i missed an author who is also on tumblr feel free to tag them for me.#avallach and auberon and all them i have recs and even a few blood origin recs but hopefully i can manage to get that into another post #kuwdora recs #kuwdora witcher recs #the witcher netflix #the witcher wild hunt #witcher books #emhyr var emreis #emhyr x geralt #witcher rarepair #sigismund dijkstra #radovid the stern #vilgefortz #vilgefortz of roggeveen #geralt x vilgefortz

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thrawns-babygirl · 2 years ago

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Hello there lovely, is there any chance that you could write something - anything really idc if it's a drabble, hc or oneshot- involving tatted Crosshair and his send nudes tattoo?

No pressure of course. love your stuff and keep it up^^

have a nice day <3

This was only meant to be a drabble but I got carried away.

And yes I know this fic starts off almost identically to one of my other fics (I think it was one of the follower celebration ones) but for this specific fic I needed to reuse an old trope dont @ me please I've had writers block （；¬＿¬)

This is also another one of my classic medic!reader fics because I wanted it to be gender neutral and doc is the easiest gender neutral nickname I can come up with.

I am not a creative person lmao.

anywho, this is based off of @cloned-eyes absolutely sinful art, which is honestly some of my favorite Crosshair art of all time.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Sexting (I think that's it lmao) Words: 2200+

Been a while since ive written anything this long so i hope my writing is still up to snuff

Masterlist

Where could he be? Where on this maker forsaken facility could he possibly be? You storm through the halls of Kamino looking for Wrecker, the errant clone needing to come and see you for updates to his immunisations before he or the rest of clone force 99 are allowed back out into the field.

It’s not surprising that he’s avoiding you, out of all of them, Wrecker is by far the worst with needles. The man can’t stand them, avoids you like the plague when he knows that it’s time to keep his vaccinations up to date and for what its worth you can’t really blame him. No one enjoys needles.

You huff and place your hands on your hips as you think about where the lovable giant could possibly be. You’ve already checked the mess, the armoury, the Marauder and the training centres with zero sign of him. When you got to the marauder Tech just gave you that look that says, “I understand you need to find him but I’m not going to rat him out” and while you often applaud clones for their loyalty to one another, when it stops you from doing your job it makes you want to rip your own hair out in frustration.

You make your way over towards their barracks, hoping and praying to whatever deities that will listen that you’ll find him and be able to get on with the rest of your job. You take a deep breath, standing out the front of their doors, before keying in your medical override and stepping inside.

You don’t find wrecker, and you wish you had knocked.

Standing in front of you is Crosshair, in just a towel, dark lines of ink on full display over his tanned body. You’ve never actually seen him without his shirt on before, never needed to. The sniper usually manages to stay out of trouble and doesn’t need any assistance when the boys return to Kamino so you had no idea he was covered in tattoos.

You run your eyes over his chest, taking in all the impressive art that litters his toned form. The silhouette of his beloved 773 Firepuncher that stretches along his chest, the artfully done letters of aurebesh that stretch above his stomach, the other smaller words and phrases that extend down his hips, tantalizingly low, slightly obscured by the fabric of the towel that’s gripped in his left hand.

You run your eyes up his arm towards his face, knowing that he’s going to be wearing that sickeningly infuriating smirk of his and wanting to avoid the cliché “Like what you see?” you know he’s going to drawl at you like you’re in some terrible holodrama.

As you brace yourself to face him, your eyes catch on a single phrase tattooed on his left arm, slightly more patchy and faded than his other ink as if it were the result of a drunken night out in some shady tattoo parlour in the Uscru District of Coruscant. Two simple words that have a profound effect on your physiology causing even more heat to rush to your face, deepening the blush that you know is already far too pronounced on your cheeks and ears.

“Send Nudes”

You finally have the courage to snap your eyes up to his and just as you expected you’re greeted by his frustratingly handsome smirk, his eyes boring into yours, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, as if this is going to be the final nail in the coffin for your poorly hidden mutual attraction to one another that’s been simmering the last few cycles that’s threatening to reach boiling point as you maintain eye contact.

You lamely open and close your mouth trying to find something to say to the barely covered man in front of you before he decides to end your suffering, breaking the silence with the just as cliché “See something you like doc?” he raises an eyebrow at you before walking over towards his bunk, reaching into a pouch on his discarded armour and producing a toothpick, slipping it between his lips as he looks you up and down.

“I um-” you finally look away from him, suddenly finding the old training posters above his bed intensely interesting trying to figure out what to say to him as if you weren’t just ogling his naked chest and arms for an unprofessionally long amount of time.

You clear your throat “I was just looking for Wrecker… he needs his shots” your eyes dart around the room, avoiding his smug, self-satisfied face for as long as humanly possible.

You cringe at how your voice falters, yours and Crosshair’s interactions are always a battle of wits and snark, constantly trying to one up each other as the rest of the batch endeavour to ignore your vague attempts at flirting with one another. Both of you trying your best to goad the other into making the first move, dancing around the invisible line you’ve both drawn in the sand but never crossed.

From the corner of your eye, you see him walk towards you, you see his arm adjusting the towel around his hips and your eyes are drawn to that stupid tattoo on his arm again, the one that makes you want to throw professionalism out the window and jump his bones regardless of any regulations or rules that would get in the way and muddy the waters.

“Wrecker’s not here” his voice has dropped an octave, as if getting you alone in his room has made him realise that there is nothing physical stopping the two of you from muddying the waters of your relationship and taking that final step. You swallow the saliva that’s started pooling in your mouth, attempting to remind yourself that you’re on duty, you’re in the barracks, any one of the rest of his squad could walk through those doors at any moment an interrupt whatever lewd and improper things you both want to do to one another.

While you were wrestling with your own thoughts and feelings you miss how close he’s managed to get to you, his silent footsteps bringing him directly in front of you and you stare up at him. Has he always been this tall? You lock eyes with him, neither of you saying anything as you just stare at one another, each of you silently willing the other to close the distance between the two of you and take the leap.

He begins moving his face closer to yours, his warm breath brushing over your face, it smells minty you vaguely register as you move your face closer to his, closing your eyes and the distance between the two of you when suddenly you hear loud, boisterous laughter approaching from the other side of the door.

You curse under your breath. Despite this being the whole reason you’re in the barracks to begin with, you would give anything for a few more moments alone with Crosshair. Both of you pull away from one another, Crosshair grabbing a spare change of blacks and walking back into the refresher before the door to the barracks opens and you see the wayward clone himself stare at you with wide eyes. He knows he’s got nowhere to run now as you fix him with a glare that one would assume is because of the amount of time and effort you put into finding him and not because of the fact he just interrupted… whatever was about to happen between you and Crosshair.

You walk out of the barracks with Wrecker in tow, attempting to push whatever it was that was happening with Crosshair to the back of your mind, at least for now.

After another few hours on duty, you finally return to your quarters, sore exhausted and replaying the interaction you had with Crosshair over and over again in your mind. No matter how you try to distract yourself, whenever you close your eyes, you see the dark lines of ink that cover his sculpted body. Does he have more tattoos? Do the go lower? You mind is reeling, and you can’t focus on anything else, you can’t even sleep all you can think about is stupid Crosshair with his stupid tattoos and that stupid send nudes tattoo he has on his stupid arm.

You sigh, picking up your datapad in a vague attempt at tricking your brain into doing something productive when you get an idea. Arguably a terrible and stupid idea that could have a negative affect on your career but… an idea, nonetheless. Sighing and shaking your head you throw your datapad down onto your bed as you stand up to take a shower.

No… this is a terrible idea.

You undress and stare at yourself in the mirror. Maybe… its not a terrible idea? Your mind keeps going back to his tattoos and you decide to throw caution to the wind. Walking back into your bedroom you snatch up your datapad and open an encoded chat with Crosshair’s personal frequency double and triple checking the recipient to make sure what you’re about to do doesn’t end up in the wrong hands before steeling your nerves and standing in front of the mirror. The lighting isn’t the most flattering but you don’t let yourself dwell on that for too long before you strike what you hope is an appealing pose and taking a series of pictures, attempting to highlight your assets.

You flick through the pictures selecting the ones you think are the most flattering and before you have a chance to second guess yourself you send them through to Crosshair with the caption “As instructed”.

You wait for a moment, encrypted chats don’t have notifications for when the recipient has seen the messages so you wait with baited breath for a response. When one doesn’t come immediately you throw your datapad down onto your bed and run your hand through your hair, deciding that maybe he’s just not looking at his datapad right now you finally take your shower, attempting to wash away your nerves and embarrassment, pushing your fear of rejection out of your head as you let the warm spray wash over you.

When you exit the shower and towel yourself off you look at your datapad and see a reply from Crosshair. Your breath catches in your throat as you move to open the message and see that it comes with an attachment.

Holding your breath, you open the attachment only to be greeted by a picture of Crosshair, standing in the refresher in his barracks, wearing only a pair of loose fitting black pants that are pulled down to his thighs revealing what can only be described as the nicest cock you have ever seen. You’ve never thought that cocks were attractive before, but somehow he’s managed to change your mind. It’s long and thick and the way his slender fingers wrap around his girth makes your mouth water.

After spending far too much time searing the sight of it into your memory you read the text that he sent along with the photo just one simple word; “More”.

You dive into bed, datapad in one hand, legs spread however before you get a chance to take and pictures you receive another message from Crosshair, this time there is no text, only a video. You open it and press play.

You watch in pure delight as the recording of Crosshair’s hand moves over his hard, weeping length, his fingers tightening as he gets to the tip creating more pressure around the head. Small sighs and choked breaths can be heard from the audio as his hand works his cock and just as the video ends you swear you hear a whisper of your name.

You scramble to return the favour, attempting to capture the best possible angle as you manoeuvre one hand down between your legs to begin working yourself over. You have the luxury of not needing to share your living space with anyone, so you put on a bit of a show, moaning and whimpering and gasping his name as you touch yourself and push yourself over the edge with a final long moan of his name. Your chest rising and falling as you hit send before you can change your mind or second guess yourself.

Not long after that you receive the final video of the night, your mouth waters and you can feel heat rushing down south again as you watch Crosshair vigorously stroking his cock, muffled gasps and groans coming from his end as he works himself, the head of his cock is so red it’s almost purple and you can see beads of precum leaking out of the tip and running onto his hands as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge. You watch as he bites his lip, face contorting in pleasure as the lines of ink on his skin move with the rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to stay quiet.

He screws his eyes shut and bites his lip so hard you think you see him break the skin, as he stifles a moan of your name, spilling ropes of cum over himself, his hand and his chest, panting before the video ends.

You get one other message from him on the encrypted channel.

>Might need to see you in medbay tomorrow for a busted lip

@where-is-my-mind-tho@antishadow2021 @healingskywalker @crosshairlovebot@ilovestarwarsmen725@vincentferard

#bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair smut #crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader smut #crosshair x you #tbb crosshair smut #bad batch crosshair smut #bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader smut #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair #tbb smut #bad batch smut #the bad batch smut #tbb x reader #crosswifewrites

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generalluxun · 2 months ago

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Hello, I kinda need help smoothing out the plot for this insane drabble of mine and I stumbled upon one of your fics on ao3 so I thought 'sure, let's go for it.'

Here it is. How likely do you think that Chloe might get into witness protection if she stumbled upon the shadier sides of the fashion/modelling industry in her father's hotel? [Set after Miracle Queen as Andre has Chloe live with Audrey as punishment for severely damaging his reputation as mayor and his campaign for re-election.] My reasoning: I actually thought that there is no way that Andre managed to become mayor for two decades without dealing some shady stuff, and that there is no way that Audrey and Gabriel aren't aware of this happening and that's why Gabe doesn't target the more 'serious' kind of emotions with his miraculous (for my AU anyways). And I think we all know that most of the famous people in the entertainment industry partakes in the 'illicit and illegal' sides of things, like the Diddy scandal and the ones in Korea. I was thinking of making Jean-Armand help Chloe gather the evidence since he's one of the few adults that kinda cares about her. -Rian

It's viable!

I think the very first choice you want to make is *tone* Your plotline wouldn't fit into a fic with the same tone as canon. It just can't grapple with these things. If you have a slightly more realistic tone than the show then it does work really well, all the setup for it is there.

I'm right on board that Andre has been into some Shady stuff and is unscrupulous to the core. Money+insecurity... we have SO MANY examples of it. Musk, Trump, etc. They do bad things, because they *can*.

I think your biggest hurdle is answering: Why is Chloé doing this? What is her motivation? Is it revenge against her father? Her mother? Both? Does she get to know one of the models personally and that makes the wrongness *click* for her? Then how does she go about it? Chloe is a bulldozer normally. Does she try that first? If not, why?

I guess what I am trying to say is make sure it's Chloé doing this, not a protagonist wearing a Chloé mask.

It sounds like an interesting idea though!

#ask #writing advice #chloe bourgeois #miraculous ladybug

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spotsandsocks · 1 year ago

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✨12 days of Christmas✨

12 Days of Fandom Holiday Challenge created by @mostlyinthemorning

Every day for 12 days in December, choose a fandom work from any fandom from 2023 that you loved. It can be anything you like - a gifset, a drabble, fanart, a fic, or just a post that made you laugh.Reblog the post and add a comment or tags about why you love it.Tag your post with #12 days of fandom

A few amazing fics from the talented

@thekristen999 I’m typically a fluffy fic kind of spot but l love these more dramatic and edgy fics and would 100% recommend

Follow You Into The Dark 14k a serial arsonist terrorizes the city, plunging Buck and Eddie into a dangerous game of cat and mouse.

Bro.ken 32k

Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU.

Cutting the ties that bind the mafia au I still need to read

@monsterrae1 @shortsighted-owl @loserdiaz @buddierights @hippolotamus @steadfastsaturnsrings @weewootruck @disasterbuckdiaz @rogerzsteven @spaceprincessem @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @daffi-990 @wildlife4life @pirrusstuff @jamespearce9-1-1 @giddyupbuck

#12 days of fandom #buddie #eddie diaz #911 fox #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 on fox #911fic #911 fic

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anxiouscr0w · 1 year ago

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Emotional Support Staff Info post

Emotional Support Staff can be found on AO3, currently accessible to both guests and registered users.

'You're starting your new job at Fazbear Entertainment's Mega Pizzaplex as general staff, basically, do whatever the robots can't. A basic and easy job between your days attending college, and it has great pay.

Simple enough...However, the company is shady at best and the animatronics are much more sentient than you ever could have imagined. Curiousity kills the cat, but the Daycare Attendant is an interesting individual. Before your first shift is complete, you're desperate to find out more about the anxious animatronic, who seemed more than just a bit curious about you too. Perhaps there's something you're missing, but research shows that there's more than a few holes in the history of the company, and surrounding your brand new friend.'

Emotional Support Staff~

Chapter 1 - New Hire

Chapter 2 - As The Sun Sets, Rises The Moon

Chapter 3 - Snow Day

Chapter 4 - Alone Together

Chapter 5 - Let Me Know You

Chapter 6 - Violet Eyes

Chapter 7 - Comfort Ribbons

Chapter 8 - Assignments and Endoskeletons

Chapter 9 - Who You Used To Be

Chapter 10 - Echoed Voices

Chapter 11 - BAD BUNNY!

Chapter 12 - Tone Shift and Room Service Required

Chapter 13 - Bargain Office Party

Chapter 14 - Welcome Back, Faztastic Employee

Coffee Stains In An Old Notebook [aka Drabbles!]~

Coffee Stain 1 - Find Me In Ruins

Emotional Support Staff-

Fic Status: Ongoing

Chapters: 14/?

Word Count: 130,657

Coffee Stains [Drabbles]-

Fic Status: Ongoing

Drabbles: 2/?

Word Count: 8,400

Art!

Y/N Reference Sheet - I'd like to update this, the jacket specifically!

Y/N Badge

Y/N DJMM Bag

Y/N Jacket - WIP

Jennifer Reference Sheet - WIP

Emotional Support Staff 1st Anniversary

Canon vs ESS Eclipse doodle

Company Mandated Maiming

Pinata Y/N doodle

Drunk Y/N in Eclipse's lap

There is more but i cba rn--

#dca fandom #emotional support staff #ESS #crow caws #dca x y/n #moon x y/n #sun x reader #sun x y/n #dca x reader #dca au #dcau #fnaf dca

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fanmoose12 · 2 years ago

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Heyyyy,

It's been so long and just today I reread some of your fics and when i came to Friday, I'm in love. I know that we need a bit of a drabble from Levi's point of view. After reading Eny's She would never know the angst got to me and your fic cheered me up. Anyways, if you are up for a little drabble I'm looking forward for it

"Skipping again, eh, Ackerman?"

Shifting his gaze from the gorgeous view of a wide blue sky that the school rooftop provides him with, Levi turns to face the owner of the deep, strict but altogether an extremely poor imitation of Shadis' voice. Isabel cackles when she catches his eyes and skips towards him, dragging Furlan along.

Levi sighs, as his friends sit down on both sides of him, effectively sandwiching him between their bodies. Their warm and slightly stinking bodies - Isabel must have forced Furlan to play volleyball with her again. He wordlessly offers them both a cigarette - perhaps, that will mask the awful scent somewhat, and then takes one for himself too.

"No, but seriously," Furlan lights up his cigarette and passes the lighter back to Levi. "Why are you here? I thought you decided to stop skipping."

Levi makes a face. "Kenny decided that. And I won't lose much if I skip trig once or twice anyway."

"You're not worried that Shadis will tell your uncle about it?"

"That bald jerk will find a reason to shit on me one way or another."

In between clenched teeth that hold a cigarette, Furlan forces out a chuckle. "Are you talking about Kenny or Shadis?"

The frown on Levi's face turns into a wince. "Both," he mutters darkly.

"Hm, but you do skip less now," Isabel notes. "You've not missed a single biology or chemistry class since the beginning of the semester. I can't help but wonder," she draws out thoughtfully, with a grin that is a touch too mischievious for Levi's taste. "If the reason for it is the new addition to our class."

Levi's own cheeks betray him, start to heat up, but he stubbornly refuses to give in to the embaressment and let Isabel know that she hit the sore spot with precise accurasy.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, doing his best to make sure that his voice is as gruffy and deadpan as it is humanly possible.

But that's not enough to fool neither Furlan, nor Isabel anyway.

"Oh please," Furlan scoffs. "You don't miss a single class that you share with a new kid. And you're staring at her. A lot."

"I don't think I've ever seen you not looking at her," Isabel joins in. "Honestly, it's a bit creepy, Levi. You're lucky she's so oblivious to everything around her."

"I don't stare," Levi tries to defend himself, hiding his flaiming face by staring resolutely at the ground. He takes one drag of cigarette after another, hoping that it'd quell his nerves. "And I don't even know that kid's name."

"Really? So it's just a coincidance that all your notebooks are covered with little hearts with Hange written inside each and every one of them?"

Levi stutters, nearly choking on a cigarette. "What? I- I would never! I don't write her name, and I do not draw hearts!"

"Yet!" Isabel sing-songs, and, really, never before had Levi felt a more acute desire to throttle his own best (and only) friends.

"Assholes," he mutters sulkingly, refusing to meet their eyes. It would only give them more ammunition for teasing anyway. "I don't have a crush - or whatever it is that you think I have - on that stupid four-eyes. She's just so loud all the time, and it annoys me."

"Oh, so that's why you scowl at her friend so much? You give him such a death stare, I honestly think that one of these days Berner is going to piss himself."

Good, Levi thinks with a resentment he'll never admit to his friends. Berner is not so bad, not bad at all actually, of course he's a bit uptight and Levi's never really spoken with him, but he's one of the few kids in their school, who has never looked down on Levi or tried to call him names, and for that alone, Levi respects him, but the way he practically glued himself to four-eyes since the very first day she arrived at their school irks Levi to no end.

He's by her side all the damn time, they sit close to one another in classes, they eat together, they walk through the hallways side by side. Not that Levi cares, of course, he absolutely does not, but... it is annoying. What is so special about Berner that makes four-eyes hang out with him all the time?

"You know," Isabel murmurs softly, bumping her shoulder against his gently. "You can just go and talk to Hange. She seems friendly enough. And she can't be that picky if she hangs out with Berner of all people. You're way more fun than him, bro! On a good day, anyway."

Wow, Levi thinks with a click of his tongue, rude. But also, not strictly wrong.

"Yeah, you've gotta talk with her, dude!" Furlan agrees, clasping Levi on a back. "Make her notice you!"

"Already did that," Levi admits, squeezing the butt of cigarette between his fingers.

Isabel beams at the revelation. "Really? What did you do?"

"Hm... talked with her and stuff. Showed the way to the biology class."

"Wow! Good job!" Isabel praises, and Levi very nearly preens at it. "What did you say? Give her a compliment?"

"Told a witty joke?" Furlan asks, appearing maybe not as invested as Isabel, but genuinely curious and supportive as well.

"Asked her out on a date?" Isabel adds hopefully.

All the pride he felt at Isabel's approval vanishes, swept away by a huge way of mortification as Levi recalls his first real encounter with four-eyes.

"I... told her that her hearing is as shitty as her eyesight, and maybe... called her an idiot too."

"Levi!" Isabel slaps him on the arm. Hard. "What the hell? What were you thinking?"

Levi sighs, tousling his hair. "I wasn't."

"You kinda fucked it up, dude," Furlan says, voice laced with compassion.

"Yeah, you're lucky she didn't punch you in the face," Isabel remarks, not all sympathetic, but vexed instead. "I totally would have."

"But!" Furlan exclaims with a goofy smile on his face. "Not all hope is lost, my friend. If she didn't punch you and if she'll be willing to talk to you again, then you'll know for sure that she is super into you!"

"Or she's really nice," Levi counters detachedly.

"Well, now you got to do something nice to her," Isabel instructs, somehow managing to sound strict and encouraging at the same time. "Something grand and romantic, something that will make her swoon."

Levi tsks. Isabel makes it seem so easy. Something grand, romantic and that will make four-eyes swoon. As if he knows how to do any of those things. As if he's an expert in them.

Unfortunately, all Levi knows how to do is smoke, curse and skip classes. But, maybe, with the help of his friends - with Furlan's suaveness and Isabel's knowledge of pecularities of romantic relationship (that come mainly from shitty romance books but is already wastly more than Levi could ever know), maybe, he really can pull this off.

To stop just staring at four-eyes, and start speaking to her, perhaps even civilly. He just needs a little practice, and a great deal of luck.

But right now, Levi feels good about this, is hopeful. Embarrasing himself before his recently acquired crush is still miles better than listening to Shadis explain tangent and contangent in his croaky voice anyway.

#wow! it's friday and i'm posting it on friday! what a coincidance!!#levihan

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