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archangeldyke-all · 1 year ago

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Did someone say cowboy Sevika?

Absolutely delicious, I have thoughts.

Theres the classic off limits farmer’s daughter dynamic, which is to die for every time, but I thought what about a farmer’s widow? All lonesome on her big empty property, she hires Sevika for some extra help and then the tension is off the charts!! I think it would be ideal for a long, slow burn style fic. Draw it out, make them drool over each other for a bit til they can’t take it anymore

For a blurb idea what about Cowboy Sevika teaching the reader to ride a horse? It could be cute and flirty or it could get nasty lol whatever you’re in the mood to write!

Also let’s take a moment to imagine her tying those fancy cowboy knots. Rope steady in her big rough hands. She’s stripped down to her used to be white tank top, you can see her muscles flexing while she pulls it taught. She’d be all sweaty and you innocently walk over to her, pluck her bandanna out of her pocket, and dab away the droplets on her forehead. You tuck it gently back into the front pocket of her tight, dirt stained jeans and saunter away so sweetly. She’d want to chase you down like a wild animal in heat after that

the last paragraph here made me dizzy. thank u.

ur the second person to request a 'teaching reader how to ride horseback', mars, @sexysapphicshopowner , being the first! so lets do that ;)

part 1 of cowboy sev here, part 2 here!

men and minors dni

you're now the only one in your little mis-matched family who doesn't know how to ride horseback.

sevika's been riding since before she could even properly walk. powder took to it like a fish to water. violet was a little more hesitant, but figured it out in time. and now all three of them are trying to convince you to learn.

you've never needed it. you were born and raised in this town, everything you need is within a mile's walking distance. but, they're insistent.

you've ridden horseback before, clinging onto sevika as she controls shimmer's pace, but you've never been in control of the reigns. it seems scary, being that high up, going that fast, the only person keeping you from going flying off shimmer's back being yourself.

and now, sevika's got you in the stable, grinning at you as you hesitantly look at shimmer. powder and violet have been asleep for hours, exhausted after working in the garden all day with you.

"can we just go for a quick trot with you in front?" you ask, pouting at your wife. she laughs. "just so i can see you do it!" you insist. she rolls her eyes, then lifts you up by the waist, helping you straddle shimmer's back, before hopping up in front of you.

you press your grin against her shoulder, quickly wrapping your arms around her waist. she laughs in front of you, giving shimmer a little tap with her spur, the mare slowly trotting out onto the main street.

"you're such a baby." sevika teases. you pinch her side, watching her wiggle.

"i'm just lucky. got a wife who knows how to ride so i never had to learn." you say. you can't see her smile, but you can tell she's grinning in front of you.

sevika slowly walks shimmer down the main street, picking her pace up to a cantor when you get out of town.

the three of you ride out into the desert, and you tilt your head up to soak in the sight of the stars above, sighing as the wind whips past you.

"you're not even lookin' at what i'm doing." sevika laughs ahead of you. you giggle.

"stars 're so pretty sev. look." you say.

sevika brings shimmer to a stop, tilting her head up to look at the stars with you.

"hm." she says. you squeeze her waist.

"what?" you ask, enjoying the heat of her back pressed against your front.

"they're pretty, i guess. nowhere near 's pretty as you." she says. you grin.

"sap." you say.

it's summer, but this late at night, the desert is chilly. you sneak your cold fingers up under sevika's shirt, watching her jump, then giggling when she elbows you. you don't move your hands. she doesn't ask you to.

for a few minutes, the two of you just stare at the sky, the vast expanse of stars and planets before your eyes.

it's a new moon, and without her shine, all the stars in the galaxy are visible.

shimmer shifts beneath you, and sevika laughs.

"she hates waitin' around." she says. you smile.

"just like you." you say. sevika laughs, nudging shimmer's side, letting her trot around the empty expanse of the desert.

you hook your chin over her shoulder, watching how her hands hold the reins, how she uses them to gently guide shimmer to and fro.

beneath your fingers, you can feel her belly rise and fall with each breath she takes. a smile ticks up at the corner of your mouth, and you turn your head to press a kiss to sevika's neck.

she goes stiff in your arms.

"what're you doin'?" she asks. you smile against her throat.

"'m watchin' you." you say. "learnin' how to ride."

"you don't need any help learning how to ride." sevika says. you laugh at her horrible joke, pinching her waist. she chuckles.

"speaking of..." you start. sevika snorts in front of you.

"yeah, darlin'?" she asks. you nip her neck.

as much as you both love powder and violet, their abrupt entrance into your lives has left your sex life in shambles.

it's not like you're not having sex. it's just that you can't have it like you used to.

when you used to spend any spare moment the two of you had sprawled out in bed, naked and sweaty and kissing, now you gotta keep your romps quick, lest the girls get in trouble while they're unsupervised.

plus, with the nightmares that violet's been having, paired with powder's separation anxiety toward her sister, a majority of your nights as of late have ended with the four of you piled up in your-- used to be-- marital bed.

you've just had to get a little more creative. you and sevika have been doing a whole lot of 'chores' in the stable, trying to avoid shimmer's judgmental eyes as you fuck against the haybales.

and now... out in the desert, with sevika pressed against you and nobody out here beside you, your wife, and the stars... now seems like the perfect opportunity to get creative.

slowly, you inch your hands down sevika's abdomen, taking a moment to admire the firmness of her rippling abs shifting with each step shimmer takes. she chuckles huskily in front of you, and you begin sucking a hickey against her neck.

"insatiable." she says. "'y had me this morning while we were 'pinning the laundry to dry'." you hum.

"want me to stop?" you ask. she laughs out loud, a bright, echoing thing.

"hell no." she says. you grin, and continue trailing your fingers lower, fiddling with the button of her chaps.

shimmer continues her aimless trot, slowing occasionally to munch at spare patches of grass, knowing that you and sevika are in no rush to get anywhere.

when you slide your hand down her pants, she sighs, leaning some of her weight back against your chest. you pepper kisses against the side of her face, trying to give every branch of the scar on her left cheek a solid smooch. she giggles against you, then moans when your fingers start working against her clit.

"you're wet already." you mumble against her. she hums.

"knew this is what you were workin' up to the second you asked me to ride in front first." she says. you chuckle. "i'm never gonna get you to learn to ride, am i?" she asks.

"mmm, maybe someday. don't need it now, though, do i?" you ask. "not when i've got you." you say.

sevika sighs and turns her head to capture your lips in a kiss against hers. you hum against her mouth, nipping her lip as you start rubbing her clit in slow circles.

"fuck." she sighs, turning her neck back around to watch where shimmer's going. "i love you." she whispers. you smile and nip her neck.

"love you too." you say, trailing your free hand up her chest to fondle her breasts.

sevika's tits are sensitive, you've made her cum from your hands and mouth on her chest countless times before. she shudders against you, her back arching as she shoves her chest further against your hand. you snicker, and start to gently fiddle with her nipple.

"fuck-- your hands." she says.

"'s kinda what you're doin' now, baby." you tease. sevika snorts, but it quickly dissolves into a moan as you increase your pace on her clit, sinking your teeth into her neck as you pinch her nipple.

"y-you're horrible." she chastises you for the joke. you giggle against her.

"you close?" you ask. she laughs.

"yeah." she says.

shimmer lets out a sneeze-- clearly disapproving of the activities happening on her back, and you giggle.

"she's sick of us." you say. sevika sighs.

"she, fuck, she's so judgmental." sevika whimpers.

"should be gettin' back soon. 's almost midnight-- violet's gonna have her nightmare soon, we should be there when the girls come lookin' for us.' you say.

"fuck, can we please not talk about the kids while you got your hand on my cunt?" she asks. despite her complaints, sevika tugs on shimmer's reins, turning her back toward town as you work your hand against her.

"y' better hurry up. we're only a few minutes away from town." you say. sevika groans. "need some encouragement?" you whisper against her ear. she shivers, and you smirk.

"shut up." she whispers. you grin, knowing that sevika's 'shut up's tend to mean 'keep talking.' especially in the bedroom.

"you sure? y' don't want me to tell me how much i love you? how perfect you are for me?" you tease. sevika's thigh shakes against shimmer.

"fuck."

"my cowboy. my wife. so strong and handsome, givin' up her life of crime just for me. gotta compensate that kinda sacrifice properly, don't i?" you ask. sevika whines. "fuck, 'n you look so good when you're on shimmer's back. why would i wanna learn to ride when i could just watch you instead, hm?" you ask.

sevika lets go of the reins with one hand to grip onto your arm. you kiss her cheek.

"cum for me, pretty thing. if you're lucky, maybe i'll wake you up before sunrise to help me 'feed the chickens.'" you say. sevika whines, remembering the last time the two of you used that excuse-- you ended up with sevika's tongue inside of you, your back against the coop as she knelt on the shitty ground, clawing at your thighs. "c'mon sev-- give it to me, baby."

sevika cums with a resounding "shit!" shimmer spooks a bit, jumping and bucking beneath you, and you both squeal as you hold on to the mare while she calms down.

sevika's cunt is still fluttering beneath your palm as she pulls on shimmer's reins to bring her back to a walk as the shimmering lights of town become visible ahead. you hum against her, ducking your fingers down to gather her cum from her dripping hole, before pulling your hand out of her pants and popping your fingers in your mouth.

you moan. sevika moans. shimmer grunts, a disgusted little noise.

"fuck." sevika sighs out, her back slumping against your chest. you giggle, removing your hand from her tits to button up her pants, before giving her cunt a little pat over her chaps. she jolts. "hey!" she says, giggling. you grin against her neck, pressing another kiss to the skin beneath your lips.

just before shimmer starts down main street, sevika pulls her to a stop with a "woah, girl."

you're about to ask her what she's doing-- the tavern about two hundred feet away, but sevika answers your question before you can get it out when she turns her head, grabbing your chin with her fingers and smashing your lips together.

you sigh against her mouth, nipping on her tongue when she swipes it against your lips, giggling at the little involuntary twitch of her thigh.

she pulls away with a sigh, looking into your eyes dreamily.

"i love you more than there are stars in the sky, darlin'." she says. you smile against her lips.

"i love you too, my sweet wife." you say, reaching forward to snap shimmer's reins, letting the horse lead the two of you back home. sevika raises an eyebrow at you and you smile. "see, i did learn a little somethin'." you say.

sevika laughs.

"guess i gotta take you out for ridin' lessons every night, huh?" she asks. you grin.

"i wouldn't mind that at all."

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

#i know nothing about horses so have some smut hahaha #sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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m1ckeyb3rry · 1 year ago

Text

Endure IX: Jean

Series Synopsis: You and Eren Jaeger have been best friends since the age of two, but the two of you are destined for an inevitable tragedy. The world you have been born into is cruel; it is one where friends are traitors and enemies are allies, one where you find yourself doubting everything you've ever known. In this life, mistakes are fatal, and you must be careful, lest you make one too many.

Chapter Synopsis: A look into Jean Kirstein’s thoughts and feelings, as well as what he was up to while you and Eren were on the roof.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader, Armin Arlert x Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.5k

Content Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, sexual abuse (non-explicit), major character death, angst, original characters included

A/N: the first of the endure ova chapters!!

Jean Kirstein was, perhaps, the loneliest boy in the entire world.

Oh, sure, he played it off like he was popular. He had befriended Marco, Connie, and Sasha. The eccentric trio accompanied him as he paraded around the training camp like he owned it. To an outsider, it seemed as though he had it all. Most of the cadets admired him, he was skilled and a sure candidate for the top ten, he had a loving mother (though she was a little insufferable at times), and he was pretty good-looking, despite his apparent resemblance to a horse.

Despite all of this, he was still lonely. He wanted more than admiration and camaraderie. To be clear, he wanted what Eren had. Eren, who had a best friend in Armin and a loyal protector in Mikasa and a...he didn’t even know what Y/N was to the brown-haired boy. All he saw was that she looked at Eren as if he was her own personal hero, and that made him burn with rage and jealousy. Why didn’t she look at him like that?

It wasn’t even like he liked her all that much. She was annoying, altogether far too nosey and judgemental for him to ever want to be with her. He just liked the idea of her, of someone that trusted another person so much that they were willing to put their life in their hands — for he had no doubt that the girl would do such a thing. She’d probably jump off of a roof if she thought Eren was there to catch her.

No, he did not like Y/N L/N. But he did like her best friend.

Tullia Ral. Where could he even start with Tullia Ral? She was everything he wasn’t. She was outgoing, but not in such a way that it got on one’s nerves. She was kind, funny, and strong. She was so beautiful it scared him. He had been inside of one of the old Churches of the Walls once, and he remembered being taken with a large stained-glass portrait of the manifestation of Wall Sina. Now, he was almost certain that the portrait had been made in Tullia’s likeness, for it was the only time he had ever seen anything coming close to how resplendent she was. His silly little charcoal drawings never even came close.

She was his dream girl, literally. As a child he had been bullied, mercilessly. Only his mother cared for him, cared to wipe the tears that streamed down his chubby cheeks. He had been not just alone but ostracized. He had been made fun of and hurt, over and over until he developed his tough exterior to chase them off. He hadn’t always been like this. He was once kind and gentle and caring, but the world was cruel to those that were soft, forcing them to become hard (unless they were named Y/N L/N, because she had Eren and Mikasa to do such things for her. Yet another reason he couldn’t stand the girl).

Yet even becoming rude and cocky wasn’t enough, because then he was the one that chased others away, so he was just as alone as he had been at the start. His only companion came when he closed his eyes. As he slept, he dreamt of a pretty girl with long blonde hair in two braids and eyes exactly the color of summer pears. The two of them had been adults in his dream, and he had been cradling a baby and rocking it to sleep while the girl watched him fondly. There was an overwhelming air of love in those dreams, and he tried to sleep as much as he could, if only to see her again.

So when he arrived in the Cadet Corps, he was shocked and excited to see her standing in front of him. She was younger, of course, but so was he, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, not at all. He didn’t know how to approach her. How does one approach someone they were born to be in love with? He wasn’t sure, so he just didn’t.

And he cursed himself. Oh, how he cursed himself for missing the opportunity when he saw her laughing as she talked with Eren and Armin and Y/N and Mikasa. Had he lost before he had begun? He watched as Eren helped her back to her dorm, and he was overcome with a wave of sheer hatred for the boy, surprising even himself with the intensity of the emotion. Eren already had Y/N. Why couldn’t he be content with that? Why did he have to go for the one girl Jean had ever cared about?

Jean pushed aside the emotion, because despite his woman-stealing ways, Eren was still one of his comrades, and therefore, he had to get along with him at least somewhat. That didn’t stop him from slipping back into his old ways and being bitingly mean when the earnest boy came up to ask him for help with the ODM — and with that stupid Y/N girl, to boot. Why did he get someone looking out for him? Why didn’t anybody ever look out for Jean?

He could console himself by saying that it was because he didn’t need looking out for. He was strong and talented and wonderful, so wonderful, his mother’s little angel boy. Jean Kirstein, a gift from the heavens. He would be only half-right. He could say that it was because nobody cared about him enough to look out for him. He would be wrong. The truth was that he didn’t allow anybody to look out for him.

What he had not yet realized was that there were so many people that tried to care for him. His mother, who he snapped at. Marco, who he made fun of. Tullia, who he pushed away in fear. True, Eren was lucky in the sense that he and Y/N had become friends wholly by accident, but he had also done his best to maintain the friendship, and it was because of their mutual effort that whatever odd relationship they had was so strong. On the other hand, Jean feared letting someone in, so whenever someone got too close, he completely and violently lashed out at them before they could see things nobody was meant to see.

Because, indeed, what if Tullia saw that he was actually, at his core, a tender and mild person? Or what if Marco realized that he was no brave leader but just a scared little boy? What if his mother realized he had never grown out of the need to be hugged tightly and comforted by her, only become embarrassed by her love? He couldn’t bear the thought, and so his isolation was, in a way, self-imposed, though that did not stop him from resenting it all the same.

It was these thoughts that kept him company as he traipsed down the streets of Trost, the very streets he had grown up in. Over there was where Michael had shoved him to the ground and taken his sandwich. And across the street, Hugh had punched him in the stomach for no reason at all, other than to laugh when he started crying.

Yeah, he certainly had fond memories of this place. He wondered what Michael and Hugh were up to right now. Probably sitting at home with their families. After all, that was what he would be doing if he hadn’t chosen to join the cadet corps in hopes of making it into the military police.

He idly kicked a rock, watching it bounce down the street before vanishing into the distance. Then he let out a heavy sigh. What was he even doing here? Everyone else was hanging out with their friends or doing something they enjoyed. Y/N and Eren were in town too, of course, and he was pretty sure Mikasa and Tullia had decided to go as well. Armin was back at the barracks reading, while Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie had been having some whispered conversation with each other about something or another. Marco had asked to accompany him, but when Jean had cruelly shot him down, he had gone to hang out with Connie and Sasha, who were planning some prank or another. He hadn’t seen what the others were up to; he hadn’t much cared, either.

“This looks really good, Mikasa, don’t you think?” he heard a voice say. He immediately ducked behind a wall and peeked out to see Tullia pointing at a small bag of candy that a merchant had on display.

“It does, but ten gold? We could live our whole lives and never have that kind of money,” Mikasa said, shaking her head. Tullia deflated, clearly disappointed at this turn of events, even though she must know that the taller girl was right. Ten gold was an exorbitant amount of money. It made sense, though. Sugar had become one of the rarest of luxuries after the fall of Wall Maria. To have any at all was considered divine, even more so than meat.

“Yeah, it was just nice to look at. Come on, let’s go. If we keep staring at it I’ll go berserk,” Tullia said.

“I feel you. Hey, do you think Sasha would like…” Mikasa’s voice trailed off as the two girls rounded the corner and disappeared. After a moment, Jean crept out and slowly walked over to where the bag of candy was on display. He stared at it forlornly, wishing he could afford it. For some reason, he wanted to give it to Tullia, to see her beam at him and know that he had been the cause of her joy.

But he was not rich. He was no member of the nobility, nor did he have some sort of trust fund. He had had a good life, and he was by no means a penniless orphan, but it remained that ever since the death of his father, the Kirsteins had been poor. He could not even remember the man, but he hated him for dying. Why did he get to escape and leave Jean and his mother behind in this awful place?

He continued to look at the bag of candy, and suddenly he wanted to break it, break something, break anything. It was unfair. It was so, so unfair. Why did everyone else always have what he wanted? Eren got Tullia’s attention. Y/N got Mikasa and Eren’s protection. The nobles got the money he needed to make a girl happy. He got nothing. Hooray for Jean.

“Ay, sonnie, you gonna buy that or what?” the merchant said, glaring at Jean, perhaps making sure he didn’t try to steal anything, not that he would have. He was a good boy, raised with respect for the law. Besides, he couldn’t become an MP with a criminal record. Probably. Or maybe he could? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t risk it.

“I’m sorry, I wish I could. Can’t afford it, though,” Jean said. The merchant narrowed his eyes at him, and Jean gulped, standing stiffly, not wanting to get into trouble.

“Is that so?” the merchant said.

“Yes, sir, it is. Sir,” Jean said nervously. The merchant's intense glare was terrifying, and he was beginning to sweat from fear.

“What’s your name again, boy?”

“Jean Kirstein.”

“Well, Jean Kirstein, I have a way you can earn that bag of candy. What do you say?”

Jean thought about this. On the one hand, he had no clue what the merchant would make him do. On the other hand, he would really like the candy.

The decision was made for him when he imagined the delight on Tullia’s face if he did this. It was a no-brainer, really. With a heavy sigh, he nodded.

“I’ll do it, sir.”

And that was how Jean Kirstein, cocky, snarky, arrogant, rude Jean Kirstein, found himself in a small, cramped bathroom, shoddily applying white powder to his face and red lipstick to his lips.

This was ridiculous. This was humiliating. This was completely and terribly awful, and he was seriously, seriously regretting his choices. Why had he agreed to this again? Oh, right. Tullia. At this point, he almost considered backing out entirely. After all, no amount of love from any girl would be worth this.

That was a lie. Even the tiniest amount of love from Tullia would be worth anything. It was only because of the promise of that love that he doggedly continued to put on the makeup he had been given by the merchant, sneezing as the brush tickled against his nose.

When the merchant had offered to let him earn the candy, he had been expecting to have to work at his store or clean his house or something. What he hadn’t been expecting was being forced to dress up as a clown for the merchant’s three year old son’s birthday party, yet here he was, doing his makeup and pulling on a clown costume.

The crowning moment was when he had to put on the bright red clown nose. He almost dissolved into tears, but he shook his head. He had a job to do, and if there was anything that his mother had drilled into him, it was that he should always do his best at whatever he did.

He was going to be the best damn clown this merchant had ever seen, and then he was going to return home triumphantly with a bag of candy and Tullia was going to love him and things would be okay.

Maybe he’d even try to befriend Eren. Once he had the girl of his dreams, there was no reason he couldn’t try and get along with the fiery boy, though he knew their strong personalities might clash a little. Still, he could envision himself getting along with him quite well. It was worth a shot, at least, now that he was feeling decidedly more magnanimous.

“There you are! William, call your brothers down, please!” the merchant said, wrapping his arm around Jean, who grinned brightly and waved at little three year old William, who gasped in delight and flew at Jean, hugging his legs tightly. Jean’s eyes widened at the affection, and his heart swelled. Maybe the clown makeup was worth it if he managed to make this little kid’s special day a little better.

“Okay, daddy! I’ll go get Hugh and Michael!” William said, letting go of Jean and skipping upstairs, leaving Jean with the merchant, a bunch of three year olds, and the pit of horror in his stomach.

Hugh? Like his childhood bully Hugh? Suddenly, this was not looking like such a good idea anymore. Well, Jean doubted Hugh would recognize him, at least. After all, he was no longer the chubby little crybaby he had once been. He was more angular now, muscular and brave and a soldier-to-be. Yes, as long as Hugh didn’t hear his name, he wouldn’t even know that Jean was the one in the clown makeup.

“Hugh! You remember Jean Kirstein, right? Well, he’s so generously volunteered to be the clown for your brother’s party. Try and be nice to him, okay?” the merchant said. Jean cursed Walls Sina, Rose, and Maria for that. Hugh’s eyes glimmered with malice as he turned to Jean, who crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating, though it was difficult when he was wearing a clown costume.

“Jean Kirstein, eh? What’s with all of the makeup? You don’t need any of it to look like a clown. Anyways, why are you even here? Didn’t you join the cadet corps or something? Don’t tell me you got kicked out!” Hugh said with a mock gasp, his hand on his heart as if he couldn’t believe such a thing. The merchant had left to get William’s cake out, which meant Jean was stuck with Hugh for the time being.

“No, Hugh, I did not. Today was our day off,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And you chose to spend it as a clown...why?” Hugh said.

Not to spend time explaining to your bitch ass that I’m in love with a girl that barely ever even acknowledges me, that’s for sure.

“I don’t see how it matters to you,” Jean said instead, though his mind was racing with far more sarcastic things to say.

“Jeanboy! We were such close friends back in the day, weren’t we? Come on, you can tell me. For old times’ sake,” Hugh said, elbowing him in the side just a little too hard. Jean fought back the urge to wince, knowing that that would just give Hugh exactly what he wanted.

“I needed something from your father but I couldn’t afford it, so he offered to let me work it off by being a clown at your brother’s birthday party. That’s all,” Jean said.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Hugh said, patting him on the shoulder.

Sina, yes, it fucking was.

“Nope!” Jean said with faux-cheer in his voice.

“What did you need from my dad, anyways?” Hugh said.

“The bag of candy he had on display,” Jean said with a shrug, not seeing a point in lying about it. Hugh’s eyes flashed, though Jean could not tell what emotion had crossed over the hazel irises of the boy.

“Well, good luck. Have fun being a clown! I guess it’s a good career option for you if you can’t make it in the military,” Hugh said, ruffling his hair and knocking his wig askew. Jean growled lowly as the shorter boy walked away, fixing the curly wig and then heading towards where he was supposed to be making balloon animals for the children.

“Make me a dog!” William said as soon as Jean sat down. Jean had absolutely no clue how to make any balloon animals, so with a long-suffering sigh, he began to inflate a balloon, blowing until he was red in the face and it was ready. Then he twisted it into some pretzel-like thing and handed it back to William.

“Bark, bark,” he said unenthusiastically. This seemed to delight the three year old, who accepted the balloon with glee and then dashed off to show his friends.

He returned, five minutes later, with all of them in tow. The toddlers began to beg him for a balloon dog of their own, and though his lungs protested heavily, he obliged, making each and every one of them their own balloon animals, huffing but smiling at their brilliant grins.

Jean had always liked children. He felt a need to make them happy, to protect and care for them the way he had never been protected or cared for. His accursed soft heart bled when he saw a child be sad, and though he hated it, his paternal instincts were through the roof. For their part, children usually loved him, sensing that despite his rough exterior, he was a kind boy.

“Hey, Jean! Mind making me a balloon of yourself?” Hugh said, appearing out of nowhere, Michael in tow. Both boys snickered as Jean furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I’m not sure I can do that,” he said slowly, wondering what they even meant.

“Why not? Just make a horse!” Michael said. Both boys began howling in laughter, and Jean’s heart sank. Of course. Always with the horseface jokes. He hung his head and began to blow into the balloons, knowing he had no choice but to oblige if he wanted that damn bag of candy.

“Good job! Looks just like you,” Hugh jeered, holding up the balloon next to Jean’s face. Jean gave them a dull look, blinking back tears, knowing he couldn’t cry, because if he cried, things would just be immeasurably worse. So he swallowed the stubborn lump in his throat and gave the two boys a sickly sweet smile.

“Thanks, guys! I hope you enjoy the rest of the party!” he said, waving at them. They exchanged glances before snickering and walking off. Jean slumped over in his chair, hoping they would leave him alone for the rest of the party.

“Hey, Mr. Clown. Why are you sad? Aren’t clowns supposed to be happy?” a little girl with red hair held back by a headband said to him. Her large brown eyes were genuinely concerned, and Jean felt tears begin to drip down his cheeks. He wiped them away furiously, hoping his makeup hadn’t been ruined.

“It’s nothing,” he said, “What’s your name? Do you want a balloon animal?”

“I’m Leah,” she said seriously, “Can you make a balloon dog?”

Jean nodded mutely at her before rapidly making a balloon dog with practiced motions. His hands were well-used to the task after the countless he had made only today. Tying off the last balloon, he handed it to Leah, who inspected it before handing it back to him.

“For you. So you can be happy!” she explained. Jean was taken aback.

“For...me?” he said. She nodded happily.

“Yeah! Don’t cry! You made me happy by making the balloon, so now I want to make you happy! I’m the only girl here, so William and his friends are pretty mean to me, but you’re nice,” she said. Nice. Was Jean really nice?

“I know how you feel. Michael and Hugh are pretty mean to me,” Jean said after a second. Leah frowned in sympathy, her tiny face creasing.

“Boys suck,” she said.

“Yeah, they do,” he said with a short laugh.

“Well, bye-bye Mr. Clown! I hope you have a good day, and remember to smile! My mommy said the only way to win at life is to be happy,” she said, waving at him before heading off. Jean watched her go before shaking his head in amusement.

“Damn, three year olds these days are something else.”

Finally, the stupid birthday party was over. Jean spent most of his time making balloon animals for whichever kids wanted it and mulling over what Leah had said.

The only way to win at life is to be happy. Well, what made him happy?

Tullia made him happy. Talking to Marco made him happy. Being around Connie and Sasha made him happy. Using the ODM gear made him happy.

So then why did he avoid Tullia? Why did he make fun of Marco? Why did he snap at Connie and Sasha whenever they messed with him?

He was miserable, and he was lonely, and maybe he should try to fix that. At least this stupid bag of candy could be a start to mending the relationships he had shattered when he should’ve cradled them close to his heart, incubated them in their infancy instead of leaving them out in the cold to wither away and die.

As the last of the toddlers filed away, taken home by their parents, Jean took off his wig and the ridiculous red nose to meet the merchant and obtain his candy. When he got there, though, he was met with Hugh and Michael, their tongues rainbow and their smirks vicious. The merchant looked uncomfortable as he stared at Jean, whose jaw had dropped.

“Sorry, Jean, but my son and his friend really wanted that candy. I can pay you ten gold instead,” he said, dropping the coins in Jean’s hand. Jean felt like he was going to vomit. It had never been about the money. He just wanted to make someone happy.

“Better luck next time, Kirstein!” Michael sang out, popping the last piece of candy in his mouth and staring directly into Jean’s eyes as he savored it. Jean felt tears well in his eyes at how stupidly unfair it was. Turning away, he gathered his uniform and practically ran back to the barracks. He didn’t want Hugh and Michael to see him like this, completely and utterly defeated.

They had always had it out for him, but this was unprecedentedly cruel. What had been the point? Neither boy had wanted the candy. They just saw that Jean wanted it and found an opportunity to make him miserable. Even after all of this time, nothing had changed.

“I’m such an idiot,” Jean muttered as he stormed into his (thankfully empty) room and grabbed his bathroom stuff before marching into the bathroom and beginning to scrub at his skin, wanting, no, needing the makeup off. It wasn’t even the humiliation of looking like a clown that he hated. It was the reminder that no matter what he did, it was never enough. Things just never went Jean Kirstein’s way.

He scrubbed and he scrubbed until his skin felt raw, but the makeup stubbornly stayed put. It did not budge, and as Jean’s vision began to blur with tears and bile began to rise in his throat, he only scrubbed ever harder, though it was futile.

“Damn it, damn you, get the fuck off my skin!” he shouted.

“Is everything okay — Jean? Uh, is this a bad time or…?”

Great, just about the last person he wanted to see. Y/N-fucking-L/N. Did nobody ever teach that girl to mind her own business? She should go before he did something they both regretted. She should go right-fucking-now.

“The fuck you think?” he snapped. Too late, silly girl. Now she was going to bear the brunt of his rage, and she had best do it without complaining.

“Why do you have clown makeup on?” she wondered, her eyes too wide with innocence, her small frown too soft. It was fucking pissing him off more than he was already pissed off, and this was a problem.

“I’m not supposed to! It won’t wash off!” he said.

“Well, duh, you’re just using plain water,” she said, rolling her eyes. Okay, Miss Bitchy, then what the fuck else was he supposed to use?

“So?” he said.

“So how can you expect waterproof makeup to come out when you’re just using water? Wait here a second, I’ll get you some of my makeup remover,” she said, placing her things down on the shelf next to Jean’s and disappearing. He paused for a moment, his rage instantly vanishing, replaced by confusion and curiosity.

She returned a few seconds later, holding a bottle of something or another in her hands as well as a fresh rag. Looking around to make sure nobody caught her going into the boys’ bathroom, she ducked in and gave him a dark look.

“I’m not doing this because I like you. I think you’re a jerk,” she said.

“That’s because I am one,” he agreed, watching her as she dampened the towel before squirting some clear gel out of the bottle onto it.

“At least you’re self aware. Don’t move and close your eyes, unless you want to cry like a baby,” she instructed him. Jean did as she said, surprising the both of them.

“So why are you doing this?” he said.

“Don’t open your mouth, either, unless you want to swallow makeup remover,” she said brusquely, swiping the rag over his face. The motions were gentle, and the cool gel felt nice on his sensitive skin. Jean hummed, as if to remind her that he had asked a question. She sighed.

“I’m not mean. You’d get beaten up if you went back to your dorm looking like that. Besides, I’ll admit I’m a little curious why you have all of this on you,” she said. He heard the faucet running as she presumably washed the rag, so he felt it safe to speak.

“I saw Tullia want this bag of candy earlier. I was going to buy it for her, but obviously I couldn’t afford it. The merchant said he’d give it to me if I dressed up as a clown for his son’s birthday party, so of course I did it. Doesn’t matter, though. One of my childhood bullies was the merchant’s older son, and he and his friend, my other bully, ate all of the candy. The merchant gave me ten gold, since that was what the candy was worth, but I didn’t want money. I just...wanted her to think of me as a good person,” he said. Though his eyes were closed, he could almost feel the way Y/N was frowning.

“I hate bullies. Armin used to get bullied by this boy that had a crush on me. Eren would always beat him up, and then Mikasa did too, once she became our friend, but that never stopped him. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Nobody deserves to be bullied,” she said, beginning to wipe the gel off of his face. Jean exhaled in relief at the feeling.

“Feels nice,” he muttered, not wanting to thank her, per se, but wanting her to know that he appreciated what she was doing anyways. She scoffed.

“Keep your mouth shut.”

After a few moments, she stopped wiping his face. Taking a dry towel, she patted his face dry before sighing.

“There you go, Jean. All done,” she said. He opened his eyes blearily, blinking at the harsh light. She gave him a tired smile.

“Wow, you actually got it all off!” he said, shocked at his reflection, which was just...him. No clown makeup, no wig, no red nose. Just Jean Kirstein, though his eyes were rose-rimmed from crying.

“Why do you hate me, Jean?” she said instead of responding. Jean mulled this over. How did he respond to such a question? How did he tell the girl that had just taken time out of her day to help him why, exactly, he hated her?

And did he even hate her? Or was the feeling that arose in his stomach at the sight of her something else? Was it...jealousy?

He realized with a start that it was. He did not hate her. He did not even dislike her. She was quite tolerable, actually, now that he had had to converse with her. He was just jealous: of the way that Eren took care of her without question, the way Tullia supported her no matter what, the way Mikasa loved her more than anything or anyone.

“I don’t,” he said.

“Fine, then. Why do you ignore me and get mad whenever you’re forced to speak to me?” she said, crossing her arms.

“Turn around. I’m going to change,” Jean said by way of response.

“I can just leave, you know,” she said as she turned to face the wall.

“No, don’t. I’m just...oh, fine, I’ll fucking say it! I’m jealous of you!” he said.

“Jealous?”

“Everyone loves Y/N! Stupid, nosey Y/N that can’t mind her own business has all of the friends, and I have none. Not-fucking-one,” he said, his familiar rage flaring up again.

“But you’re friends with Marco and Connie and Sasha? Even Reiner and Bertholdt?” she said, her tone filled with obvious confusion.

“We’re friends, but not the way you and Eren and Armin and Mikasa and Tullia are friends,” he said.

“Oh, Jean, is that really all? I’ve known Eren since we were two! Armin since we were seven, Mikasa since we were nine, and Tullia since the fall of Wall Maria. Of course we’re closer than you are with the people you only just met! Friendships take time to build, and for what it’s worth, you could do a lot better at being a bit kinder to your friends,” she said, her hands on her hips. He pulled his pants on and let out a sigh.

“I know. I just...don’t know what to do. What’s more, I like Tullia. A lot. More than I’ve ever liked anyone, ever. And you’re so close to her, but it’s obvious she likes Eren —”

“What? Where did you ever get such a delusion from?” Y/N said, surprised laughter escaping her mouth, “Why, you can’t tell her I told you or she’ll kill me, but Tullia likes you! She thinks you’re a rude asshole, but she likes you! Not Eren. Certainly not Eren.”

Jean gaped at her back as she continued to snicker. Tullia liked him. Tullia liked him. Him — not Eren Jaeger. Him, Jean-fucking-Kirstein.

“You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about that? I’ll admit I don’t know what she sees in you, but it remains that she likes you, though you hardly deserve her. My advice is that you take a good long look at yourself and decide if the person you pretend to be is the kind of person she deserves. You act all arrogant, but this whole clown fiasco tells me that that it’s just that — an act. Be yourself, Jean. You’ll find that you’re a lot happier then.”

With that, she left him alone in the boys’ bathroom, staring at the doorway, frozen in the midst of buttoning up his shirt.

Happier, huh? If being myself is how I can be happier, and the only way to win at life is to be happy...well, Y/N L/N, maybe I’ll give it a shot.

taglist (send an ask or dm to be added): @futuristicxie

#eren x reader #armin x reader #eren x you #armin x you #eren x y/n #armin x y/n #reader insert #canon au #endure #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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whywishesarehorses · 4 years ago

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A Mustang Crisis Looms in the West

With too many animals on public lands and too many on the public’s hands, the federal wild horse management program is short of money and palatable solutions.

By Dave Philipps Published March 22, 2020

CHALLIS, Idaho — Dawn broke over the peaks of the Lost River Range, revealing a chase in the wide open valley below. Seven wild horses crashed through the sage, dark manes billowing in the golden light, pursued by a government contractor in a glossy helicopter that dodged left and right like a mechanical Border collie, driving the band forward into a hidden corral.

Within hours, the captured mustangs had been sorted, loaded onto trucks to be stamped with an identification number and sent to the Bureau of Land Management’s wild horse storage system. And the helicopter was back out hounding the hills for more.

All over the West, similar scenes have played out as the federal government fights to control the number of wild horses roaming public lands. Managers say they need to keep the herds down so they don’t destroy delicate native species habitat and threaten the livelihoods of ranchers.

But in recent years, the Bureau of Land Management has been losing that fight on two fronts: It hasn’t been able to round up nearly enough horses to limit the wild population. And it doesn’t know what to do with the ones it has managed to capture.

The roundup operation itself is strikingly efficient — a helicopter and a few workers in jean jackets can catch scores of mustangs in a day. The bureau rounded up 7,300 in 2019.

But once they are caught, they have to be fed and cared for. And the costs and frictions of having so many animals on the government’s hands — 49,000 at last count — have pushed the whole wild horse program toward collapse.

The rented pastures and feed lots where they are kept now devour more than two-thirds of the program’s budget, leaving little money for anything else, including looking for ways to get the bureau out of its current fix.

Low on cash, the bureau cut roundups drastically in recent years. But officials acknowledge that the move just made matters worse, by allowing the population on the range to grow rapidly. There are now about 100,000 wild horses and burros on public lands — more than at any time since the days of the Old West. The government reckons the land can sustain only about 27,000.

Bureau officials warn that the mustang herds are a looming catastrophe for the land, and there is no cheap or obvious solution. Capturing all the excess horses and caring for them in storage for the rest of their lives could cost up to $3 billion. Doing nothing may prove costly, too.

“If we don’t get this controlled, it’s just going to get worse,” said Alan Shepherd, the on-range branch chief for the wild horse program. Mustangs have already destroyed fragile desert springs in some places, and the birds, snakes and butterflies that depend on them, he said: “We are going to get to the point where the public lands are going to be almost unusable by anything.”

Mr. Shepherd started his career 30 years ago working on an emergency roundup on the Nellis Air Force Base missile test range in southern Nevada, where drought and overpopulation killed thousands of mustangs.

Now, near the end of his career, he worries that more herds are headed for a similar collapse.

Wild horse welfare groups argue that the crisis is largely invented. They say the government sets its population targets artificially low to justify mass removals that serve the interests of cattle ranchers and distract from other public land policies that are far more damaging.

“It’s a bait and switch,” said Suzanne Roy, director of the American Wild Horse Campaign, a group that has lobbied against roundups. “They say wild horses are an existential threat; meanwhile, they are loosening regulation on energy extraction. We do agree that roundups are creating a crisis in management, but the claims of overpopulation and horses starving are just not borne out by on-the-ground observations. Generally, the horses are doing pretty good.”

Crisis or no crisis, the number of horses on the range has risen into uncharted territory. Mr. Shepherd estimated that while 7,300 horses were captured in 2019, 17,000 foals were born. “We’re not even keeping at status quo,” he said.

In the early frontier days, wild horses in the West were too numerous to count. Explorers saw herds running on the Great Plains, likening the sight to the roll of waves in the ocean. On early maps, vast areas were labeled simply as “wild horse desert.” Later, as the region was settled, the herds were hunted down. Many were shipped east to pull city streetcars in places like Manhattan. Others were slaughtered for dog food and fertilizer. By the 1960s, only a few thousand mustangs were left.

Congress granted federal protection in 1971 to the remaining herds, which were nearly all on Bureau of Land Management land. With few predators and no hunters to cull them, the herds began to rebound, and land managers realized in the 1980s that they were quickly outgrowing the patchwork of public land allotted to them. That is when the helicopter roundups began.

At first, the program appeared sustainable. The bureau publicized an adoption program that found homes for captured horses, and the wild population stayed relatively constant. But news reports in the 1990s revealed that most of the “adopted” horses were actually going to slaughter, often while bureau employees profited. Regulations were tightened, and a backlog of unwanted horses began to build up on rented pastures in the Midwest.

Some conservative lawmakers from rural districts have pushed the bureau to euthanize excess horses or sell them for slaughter, but those steps remain widely unpopular and have not gained traction in Congress.

The bureau has told lawmakers repeatedly that it could create a sustainable program if Congress budgeted enough money to reduce the wild population to 27,000. Three times in the past 30 years, Congress has done so. Each time, though, the efforts were tripped up by dizzying costs and lawsuits from animal welfare groups.

Now the bureau is asking again. William Perry Pendley, its acting director, is a longtime conservative activist and lawyer who sued the bureau a number of times on behalf of ranchers before entering the administration. In an interview, he said he favors a proposal to remove more than 70,000 horses from the range over five years.

“Right now, it’s the ‘Sorcerer’s Apprentice,’” he said. “We’re carrying water and not getting anywhere.”

The bureau is in talks to open two huge feedlots to hold thousands of horses. But it is unclear if Congress is willing to spend billions to store unwanted horses, especially if an economic downturn drains public funds. Bureau staff say privately that they expect the population on the range to continue to grow toward disaster.

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. More than a decade ago, government auditors warned that the cost of storing captured horses would “overwhelm the program.” A 2013 report by the National Academy of Sciences urged the bureau to shift away from roundups and start using readily available and inexpensive fertility control drugs, which are typically administered by dart gun annually in the field.

Bureau leaders acknowledged the warnings and promised to embrace fertility control drugs, but their use actually declined in the years after the report. Less than 1 percent of the program’s current budget is spent on them.

Nearly all of the fertility control now happening on wild horse ranges is done by local volunteers, often retirees, who have learned to wield dart guns in the field.

That includes Andrea Macki, a visual artist who has been darting horses in the Challis herd for more than five years. She says the fertility control treatments have slowed reproduction rates by half, and could do more.

“It’s the obvious solution,” she said as she squinted through the dawn light to watch the helicopter rounding up horses she knew. “I wish the B.L.M. would invest in it, instead of all this.”

Bureau officials say that darting tens of thousands of horses in the field each year is not practical, and would take years to shrink the herds as much as a roundup can in a few days. Congress approved a $21 million increase in the wild horse program’s budget for this year, with the stipulation that the money would be released only when the bureau submitted a five-year plan that includes increases in both roundups and fertility control.

The bureau has also taken steps to dispose of captured horses, including deals that may be sending horses quietly to slaughter. It has ramped up sales of horses it deems unadoptable, charging $25 a head. In 2019 it sold 1,967 that way, often by the truckload in bulk sales; officials have refused to say who the buyers were.

Mr. Shepherd say the bureau tries to screen out slaughter buyers, but acknowledged that it does nothing to monitor the fate of horses after sale.

The bureau also created a program that offers $1,000 to anyone willing to adopt a horse.

Together, the sales and adoptions put about 7,000 horses into private hands last year, not enough even to keep pace with roundups, let alone draw down the number now warehoused.

On the edge of the wild horse range in Challis in central Idaho, Jackie Ingram, a rancher, has shared 168,700 acres of public land with the mustang herds for 46 years. Each spring her family drives hundreds of Black Angus cattle up a steep road through Spar Canyon to graze the high, windswept hills on Bureau of Land Management land.

In some years, she said, the wild horses left so little grass to eat that other wildlife disappeared, and her family had to cut back their cattle herd.

“We like the horses, but we also want to protect the land,” she said. “Every time they do a roundup, we’re happy. If the horses get to be too numerous, it affects the sage grouse, the elk, the antelope and us. All of us depend on the grass.”

#long post #blm mustang #mustang horse #horse news #equestrian #equine

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kitawarheit · 4 years ago

Text

Choke

Hey guys! I decided to post it here too~ Anything this is some Frank x Danny x female reader insert hella self indulgent smut~ Ngl, had someone ask me, "how far do you take your dirty talk?" aaaand here's the example I guess?? lmao Either way it was fun as hell! Enjoy! <3 Can also be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31056830

Tags include: dub-con (ish), verbal humiliation, dirty talk, name-calling, spitroasting, f/m/m threesome

The Fog had been a living hell, for sure. You dare say you were getting used to this “Entity” and its foul games. The pain didn't seem to feel as bad as when you first got here—or maybe that was just your mind knowing you wouldn't truly die? Your cruel resurrection was inevitable in this hellscape. But, you found solace in the small things. To start, you had the other survivors. The companionship was at least enough to keep you sane (for the most part) until you found a way out. But was there?

Trial after trial, your morale drained slowly—that is, until your curiosity was piqued. Some of these vicious killers were... well, human. For the most part, maybe. Take The Legion for example: although they switched off, they were all still four human punk-asses. Sure, being cat called while chased by Frank or having insults hurled at you while Julie choked you to death wasn't the most ideal thing... But it was a breath of fresh air. There were others, yes, but the most talkative or entertaining ones were primarily Frank and Danny—The Ghostface, as they called him.

Speaking of those two—back to the predicament at hand. How the fuck are two killers allowed to be in a trial at the same time!? It wasn't fair! Not only for obvious reasons but more personal ones... Sometimes, you wanted to punch Frank in his stupid face for his chastising, filthy mouth. But, that was only really because of how hot and bothered it actually made you. You knew back before this shit, you were really into dirty talk and stuff, but here? Now? Surely, The Entity knew and was doing this on purpose.

No, you were absolutely sure The Entity was doing this on purpose when you saw the second killer was Danny. He had a nasty mouth on him too—a bit more aggressive than Frank overall, but it still didn't help you not be affected by his “teasing”. But why? Sure, you enjoyed their talk, even if your brain tried to yell at you that they were there to murder you, not sweet talk you to bed. But did The Entity even give “graces” like this? No, no—it must be for the killers. After all, they were the ones that essentially gave power to this thing.

No matter why or for who, it didn't matter. You weren't going to look this gift horse in the mouth. You deserved a slice of pleasure too, right?

So, here you were, being dragged into the old ski resort lodge, two sets of hands moving over every inch of your body, making you squirm between them.

“Hey, hey,” Frank cooed in a smug tone as you were turned to face him. “Settle down, kitten, we haven't even started yet!”

“She can't help it,” Danny mocked behind you, grabbing your ass, which made you give a squeal of surprise. “She's gonna get double fucked! Any slut would be excited by that.”

“You're right,” Frank practically purred, sliding his hands under your shirt and making his way up to your chest. “I'm surprised she's not already trying to tear out of her clothes.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed weakly, trying to squirm from their grasps—but, the both of them proved to be too strong and they kept you firm in place. “Let me go...!”

“Oh, don't worry, kitten,” Frank said, lifting his mask to sit on the top of his head as he eyed you over. “You'll fuck me soon enough~”

You were too busy examining the details of a face you hadn't seen without the mask to notice Frank giving a nod at Danny. There was a chuckle behind you and, suddenly, Danny had his hands over your torso, ripping open your shirt and pulling the ruined garment off, letting it fall to the floor. Another squeal escaped you as you tried to cover your arms over your chest, face flushed. Of course, Danny wouldn't let you do that as he gripped your wrists and held you in place.

“Fuck, she's got some nice tits,” the man behind you mused.

“Hell yeah, she does,” Frank agreed, brandishing his knife. “Let's get a better look, though...”

Before you could make a protest, Frank's knife slipped under the front of your bra, harshly tugging upwards to tear it in half. Quick on the move, Danny let go of your wrists to let your arms hang low so that he could swiftly tug your destroyed bra off and down to the ground.

“D-Don't touch me,” you shrieked, only to have them do just the opposite. Danny's hand cupped one of your breasts, while Frank toyed with the other, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. You were trying so hard not to make noise, but the look on your face must have given you away.

“What a slut,” Frank laughed, making you jolt as he pinched your nipple. “Hmm? You like having killers play around with your tits?”

“Look at her face,” Danny cooed. “She totally does! Nasty bitch~”

Your mind was failing to think of words to says, insults to hurl, threats to make. But, it didn't matter, they were too strong for you and you had nothing to fend them off with. And if the heat pooling in your core had any say in the matter, you were likely going to break anyways. Sooner, rather than later, if they kept this up.

You tried to at least keep quiet—if you couldn't make threats, the least you could do was not make any moans. Your focus was brought back to the situation as Frank cupped your chin, forcing your head up to look at him. For the moment, he had let go of your breast and Danny took full advantage of that by cupping both in his hands, squeezing them.

“Fuck,” Danny grunted behind you. “I've gotta get my dick between these sometime...”

Frank seemed to be searching for something in your face as he looked you over, yet abandoned that endeavor rather quickly. He let go of your chin and scoffed, grabbing hold of your hips now.

“I bet you anything she's already fucking soaked,” Frank mocked, emphasizing his last word as he popped the button of your jeans. “Let's just check that... 'Kay, kitten?”

Frank slipped his palm over your stomach, making his way down as you squirmed in Danny's grasp. He slipped past your pants and toyed with the waistband of your panties briefly before finally slipping his hand down over your folds. There was no warning when Frank brought his head closer, dipping under your chin to bite harshly into your neck, at the same time he pushed two fingers into your pussy. You were already losing yourself, but there was no way you could hold back the moan that ripped past your throat at Frank's actions. You could practically feel his smirk against your neck...

“Ho~ly fuck,” Frank cooed as he released your neck, pulling his head back to look at you while he pulled his fingers out from your jeans, just to hold them in front of your face. Of course, Frank was right —you were already wet by now. “This bitch is a total whore! Look at how wet she is already!”

“Damn,” Danny laughed, pinching both of your nipples in an attempt to draw noise from you. “I guess we got lucky with this one, huh?”

You whimpered softly as Danny pinched again, squirming as you watched Frank make a show of licking his fingers clean. Your mind teetered on the edge between wrong and right, just a touch away from going over and begging for them. In some pathetic last attempt to escape, you tried to pull away again. Frank clicked his teeth and gripped your hips again to hold you in place, Danny giving a light grind into your ass. Fuck, you could already feel how hard he was.

“Please,” you spoke softly, trying not to look Frank in the eye. To this, he roughly grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eye, a smirk tugging his lips upwards.

“Please what, kitten,” he sneered, bringing his face even closer to yours. ...That was it. That was the tipping point and your brain tumbled down the wrong side. But, you didn't give a hot damn. You needed this... and you needed it now.

“Don't tease me,” you breathed out, flashing Frank a look—oh, did he know that look well. The look of letting go and giving in to carnal desire. It was show time.

“That's what we wanna hear,” Danny chuckled, his voice more clear now and you could only assume he took his mask off as well. “A slut in the end—can't resist having some cock in you, right? Even if it's from a killer?”

Frank gave a vicious grin from ear to ear, letting go of your chin to dip his head down against your neck.

“Good girl,” he purred, giving another firm bite before working on pushing your pants and panties down. This time, when he bit into you, you let out a soft whimper, wiggling your pants and panties down the rest of the way to help, then stepped out of them.

Behind you, Danny removed his gloves, letting his bare hands slide down your chest, savoring the warmth of your skin as he kept moving further down. Sure, he knew Frank was right—but he couldn't help to feel for himself as his fingers dipped between your damp folds, his fingertips gliding up and down some. Your breath had already started to become labored from his small actions alone, surely stroking his ego more than it was. You wanted to savor the moment, but Frank seemed a bit impatient.

“Lemme have her,” Frank spoke, a bit of a grumble behind his tone. “I got an idea~”

Frank seemed to enjoy simply tugging you along and keeping you out of the loop. Throwing you over his shoulder like he would to carry you to a hook, that instinctual fear almost began to rise. As Frank started to climb the stairs with you, Danny followed behind, looking just as impatient as the other man.

“Don't worry, baby girl,” Danny cooed, patting your cheek some. “You're not going on a hook. We got something better in mind for you!”

On the second floor, there were a few empty rooms with faded memories of what this place once was, long ago. In one of the rooms, there was a large mattress and pillows, cigarette butts littering the ground with the smell of smoke still rather fresh. This was probably Frank's sort of make shift bedroom, if you had to guess... You almost wanted to ask (why, you weren't sure), but the wind was briefly knocked from you as Frank threw your body on the mattress with ease.

“You're gonna love this, kitten,” Frank hummed as you coughed a bit. “All just for you! I know a little whore like you can probably take more... But we'll start here, okay?”

You weren't sure what he meant and you weren't given any time to dwell on it before he rolled you onto your stomach, just as Danny came around to sit on the mattress, close enough to your face that you could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body. Grabbing your hips, Frank lifted your bottom half up to meet his crotch as he let his erection rub against your ass through his jeans. With a chuckle, he shoved his hips forward, forcing your face into Danny's crotch, making you both groan.

“I know you're excited, kitten,” Frank sneered, giving a harsh slap across your ass. “So get to work! I'm sure my friend here would love to see how talented that slut mouth of yours is~”

Propping your torso up just a bit, you looked up at Danny as he began to unfasten his pants, pushing them down a few inches just to make it easier to take his aching erection out. You couldn't help but stare for a moment, impressed by his girth. Damn, were all the killers like this...? Taking your distraction as hesitation, Danny ran his fingers through your hair, gripping tightly as he tugged your head forward a bit.

“I'm not gonna wait all day, bitch,” Danny sneered, purposefully rubbing himself against your lips. You whined a bit at the tight grip he had on your hair before obeying—placing one hand on his thigh to steady yourself as the other gripped the base of his cock. You gave one long, broad lick along the underside of his cock, dragging your tongue up until you flicked it off of the tip. Frank rubbed the side of your ass he slapped earlier, as if silently giving praise at the little show.

“Ohh,” Danny groaned, flashing a smirk down at you. “I can already tell she's used that mouth well before. Think she's tried to use it to bargain for the hatch?”

“Probably,” Frank said with a laugh, giving your ass another slap, causing you to gasp out. “At least, I wouldn't put it past her.”

You could feel yourself throbbing, started to become impatient yourself. But you weren't going to beg—oh no, not yet. To keep yourself quiet, you took a few inches of Danny into your mouth, sucking lightly as if to savor him. Danny groaned and muttered small praises to you, so focused on him that you were deaf to the sound of Frank's zipper being pulled down behind you. When you felt his rubbing the tip of his cock against your slit, you gasped, but were unable to stop the soft moan you gave.

“Oh, you're gonna feel so good around my cock,” Frank cooed, rubbing a bit more incessantly. You started sucking harder around Danny's length, trying not to give in to the feeling of Frank rubbing against you. Trying was the key word, but your body acted first, trying to rub back against him for more friction. He gave a click of his tongue and used his free hand to keep your hips still.

“You want it, kitten,” Frank asked with a mocking tone. “You gotta beg for it~”

Danny yanked your head up and off his cock, making you wince as you glanced up at him. Seeing the smirk on Danny's face made your heart jump and you were all too sure that Frank had the same look on his face. Flushed, you chewed your bottom lip a bit, as if a bit embarrassed to say it out loud. Frank gave you an encouraging, yet hard, slap across your ass, making you squeal out and tremble a bit.

“P-Please,” you squeaked out, whining as you tried to press back against Frank. “Fuck me, Frank...! Please...!”

“You want my cock in you,” Frank chuckled, giving another smack to your ass. “Say it, bitch!”

“Y-Yes,” you moaned out. “I want your cock in me, Frank! Please!”

“What a total cock slut,” Danny laughed as he brought your face close to his cock again, making sure you had him in your mouth before releasing his hold on your hair. You felt Frank lining himself up, pushing just the tip in before gripping your hips with both hands. Without warning, he suddenly gave a single, sharp jerk of his hips, thrusting himself inside you to the hilt, causing you to lurch forward and deep throat Danny. You almost gagged on him from the sudden force, but Danny only groaned, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck,” Frank groaned, keeping still a moment. “She's tight, too... Damn, she feels good!”

Frank pulled you back some, letting you off of Danny's cock to catch your breath, watching you cough a bit from the surprise forced deep throat. Once you were mostly settled, Danny gripped your hair again to guide you back to his throbbing length, rubbing the back of your head encouragingly. Frank pulled out most of the way before speaking up again.

“That was your warning,” Frank taunted, rubbing his thumbs over your hips. “So you better get ready—'cause I'm not stopping until I've filled you up, got it?”

“Do anything you want to me, Frank,” you whined out, glancing over your shoulder at him as your mind clouded with lust. “Please use me...~”

“Damn,” Danny scoffed, turning your face to him again with an amused grin. “She's a compliant little cock sucker.”

“Ohhh,” Frank cooed, fingers digging into your hips. “You just sealed the deal there, babygirl~”

Listening to Frank, you knew this was your one second to attempt to brace yourself. Taking Danny back into your mouth, you pressed your tongue against the underside of his cock, but let your jaw hang slack. If Frank's “warning” was anything to go by, you wouldn't need to be doing much head movement, anticipating his thrusts would be enough to do that for you.

And that it was. Frank showed no mercy, no easing you into it—no, he immediately started with a rough, somewhat quick pace as each thrust would push you back down onto Danny. You had let yourself go well before this point, so there was no trying to suppress your moans, loud and needy as they were. The small vibrations from your moans sent a shiver up Danny's back as he gripped your hair tight again, seeming to be holding back the urge to straight up fuck your mouth.

“Shit,” Danny hissed, leaning his head back some as he savored the feeling of your mouth. “It's gonna feel so good to cum down your throat!”

The anticipation and promise of his words excited you, more so than you thought as your inner walls clenched down around Frank, drawing a low moan from him.

“Easy, kitten,” he groaned, the bruising grip on your hips never letting up. “I know you're a fucking cumslut—nghh—but no need to rush it~”

Frank's pace started to deepen as he was back to burying himself all the way in with each forward snap of his hips. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as everything started to become overwhelming—the way Danny almost hit the back of your throat every time you were shoved forward, the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin from the force of Frank's hips, the pleasurable throb that came each time Frank's cock rammed against your cervix. You were a mewling, moaning (and if you could move, you'd probably also be writhing) mess between the two men.

You could already feel that familiar heat starting to coil down in you as you practically drooled onto Danny's cock, doing your best to rock your hips back against Frank. His grip was stead-fast, but he seemed to let up just a tad to enjoy you trying to fuck yourself back onto him. It earned you a groan from the man behind you, your wet walls throbbing around him in a pleasurable thrum. You were close, you knew it—but it seemed Frank knew this too.

“What a whore,” Frank groaned as he stilled his hips, swatting Danny's hand away so he could grip your hair instead, wrenching your head off of the other man so you could speak properly. Danny made a groan of protest, but allowed it as he was just as eager to hear your cries. “You wanna cum, bitch?”

“Yes, please,” you whined out, frustrated from being so close to your blissful high.

“Yes, what,” Frank sneered.

“I want to cum...! Please, let me cum!”

“And you wanna take our loads like the good little cumdump you are, right?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, I-I want to be filled by you both...!”

“Atta girl~”

Frank promptly shoved you back down on Danny as he went back to his brutal pace, close to his own release. As you were shoved down and fucked hard, you finally snapped, your orgasm tearing through your body like a tidal wave. You moaned loud around Danny's length and your pussy clamped down and convulsed around Frank, both being the final push they needed to fill you. Frank bit his lip as he moaned behind you, burying himself all the way before cumming hard inside your willing cunt. Danny gave a few thrusts into your mouth, hand back in your hair, and held your head in place while he released in your mouth, groaning low.

“Swallow you fuckin' cumslut,” Danny growled, keeping a firm grip on the back of your head. You didn't need to be told twice as you swallowed a few times, making sure to take down every last drop. Satisfied, Danny pulled you off of him and released your hair from his grasp. Behind you, you could feel Frank pulling out, taking a moment to admire the view as his cum dripped from you, a few drops hitting the mattress below.

“Damn,” Frank hummed, giving one side of your ass an appreciative rub. “Now that is a good fuck!”

“Fuckin' right,” Danny concurred with a laugh before lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “Give us a sec and we'll get you ready for round two, babygirl. Don't think we're done with you yet~”

#dead by daylight #dbd #fanfiction #reader x killers #danny johnson #frank morrison #the legion #the ghostface #ghostface #smut fic

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starstruckkittensweets · 4 years ago

Text

i. eglantine || myosotis

Summary: You’ve searched for him for as long as you can remember. And finally, it seems as though you’d found him.

Fandom: Attack on Titan Pairing: Levi x Reader Words: 6.2k

A/N: I wanted to wait to post this until most of the chapters were written, but this story has taken up most of my mind and mental energy lately, so I couldn’t push it off any further. This is the first chapter of my angsty Reincarnation AU fic that I’ve been working on since mid-February. I don’t want to say too much about it, since I don’t want to accidentally give spoilers. But I hope you guys enjoy! :)

Warnings: Season 4 spoilers, angst and feels, mentions of abusive/negligent parents, brief mentions of past relationships, age difference (younger woman and older man)

“Myosotis” Masterlist

“Sasha, put it back!”

“I didn’t take anything, I swear!”

“Come on, I saw you! Put it back, damn it!”

You roll your eyes, fingers tightening around the stick of charcoal in your hand. Jean and Sasha are fighting again, probably over another roll of bread. Sasha has a habit of stealing them from the pantry every now and again, even in broad daylight of her friends.

Jean chases her through the kitchen, around and around the little wooden table. Sasha shoves the roll of bread into her mouth before continuing her sprint; every time she passes your seat, a gentle gust of wind ruffles your hair.

“Damn it, Sasha, put it back!”

A muffled “Never!” is his answer.

You lean over the table, shielding your sketchbook from the two younger cadets. A rough drawing stares back at you—a drawing of the little cabin your squad has taken refuge in. You managed to capture the outline of the cabin, and now you’re adding the little barn beside it. But before you could get to it, Sasha had burst into the room, with Jean and Connie hot on her tail.

Connie leans against the doorway and sighs. “Come on, Sash. Just give it up already!”

You rub your temples, accidentally smudging a bit of charcoal on your skin. “It’s been in her mouth. You don’t want it back now.”

Connie grimaces, and Sasha gives him an evil smile. But then Jean lunges forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and stopping her in her tracks. She screams through the roll of bread in her mouth, voice muffled and eyes wild.

A heavy sigh passes through your lips. You came into the kitchen for some peace and quiet. You’ve only got about another hour before switching with Mikasa at the lookout post, and you want to enjoy it as much as possible. But right now, you can barely think with Sasha’s grumbling and Jean and Connie’s screaming.

You need a break.

Without a word, you grab the book and charcoal and head out the door, silently moving past Connie (who continues to beg Sasha to give up that damn roll of bread). Your best bet for silence isn’t anywhere near the house, so you go to the next best spot.

Eren and Mikasa are at the lookout posts. Armin and Historia are probably down at the lake, washing up the laundry for tomorrow. Sasha, Connie, and Jean...well, you already know where those three are. So that leaves you with an area you know is empty: the barn.

The horses snort upon hearing your boots scuffle against the dirt. You close the door behind you and head further in, passing each stall and bidding hello to the horses inside. There’s Eren and Armin’s dark bay geldings, right beside each other. There’s Mikasa’s buckskin mare, and Historia’s bay roan filly. Finally, you come to your own mare’s stall, and she pokes her head out through the top of the door.

She’s a bit younger than the other horses, not quite a mare but no longer a filly. Her coat is a gorgeous shade of chestnut, and when the sun hits her at a certain angle, she looks like a red wisp of fire. In fact, she was one of your first models when you bought this sketchbook; the first ten pages or so are filled with drawings of her—her mane, her coat, her body, everything. From when you raised her as a foal to the grown mare (more like filly) she is today.

“Hi, Rose,” you whisper, brushing a hand across her long nose. “You behaving in here, I hope?”

The chestnut snorts again. With a huff, you sit down outside the stall with your back against the bars of the door. Rose glances over your shoulder as you open your sketchbook, ready to continue from where you left off.

Despite the crazy antics of your younger friends, you like this little cabin in the forest. It’s an unfortunate situation to be thrown in, having to take refuge this far away from any other towns or cities, but you try to make the best of it.

You finish the sketch of the barn, shading in the doors and the roof with the little stick of charcoal. It’s no longer a stick, but a tiny broken nub. You’ll have to get a new one once you go back to the house later tonight.

The door of the barn slides open with a creak. Rose perks up, snorting at the sound of footsteps against the rough dirt. Eventually, a deep voice flutters through the walls, echoing in your ears.

“I thought I’d find you in here.”

The newcomer stops right in front of you, arms crossed over his chest. With a soft smile, you place down the nub of charcoal and glance up at him. The sketchbook rests heavily in your lap, and a blush dusts your face when you see his silver eyes flicker down to the opened page.

“Sorry, captain. I had to get away from the noise in the house.”

“Tch, I don’t blame you. I could hear them all the way from the well. Fucking dumbasses.”

He huffs before settling down in the dirt beside you. As much of a clean freak he can be, the natural grime and musk of the barn and its horses has never bothered him.

He nods to the page in your sketchbook, the same one splattered with dark charcoal. “New sketch?”

Your blush worsens beneath his silvery gaze. “Something like that.”

“Hey, you awake over there?”

You lift your head from your elbows and glance off to the side. A yawn bubbles up in your throat and cuts off whatever you were about to say. A few feet away, Mikasa shakes her head and smiles.

“You fell asleep again,” she murmurs, folding yet another one of your shirts and placing it in the suitcase on your bed. “You sure you got enough sleep last night?”

You yawn again, propping your arms up and onto the surface of your desk. Looks like you fell asleep while doing some last-minute homework again. You were waiting for Mikasa to come to your room, but you must’ve dozed off while waiting for her to get here.

“Sorry,” you mumble into the palm of your hand. “I was just...thinking.”

“About what?” She folds another shirt and packs it away. “Is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine.”

She eyes you cautiously. Damn it. You were screwed the moment you stuttered. Mikasa is incredibly observant, and when she suspects you’re not telling her the truth, she will stop at nothing to get the full story.

She sighs before turning around to face you, leaning against the edge of your bed. Your face heats up beneath her brilliant gray gaze. Shit. Even though she’s younger than you, she’s still so intimidating. How many times have you been stunned into silence because you were too frightened of her seemingly cold and unfeeling nature?

“What are you thinking about? There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?”

You stare down at your palms on the desk. Not really, you want to tell her. You don’t want her to worry about you. She has much more important things to concern herself with. Passing her classes, keeping Eren and Armin out of trouble, and dealing with the typical angst of being nineteen years old. You remember what it was like when you were her age.

Both in this world and the other one.

When it becomes clear that you’re not going to talk any time soon, Mikasa shoves the suitcase off to the side of your bed and hops up onto the mattress. She leans forward on her elbows, keeping her eyes fixed on your body.

“Is it the memories again?”

You thank every god and goddess above that Mikasa knows about your memories. She’s experienced them, as well, and so have Eren and Armin. In fact, everyone in your little friend group remembers their past life in some way or another. You can’t really explain it, but it’s comforting to know there are multiple people out there who know what it’s like.

“Somewhat,” you finally answer, and a weight settles over your chest. “I’ve been...thinking about them lately.”

They come in dreams or flashbacks, both during the day and in the middle of the night. Ever since you were twelve years old, you’ve remembered bits and pieces of a life you used to live, in a world vastly different than this one.

You were scared at first, when they started resurfacing in your childhood. You didn’t know what to do. All of a sudden, you remembered faces, places, items—things you hadn’t seen in this world, but you remembered them all the same. But over the years, you’ve grown used to them coming and going at random times. It’s just a part of life now, and you have to make the best of it. At least, that’s what Mikasa and the others tell you all the time.

“What are you thinking about?”

Leave it to Mikasa to try to coax the full truth out of you. You hide a smile and turn around in your seat, finally facing her head-on. “They just...stop.”

Everyone remembers what happened in the old world, the one you see in your memories, to a certain extent. They remember everything involving themselves, or in some cases, their deaths. One of your friends, Marco, talked about this when you first brought it up. He couldn’t recall any of the events Armin and Jean and the others were talking about; he could only remember up to a certain point in the past. And for that reason, he suspected that he had died somewhere along the way.

It’s a scary thought, but you can’t think of any other explanation. You remember a violent battle in another country, one whose name you can’t recall at the moment, and then it goes blank. That was a particularly painful memory to recall at first. You had lost good people that day, including Sasha. After you remembered her death, you ended up calling her at three-thirty in the morning, just to hear her groggy voice. At least she was still here with you in this life.

But that’s it. There's nothing after that.

It’s not uncommon for memories to resurface a few months or years apart from each other. But this last memory of that battle, and of Sasha’s death, resurfaced about seven months ago. Ever since then, you haven’t experienced any new ones.

Have you reached the end of your line? Did you die in that battle? You don’t remember dying; all you remember is pressing down on Sasha’s wound as hard as you could, trying your best to stop the blood flowing from her chest. Maybe you died of grief soon after?

You don’t know, and that frustrates you to no end.

Mikasa remains silent. It’s clear she wants you to keep talking, but there’s nothing left to say. She’s probably the only one who knows of your current dilemma with your memories. As far as you know, no one else has trouble remembering what happened after that battle—well, apart from Sasha, that is.

But she remembers her death. It’s foggy, but she remembers her last words and her last thoughts. Even if you died yourself, you can’t remember what your final moments looked like.

“...Do you think my memories will come back eventually?”

Mikasa hums in agreement. “I think so. It'll come back to you, I’m sure of it. You just have to be patient.”

Easy for her to say. Mikasa has never had trouble exercising patience when the situation calls for it. But you on the other hand? You’re always rushing into danger without any concern for your own well-being. It’s a trait they weren’t able to beat out of you back in the cadet corps.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right...”

You shake your head. You can worry about that later. Right now, you have to finish packing. Campus will be closing in a few hours.

You push yourself up and out of your seat. “Move over. Let me finish packing.”

Mikasa shakes her head and leaps down from the mattress. As you continue to pack up your clothes and stuff them inside your suitcase, you can feel her eyes burning into your back. She's still worried about you, and she has a hard time of hiding it.

She doesn’t have to worry about you. You'll be fine. You always have been.

It’s colder than usual when you head out of the dorm. With a shiver, you cross your arms over your chest, but not before tugging your black scarf up and over your nose. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mikasa smile softly at you, before doing the same with her own red one.

“You should be used to this weather by now,” she murmurs, running a hand through her short black hair.

“You know me.” Your voice is muffled by the black fabric. “I hate the cold.”

Well, that’s the understatement of the year. Hell, you were freezing all the way back in September, when the first autumn breeze made its way across campus. Forget this mid-November weather. You’d rather just stay cooped up inside with a blanket thrown over your lap, and a steaming cup of coffee between your palms.

But no. As much as you want to linger behind, you know you can’t. Campus will be shutting down for the next week or so, for Thanksgiving break. Then, it’s two weeks until finals, and then you have a full month to relax before the next semester starts in February.

“Need a ride to the airport?”

Mikasa shakes her head as the two of you approach the parking lot. Your trusty car is on the far end of the lot, sticking out like a sore thumb against the shiny convertibles. It’s clunky and the paint’s chipping away, but you still consider it to be your buddy. You’ve relied on that thing for the better part of four years, and it hasn’t failed you yet.

“I’m alright. Eren should be done in a few minutes. We’ll head down there together.”

But as the words leave her mouth, the sound of a car horn fills the air. A familiar green-eyed boy leans out the window of a silver convertible on the other side of the lot, waving over to the two of you. Both you and Mikasa smile at him, and you can’t help but chuckle when you see a light dusting of pink on Mikasa’s face.

“Looks like your ride is here,” you tell her, and she nudges you hard with her elbow. “Is Armin coming with you?”

“Not this time. He’s spending break with his family. But I think he’s coming over for Christmas.”

You nod, glancing down at the pavement below. It’s hard not to be jealous of her and her friends. She gets to spend Thanksgiving with her family halfway across the country, in the warm southern areas with plenty of sunshine. It’s better than being stuck in this hellhole, with only the gray sky and snowy winds to keep you company.

You pop the trunk of your car and throw your suitcase and duffel bag inside. Once the trunk’s latched up, you open the driver’s side door and throw your backpack onto the passenger’s seat. Before climbing in yourself, you give Mikasa another look from over your shoulder.

“Tell your folks I said hi, alright?”

“Okay. Drive safely.”

“I always do.”

She frowns, and you can’t help but laugh. No need to bring up that unfortunate accident you and Eren got into in the summer of your sophomore year of college, which involved way too much ice cream and a sudden swerve to the right. Neither of you were seriously injured, but the car had a few scrapes and bruises from the collision with the stop sign. Ever since then, Mikasa has never let you live it down; in fact, she refuses to let you drive when Eren is in the car with you.

“Call me when you get to the airport, okay?”

“I will.”

You climb into the seat and slam the door shut. As you rev up the engine, Mikasa knocks on the glass of the window. You slide it down, shivering as another gust of cold wind seeps into the car.

“Don’t worry about those memories too much, alright? It’s not healthy.”

Of course, leave it to Mikasa to be concerned about your health. For as long as you’ve known her, both in this life and the last, you’ve always joked that she’s the “mom friend” of your little friend group. Much more mature than anyone else at her age—and certainly more than you were when you were nineteen—she takes it upon herself to watch over everyone. It makes sense that she wants to look out for you like this.

“I’ll try my best.”

“Promise?”

You smile. “Yeah, I promise.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She’s got something on her mind. But before you can ask her about it, she starts to speak once more.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us? You know you’re always welcome.”

It's hard to look her in the eye when you answer. “No, I’m alright. My mom probably wants to see me. Haven’t seen her since August, you know...”

An awkward silence settles over the two of you. To pass the time, you turn the knob on the dash, and a blast of heat hits your arm. Only a few minutes until the car is all warmed up for you.

You want to go with her and the others. The Jaeger family has always been kind to you. Grisha is quiet but reliable, and Carla is an absolute sweetheart. It’s hard to refuse the offer and turn them away, but you can’t help it. It’s been months since you’ve last seen your own mother. It’s best if you go home and see her—before she gets even angrier with you.

“I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

Mikasa wants to say more, you can see it in her eyes. But she only nods, tugging her scarf further up her face. “Okay. Stay warm, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

You give her one last smile before rolling the window back up. Within moments, you pull out of the parking lot, stealing one last glance at her waving form in the rearview mirror. A second later, you’re on the busy road, heading south towards home.

Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel. It’s hard to focus as you drive, your conversation with Mikasa still ringing in your ears. You start to regret not taking her up on her offer. But you know you’ll be in some deep shit if you choose your friends over your mother. Again.

It’s been weeks since you’ve last talked to her, and months since you’ve actually seen her. Part of you wants to suck it up and forget about going home in the first place. But it’ll only make things worse for you further down the road.

You run your hand down your face as you come to a stop at a red light. As you watch the line of cars pass you by, your mind starts to wander. Back to your childhood, with Mikasa and Eren and Armin. Back when the days weren’t great, but you were all happy.

Back when all you knew was a walled city, caged in a pen like cattle.

You were close to your thirteenth birthday when you finally reunited with Mikasa and the boys. After some prompting from one of your teachers, Miss Brzenska (who also remembered bits and pieces of the world you kept seeing), you approached them on the schoolyard at lunch one day. You had never felt so nervous in your entire life.

Would they even remember you? Did they know who you were? Would they be glad you had sought them out, or would they be annoyed? There was no way of knowing, unless you took that risk and found out for yourself.

But the moment they saw you, their jaws dropped, and their eyes went wide. And almost immediately, the black-haired girl rushed forward and swept you into her arms. The two boys followed close behind, the four of you embracing right there in the middle of the schoolyard.

It was the first time in your life you actually felt like you belonged somewhere. Your place was with these three kids, watching over them and protecting them from the dangers of the world.

But these memories stayed a secret between you four. No one was allowed to know about them—except for Miss Brzenska, and maybe Eren and Mikasa’s parents. Armin’s grandfather also remembered bits and pieces of the old world. But that was it. No one else, end of story.

At first, you were scared to talk to your parents about it. But one too many prying questions from your father about your newfound friendship with three kids three years younger than yourself had led you to blurt it all out. And surprisingly, he listened to your stories—to every memory you could recall, with his eyes lighting up with each one.

He never patronized you for having these strange dreams, or memories, whatever they were called. In fact, on Christmas Eve one year, when your mother was still at work, he came clean to you. He remembered the walled city, as well.

He remembered walking through the streets, kicking up dirt with his boots and whistling soft music to himself. He remembered heading to the marketplace and browsing through the stands of fruit and fish and accessories. He even remembered you in some of them, and he recalled holding your hand as he led you through the city, when you were no more than seven years old.

You knew your mother would never understand, so you never told her. Besides, she was too busy arguing with your father over bills and food, or making comments about your outfit or homework habits under her breath to pay you any mind. You were not about to trust her with this little secret, not if you could help it.

The days dragged by, and when you reached thirteen years old, you all remembered that day—a day of horror and bloodshed, of broken homes and high-pitched screams. It happened when you were spending one summer afternoon at Eren’s home. All of a sudden, the four of you froze up, and you started remembering that cursed day.

There was a reason that city had been walled up. And when that monster had appeared on the other side, with its giant skinless head poking up over the top, it all made sense. Titans. They were the reason humanity was hiding behind these Walls. They were the reason so many humans were dead now.

Eren had to rush downstairs to see if his mother was alright. That was when you realized that not everyone alive today in this world had made it in the old one.

Your account was different than theirs. No wonder—you hadn’t been in Shiganshina that day. You had been busy training with your peers towards Trost District. You had been spared the sight of the Colossal Titan peeking over the edge of Wall Maria. You hadn’t seen Eren’s mother get eaten, like he and Mikasa had.

There’s an obnoxious honk of a car horn behind you. The light just turned green. You roll your eyes and step on the gas, continuing to drive down the road. It’s tempting to lean out the window and scream at the driver behind you, or at the very least flip him off. But you restrain yourself, for the time being.

It takes about an hour to get out of the city. Once you’re in the next town over, it’s only another half hour to get back home. You have a long drive ahead of you, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. It gives you more time to think, to be alone with your thoughts. At least for just a bit longer.

God knows you won’t be able to get a wink of sleep or silence once you’re back home with your mother.

You flip the radio on and turn it to a station you know all too well. A classic rock and roll song fills the car, and with the added heat from the dashboard, the atmosphere is just a bit warmer and more comforting. It reminds you of home—and not the one you’re heading to.

You take the next exit on the left and head down the back roads. Another hour of weaving through these, and you’ll be back in your old hometown. Might as well enjoy it while you can, right?

So you lean back, loosen your grip on the steering wheel, and let your mind run rampant.

You remember training in the cadet corps. You remember graduating. Joining the Scout Regiment—the only branch of the military that even remotely interested you. Maybe it was because your father had been a Scout, before he was eaten by a Titan when you were fifteen years old. At first, you wanted to join to see the outside world. But after the fall of Wall Maria, all you could think about was putting an end to the Titans once and for all. And after watching a Titan swipe your father off his horse, that desire to eradicate those bloodthirsty monsters only grew stronger.

You were sixteen when you met Connie and Sasha in this world. And two years later, you met up with Jean and Marco. A month after that, Ymir and Historia. And by the time you were in your senior year of high school, and the kids were freshmen, your little group was back together.

Well, for the most part.

Your hands tighten around the steering wheel again. Half an hour has passed, and you’re just halfway out of the city. But when the next memory hits, you’re forced to pull over to the side of the road. You don’t trust yourself not to get distracted and crash.

You park the car and lean your forehead against the wheel. Breathe in, breathe out. Count to ten in between breaths. It's a technique you’ve practiced often, every time you start to remember him.

Jet black hair. Dark gray eyes. A forest green cloak, with the hood hanging above his shoulders. Black and white wings embedded on the green fabric, crossed over one another. Twin blades gripped in his hands, flashes of silver nearly blinding you in the sunlight.

You've seen him in your dreams, ever since you were sixteen years old. You know his face. You know his name. You know his personality, his likes and dislikes, his way of talking—everything there is to know about someone, you know it.

But how can you not? You spent a good portion of your past life around that man, talking with him and fighting at his side. It was only natural for you to learn all you could about him.

He was an Ackerman, just like Mikasa. She remembered him, and so did the rest of your friend group. But none of them had a clue as to where he was or what he was doing. For all you knew, he could be dead.

No. Don’t think about that. You don’t like the idea of him dying. You had to deal with it so much in your past life.

You raise your head off the steering wheel and place your palms against your cheeks. A few gentle slaps later, you reach around your backpack for your water bottle. You take a long gulp and tilt your head back.

Save it for home. Wait until you get home, and then you can think about him.

Finally, you shake your head, cap your water bottle, and start the car again. It's not long before you’re back on the road, heading towards the outskirts of the city.

And shoving those thoughts of the gray-eyed man into the furthest corner of your mind.

Your stomach starts to swirl the moment you pull into your mother’s driveway. There’s no car parked in the garage, nor is there one in the driveway. She must be out of the house.

Which means you’re shit out of luck until she comes back. You don’t have a key of your own, after all. She’s never trusted you enough to give you one.

You exhale loudly, pressing your forehead to the steering wheel once more. You hate when this happens. Whenever you decide to come home, you have to wait until your mother feels like coming back to let you inside. And even then, there’s no guarantee when she’ll return. One time you had to sleep over at Mikasa’s house because she left in the middle of the day without telling you. She didn’t think to send you a text until the next day, when she asked you to pick up some milk at the store when she was already back at home.

That had been one of the most humiliating days of your life. Thank God Mikasa wasn’t one to judge. Still, whenever you thought about her dragging you back to her home and explaining to her parents that you were in need of a place to sleep for the night, your face flushed with shame.

You check the time on your dashboard. It’s only four-thirty. Mikasa texted you about an hour ago, telling you that she and the boys had met up at the airport. It wasn’t worth it to try to call her now. No doubt she was already mid-flight.

Well, at least you had some extra time to kill, right? Might as well walk around town to see what’s changed.

The town of Rose Edge is small enough to walk around without a car. You know this town like the back of your hand, having explored it on your own ever since you were ten or so.

So you grab your backpack and climb out of the car, locking the doors on your way out. Once you’re sure everything’s secure, you lift up your scarf and head into town.

From what you can see, it hasn’t changed a bit. The sidewalks are still paved with cobblestone, giving off an old-timey vibe, and the shops are warm and welcoming. Cars drive up and down the streets, and crowds of people flood the roads, chattering amongst themselves. A man in a business suit, talking into his phone. A woman and her child, their hands clasped together tightly. A family of six, with two parents, two girls, and two boys, with one boy perched on the father’s shoulders.

You smile at the sight, even if your heart hurts a little. It’s been almost six years since your father passed away, and while you know he’s no longer in pain, you still miss him.

There’s the bookstore at the end of Krolva Avenue. You used to work there when you were a junior in high school, saving up some extra money for college. There’s the clothing shop Historia and Sasha always brought you to, right across the movie theater. How many nights were spent in that theater, with the nine of you flinging buttery popcorn at each other and laughing along to cheesy rom-coms and pathetic horror movies?

There’s also the café, right on the intersection of Krolva and Utopia. You used to spend every Saturday morning there with Mikasa and Armin—Eren never came, since he always slept in late. They had some pretty good coffee, and even better tea.

Tea.

You tighten your scarf around your face. The word brings back a slew of memories, all of them bittersweet. That man you remembered during the drive here, the one who shared the same last name as Mikasa, used to drink tea all the time. Just black, no sugar or milk. You couldn’t understand why he didn’t like sugar or milk, but you never questioned it to his face. It was what he liked, and that was fine.

Apparently, you used to make a pretty good cup of black tea, too.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and for a moment, you stand there in the middle of the sidewalk, fighting hard to keep the tears at bay. This always happens every now and then. You’ll get a powerful memory of him, and it won’t leave your mind. For the next few hours or so, he’s all you can think about. And if you try to occupy yourself with something else, his face always finds its way back to your mind.

You feel helpless whenever this happens. What ever happened to him, in your old life? You remember he was in that battle, the one where Sasha died, but you can’t remember past that. You never can, and it drives you crazy.

It takes you a moment to collect yourself and start walking again. You wipe your eyes as discreetly as you can. You hate crying in this cold weather—it just takes you even longer to warm up later on.

You suck in a sharp breath and continue to stare ahead. All different kinds of people gather around you. It must be rush hour, and everyone’s heading home from work. You made it home at the right time, didn’t you?

Then you see it. A flash of black in the corner of your eye.

And your heart stops altogether.

People grumble under their breath as their arms knock against yours. But you don’t pay them any mind. All you can focus on is the splash of color to the right—there!

Tears spring into your eyes. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk is a man, fumbling with the cuffs of his winter coat. His black hair is sprinkled with specks of snow from above. His clothes are freshly ironed, not a wrinkle in sight. A forest green scarf is wrapped around his neck, holding the collar of his coat closed.

Is it really him? Or am I just seeing things again?

It's happened before. Too many times to count, you think you’ve seen someone you used to know in your past life, only to find out that it’s not them at all. You don’t want to get your hopes up, in case it’s not him.

But then he tilts his head up, and you get a good look at his face.

Then you know. It's definitely him.

He tugs his coat close to his chest and begins to walk away, further into the crowd. And that’s when your feet start moving on their own.

No way in hell are you losing sight of him. Not again.

You stretch your hand out, and in the back of your mind, you recall carding your fingers through his silky black hair.

Don’t leave me again.

“Levi!”

The man freezes in his tracks, his shoulders tensing up. You slow your pace, coming to a full stop a few feet behind him. You keep your arm out, in case he decides to move again. You don’t want to risk losing him in this crowd.

There's a chance he might not remember you. It's entirely plausible, no matter what you might have shared back in the old world. For all you know, he could think you’re a complete stranger and just walk away from you.

You don’t know what you would do if he did that.

He glances over his shoulder at you, and hot tears stream down your face. He hasn’t changed in the slightest, has he? He still has those overgrown black bangs that part in the right side of his forehead, and that silly undercut you always loved scratching at in the dead of night. His eyes are gray, but at this angle in the sunlight, they almost look silver.

Silver, with a shadow of blue around the edges.

“Levi,” you whisper this time, taking a step towards him. “It’s...me. Do you remember?”

He doesn’t answer with words. He's always been shit at them, anyway.

Instead, he turns around fully and rushes forward. The next thing you know, you’re against his warm chest, with his arms wrapped tightly around you.

Slowly, you reach your arms up and place them around his shoulders. Is he really here, for real this time? This isn’t another hallucination, right? You’re not dreaming, are you?

“...Levi?” Do you remember me?

He hugs you tighter. “I remember you, brat.”

Tears trickle down your cheeks. How long has it been since you’ve heard his voice, deep and commanding, the one that always made you feel safe? How many years have gone by without inhaling his familiar musky scent, smelling of pine trees with just a hint of peppermint? How many nights have you dreamed about this reunion, only to wake up in cold misery the next morning?

Warmth pools in your chest. With a smile, you press yourself against him, lost in his touch, his scent, his heat, and completely disregarding the swarm of people around you.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #reincarnation au #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #levi x you #aot x you #aot x reader #myosotis #aot fics

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fear-and-delight-l · 4 years ago

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GENDERSWAPPED!LOSERS

HERE WE GO

JILLIAN DENBROUGH

-Jill is very avid about getting her sister, Georgia back. Well, at least the killer anyways.

-Jill has never finished any of her writing, until she is an adult.

-aRTiSt??

-Jill gives hugs hugs hugs!!!

-everyone wants her hugs.

-ok, Jill is very sexually confused. Bradley Marsh is good looking...but so is McKenna Hanlon with her pink lipstick and her always good looking pigtails....then there is Sarah Uris, who is so cute with her blonde/brown curls and her little cheerleading outfit.

-suffers from stuttering simp disorder

-simp simp simp

-simp? Yes.

-ok but I think she would like Plastic Hearts by Miley Cyrus lmao

-FLANNEL GODDESS!!! Has flannels in so many colors.

-”R-R-Riley, stop m-making fun of m-my j-j-jorts.”

-oh yeah. She is rocking the jean shorts. They either go to around her knees or near the middle of her thighs.

-shoulder length brown hair. Screams bisexual.

RILEY TOZIER

-just gonna put this out there, take it as you will, but her glasses make her look like a fish. Her eyes are HUGE

-goddess or (what is a non-binary god? Godthem?) of dad jokes. But not the corny kind. The kind of dad jokes that include sleeping with him and “riding him like a horse.”

-”so not fucking funny.” -Edith Kaspbrak, who’s dad isn’t even present in her life. -yeah, bisexual. -sexual for Edith Kaspbrak. -And Sarah Uris

-And Bradley Marsh

-and Jill Denbrough

-and Brenna Hanscom

-and Patrick Hockstetter (she regrets this. But when Patrick isn’t chasing her with Bowers and Criss and Huggins, she likes to notice that Patrick is definitely good looking)

-crazy wavy hair. Seriously, she wears it in a pixie cut, and it is CRAZY. But she help Bradley cut away his mullet.

-the friendship dynamic between Riley Tozier and Bradley Marsh is UNSTOPPABLE!

-plays softball with Jill. She is pitcher, and damn is she good. (Jill plays third base, for reference)

-the girls on the softball team sort of like her, sort of not. She’s a loser, and they don’t like her because everyone thinks she’s queer. -still a trash mouth

-still a smartass

-Rildeth? Edithley? Redith?

BRADLEY MARSH

-all right, here we go.

-POWER BISEXUAL

-He came out to Riley, and Riley came out to him.

-daddy issues

-anyways, Bradley had a mullet that his dad made him wear, and when Riley helped him cut it....freedom!

-when he and the other losers are going to the quarry, he likes to help McKenna pick flowers so Sarah will have some to turn into flower crowns

-is totally charmed by Jill Denbrough. He is a simp for how charming she is. Bravery, art...

-Bradley also likes to draw.

-Brenna may be totally smitten with him....

-Bradley is the same age as all the other losers, but the losers all see him as older.

-hates his father, feels weak around him.

-he and Riley often share cigarettes. (I love the friendship dynamic here.)

-Bradley has little freckles, and when he and Brenna get together as adults, Brenna likes to kiss all of them.

-Bradley loves to hang with Sarah, and she is such a sweetie. She gets annoyed, but when she is around Bradley, she is calm.

-Bradley likes to put his arm around Sarah, ALWAYS

-I’m in love

SARAH URIS

-WE LOVE OUR JEWISH CHEERLEADER LESBIAN

-yes, Sarah Uris is cheer captain. The other cheerleaders are skeptical of her, but treat her ok nonetheless.

-Sarah Uris is a softie who will tell you to fuck off.

-bridwatcher. Sarah loves her birds. She likes to sit with Jill. Jill draws birds while Sarah quietly talk about the birds.

-Brenna loves to play with her curls, braiding them and doing fun styles with them with the help from McKenna.

-sundresses one day, shorts and a shirt the next.

-her hair is so nice! Think...classic curls. Google for reference.

-the cheerleaders don’t go to track meets or softball games. So, since Brenna and Edith are both in track and Jill and Riley are softball players, she goes in her own cheerleading outfit, and even snags one for McKenna, (who isn’t a cheerleader.) and they both cheer at track and softball.

-must I remind you that Jill is a simp for BOTH OF THEM. AND BRADLEY?? HE CHEERS THEM ON TOO.

-one time Bradley actually got into a cheerleading skirt??!!

-anyways, back to Sarah. -she loves to give everyone kisses before leaving. Here’s how she gives them:

Jill: cheek kiss, runs a hand through her hair. Edith: takes Edith’s face in her hands and kisses her nose. Edith sometimes backs up a little when she feels a little panicky about germs, but always accepts Sarah’s kiss. Bradley: forehead. She ruffles his hair, and sometimes, Bradley kisses her chin as she is kissing his forehead. McKenna: near her lips. Like, the corner of her mouth. 🥺 Brenna: cheek kiss. She holds brenna’s chin while kissing her. Riley: straight on the lips. Or the forehead if you song ship stozier. -ok, I am a huge fan of Sarah+Riley....but then there is Edith. Poly??? Possibly

-anyways, Sarah loves to make flower crowns and put them in bradley’s hair.

-she and Brenna are very close. If Sarah isn’t next to Bradley, or has Riley’s arm around her shoulders, she is with Brenna, either holding her hand or showing her stuff about plants or birds. She gives Brenna constant praise about the barrens

-very grumpy a lot.

BRENNA HANSCOM

ok, Brenna is straight. I didn’t change that. -Brenna thinks constructively, and is a visual learner. Constantly thinks about the future.

-ok, she is so so so sweet. Likes to wear this cute pink skirt, but only around the losers.

-POETRY

-She loves to read and wrote poetry. It’s so cute I just can’t aaaah-

-ok, so she’s on the track team. Edith convinces her in 10th grade.

-HAIR CLIPS! she has them in her hair, and tons extra in her backpack.

-Bradley loves it when Brenna plays with his hair and puts clips in it.

-she and Bradley are very good friends.

-she may be straight, but isn’t uncomfortable when Sarah holds her hand or Riley talks about her gay situation or when Jill tells her she’s pretty. She just isn’t gay but she loves and supports her gay friends. She even kissed McKenna in a game of spin the bottle

-poor baby has body insecurities...

-ugh, she hates Henry Bowers. But she loves ice cream! She likes vanilla because it’s sweet and plain.

-when they have sleepovers, everyone always has a disc of New Kids on the Block to play for her (AAA!)

-Riley literally swore to protect her. Even though Riley’s sarcasm can be demeaning, she trusts her.

-Brenna Hanscom, a sweetie that will fight for you.

McKenna Hanlon, the badass vegan who definitely has WAP.

-ok, I didn’t change her race, she is still black.

-McKenna is a sign of hope. Everyone feels so uplifted around her.

-she has this signature pink lipstick she wears everyday the Greta Bowie makes fun of, but she still wears it.

-she loves bubblegum. McKenna has it ALL THE TIME.

-inspiration? Yes. She is a goddess.

-ok, she is so nice, but that gun she has? Pennywise doesn’t stand a chance. McKenna is a fighter.

-McKenna has these cute little pig tails that she wears with purple ribbons. Jill loves to listen to her talk.

-definitely the least insane of all the losers, but girl knows how to have fun!

-not a huge smoker, but occasionally will share one with Bradley.

-the friendship between McKenna and Bradley is impeccable. They are a badass duo.

-I don’t know what her sexuality is. She definitely doesn’t. Although she and Jill got caught making out in a closet. They said it was no strings attached....suspicious.

-she is indeed vegan. She just has a special love for animals and can’t bring herself to eat them. She isn’t protesting everyone to go vegan, she just eats how she wants. She occasionally slips and goes for ice cream though😉

-at the rock war, after she recovered a little from Bowers, SHE BEAT HIS ASS!

-my queen, gosh I love her!

-she is so much fun to be around. One time, in the barrens, she installed a swing so she could sit in somethin because Riley and Edith and Sarah are always in the hammock together. (It’s bound to break).

-need a therapist? She’s ya girl.

EDITH!!

-ok, so this looks very soft girl, but Edith is fiery! -her mom makes her worry a lot about disease and what not, but her anxiety about what her mom may do is worse.

-seriously, she is scared of her mother. She doesn’t even know if her sickness are real.

-anyways, don’t fuck with her. She will bite you.

-no seriously, she will bite you. One time in a fight with Hockstetter, she bit him. She was worried she might have gotten something in her mouth, but Sarah calmed her down. -she may bicker with Riley, but really, she loves her. Her and her stupid glasses,

-anyways, she is a sweetie. She runs track, but as long as Riley is waiting on the sidelines with her inhaler at the end, she is alright.

-someone give this girl a hug.

-internalized homophobia towards herself.

-she and Bradley are good, they just aren’t as close. Edith is closest with Jill.

-Edith looks up to Jill, big time.

-Edith hates her mom very very much.

-she wears cute little tops with shorts or skirts. Occasionally she will wear overalls.

-fuck greta Bowie campaign? Yeah, Edith started it.

-Fanny pack! She has an extra pair of glasses for Riley, Bobby pins for Sarah, an extra pen or pencil for Jill, a mini stick of Bradley’ favorite deodorant, hair clips for Brenna, and McKenna’s favorite bubblegum.

-Riley calls her Eds. She hates it because it sounds like a boy name. She hates it even more when Riley calls her Eddie.

-kisses tears away. Crying? She will kiss your cheeks and wipe those tears away. She did that when Brenna got cut by Bowers.

-inhaler? Yes. It’s her little beacon of safety.

-ice cream and comic books with Riley, bird watching and flower crowns with Sarah are her favorites!

-doesn’t know her sexual preference, she’s just not straight.

-butterflies always land on her when she’s outside. One landed on her nose once and Riley and Sarah started rock-paper-scissoring for who got her. (That was long forgotten since Riley is a sore loser.)

-my baby has long hair is very slight waves. It goes down to her breasts.

-likes to wear Jill’s Flannels.

-OK SHE IS SO CUTE IN A PAIR OF BAGGY JEANS AND A TANK TOP, WEARING SOMEONE’S JACKET OMG

-Edith is cold? Never. She always has someone’s something, whether it’s McKenna’s iconic leather jacket or Jill’s flannels

................................................................................................................................

Ok! Those are my headcanons. Feel free to repost, I don’t give a damn. If you want drawings or more headcanons of them, I am always open. I had this posted on my old account but that got taken down....I was previously coffeeandweasleys

@im-a-rocketman, @nate-isnt-great @imreddieimreddieimreddie @ur-not-reddie

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ikevamp-shrine · 4 years ago

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Thank you @yanderepuck for giving me the courage to post this😊❤

Please ignore the crappy drawing of her, but that's kinda what she appears like in my mind. I will be writing with her character in future posts.

Name: Elizabeth Tudor

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Height: 5’4

Birthday: September 7th

Occupation: Former Queen of England

Appearance:

Long, curly (and extremely thick) strawberry blonde hair, fair skin, red lips, and intense icy blue eyes. Her stance is strong, regale, and respectable. Her skin is littered with smallpox scars (only a few, very unnoticeable ones residing on her face, neck, and hands). Her expression is usually blank and unreadable. Her movements are controlled and polite. Her brows thick and stomach soft. Legs long and fingers thin and graceful. There are patches of freckles on her shoulders that mix with her scars causing a unique blend of color. Thick thighs and pale, maintained feet. Smaller breasts.

Childhood:

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

She was taught a rigorous education normally only given to male heirs and was applauded for her perseverance and memory. She became fluent in French and Italian which profited when conducting diplomacy years later. Her involvement with the Reformation shaped the course of the nation, but she held no interest in religion.

With her father’s death, her step mother married the lord high admiral, Thomas, which resulted in his decapitation due to his intent to rape and impregnate Elizabeth forcing her to marry him in order for him to rule the kingdom. He was said to be overly flirtatious and acting inappropriately familiar with the young girl when around her (which one of the reasons she doesn’t like Arthur, his flirtatious nature reminds her of her past).

She was raised around sexism and taught that women were likely to act on impulsion and passion making them unfit to rule. Men were taught the arts of war and told they are the ones who dominate women while women were urged to keep their head down, mouth shut, and attend their needlework. She had remained unmarried, her want to remain single overshadowing any thoughts of seeking out relations with a man. She was rumored to have burst out in tears when Queen Mary, her older sister, had proposed to marry Elizabeth to a duke. This became a national concern when Elizabeth became queen and refused to take a husband, going against the belief that a woman’s place was a wife. It also raised worries that she would die childless, ending her bloodline, and giving Elizabeth’s title to Mary, Queen of Scots, a catholic posing a threat to the Protestants of England.

Dislikes:

her privacy being intruded on, loud talking, 3am, those who play weak and stupid or whine to get what they want, people who are lazy but still expect to reach their goals, women who chase men and believe they need a man to be successful in life, messy rooms, fake personalities and cheaters (in both games and relationships)

Likes:

walks in the garden at midnight, the sound of the birds singing their life’s song as the warmth of the day’s first rays of sun trace her skin, reading, learning new things, burning candles, smiling faces, happy children, the smell of freshly baked bread, warm blankets, animals, the laughter of children, hunting, dancing, and horseback (bareback more often than naught)

Personality:

She appears cold at first because of her bluntness and blank (almost annoyed) expression. Unreasonably serious with a strong sense of duty, responsibility, and morals. She is a firm believer in working harder than everyone else to achieve greatness. A highly intelligent woman that believe women are equal to their male counterpart. Extremely stubborn in a non-disrespectful way. She is adaptable, disciplined, dignified, and confident with a wit and tongue as sharp as, if not sharper, than any of the residents. She is blunt, doesn’t sugarcoat the truth, and is always honest. Focused, logical, and exceedingly loyal to those she decides to put her trust in. She is protective and straightforward but rather quiet. She tends to keep to herself. She is paranoid and distrustful when meeting new people but will not show it. She tries to work on it, but she can be very vengeful when it comes to people betraying her or hurting those she loves.

Preferred company:

Theo, Leonardo, Isaac, Jean, Vincent

Relationships (platonic, romantic, etc.):

Jean- platonic with a chance of something more

Has a deep understanding with Jean. They don’t really talk about each other to each other; their conversations mainly consist of stiff, dead toned jokes that you wouldn’t be able to tell they were jokes until specified. She is one of the few people that has actually seen a sober Jean smile. He is extremely protective of her and will stand behind her just so he has the peace of mind that her back is guarded. If she asked, he would show her what is under his eye patch, no matter what lingering emotions he has on the ‘ugliness under the fabric’. His blade is always ready, his mind perfectly clear, when it comes to the safety and well being of the woman he had found himself connecting to in ways no one had before. Often, they go horse back riding together, Napoleon will sometimes accompany but its only when her and the former solider are alone does she throw her head back, her laughs unrestrained while the wind rips through her hair and clothing. Jean will race her and chuckle at how free she looks, but of course she doesn’t hear. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Napoleon

Mozart- platonic

Sometimes Mozart look for her and demand Elizabeth to listen to his new piece until she raises an eyebrow, daring him not to correct his wording. He’ll swallow thickly and glance off to the side, a scoff on his lips as he apologizes. She’ll nod and follow him to music room. Mozart will stare at her impatiently until she gives her honest (and extremely blunt) opinion. He values her words and while alone the pianist will replay the slight quirk of her lips as she praised his efforts. He has a small obsession with her and it drives him insane

Vincent- brotherly platonic and Theo- they horny for each other but don’t want to cross that line of friendship so they dance around their feelings while making out every once in a while

Has a soft spot for Theo and Vincent because their relationship makes her think of her brother. She only sees Vincent as a brother and will only allow him to do her makeup when he asks to, but with Theo its completely different. She sees Theo as a partner, a man she shares many values and goals with. She respects him and their shared opinions on responsibility and productivity. They understand each other intuitively and can conversate with just fleeting touches and quick glances of their eyes. There is a thick sexual tension that builds between them overtime resulting in hurried, frantic, sloppy kisses in hallways where the couple battle for dominance by pushing each other against walls and gripping roughly at the other’s clothing

Napoleon- just housemates (not friends or lovers)

She can and usually feels uncomfortable when around Napoleon. She has chalked it down to the fact they are both the leader ‘alpha’ types that ruled enemy lands. Truly, they just don’t have much in common and find it hard to build a meaningful relationship. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Jean

Arthur- just housemates

Can sometimes get too snippy with Arthur. While she does find enjoyment in his jokes at times, she despises the sexual aspects of the author. Finds his skirt chasing habits understandable but disgusting. Admires his intelligence but can’t stand how he is able to tell you where have been just by the dust on your hand (she likes her privacy). Will play chess and pool with him even though she knows she will lose just because she enjoys playing. Will sometimes have deep conversations with Arthur in front of the fire place, both nursing a glass of alcohol, their eyes never leaving the fire as to not break the imaginary protective barrier around the two that eye contact will shatter. Smirks at his quirks and jokes sometimes and it literally makes Arthur’s heart leap because ‘damn a queen just found amusement in my joke.’ He internally freaked out the first time he met her mainly because the mansion now had two previous rulers instead of one and the newest one scared the living daylights out of him.

Comte- there is nothing between them

Doesn’t trust Comte as far as she can throw him. She can see the darkness in his heart and his past behind his eyes. She can see the death he’s caused- the pain, and while she knows that she, herself, has caused the death of many, she still has a deeply rooted gut feeling telling her to stay away from the pureblood. He wants her trust but soon realizes her opinion on him is similar to Jean’s. She will not take any gifts other than what is necessary from him (ex. Dresses for parties)

Dazai- just housemates

Dazai tries avoiding her. He feels suffocated when around and the victim of her stare. He feels as if her eyes and actions pick him apart and leave his in his barest, rawest form, and it scares him to no end. She does find his window habit hilarious though and will give him a hand up when he falls

Shakespeare- they don’t get involved with each other

She can tell Shakespeare’s mind is being manipulated, by what is the question she has yet to reveal though. She can tell he is dangerous. One who’s actions are watched and controlled by another always are. His unpredictable nature and mysterious, secret filled smile is what causes her to feel uneasy around him. She doesn’t ignore him, but she doesn’t want to be involved with the playwright and his actions so she tends to just quietly leave the room when he enters. He is polite to her and compliments her when they do talk but his fancy wording sometimes annoys Elizabeth, especially when she just wants to get away from him. She believes he is a good man at heart lead astray by forces more powerful than him, but still finds his company rather unnecessary.

Sebastian- they respect one another, are not friends but have decent conversations

Has an interesting relationship with Sebastian. She wouldn’t call him a friend, she has very few of those so it is understandable, but she does respect him for his work ethic just as he respects her for her accomplishments and standing in history. She let him interview him once and nearly laughed out loud from how excited he got. They always have a cup of coffee or tea in the morning together, Elizabeth not quite woken up yet so they sip in comforting silence. Sebastian usually asks how she slept and she responds by telling him about her dreams if she had one. She’ll end up helping him cook breakfast.

Leonardo- friends with a chance of something more

Elizabeth appreciates Leonardo’s straightforwardness and honesty, so they have a decent trusting relationship, but his matureness makes her feel like a little girl again and it bothers her. Her thoughts tend to be: she was a queen; she ruled a country with a strength that rivaled even the greatest men, she should not look at this chain-smoking man with admiration in her eyes like a giddy school girl, flustered over a boy telling her she is cute, while around the Italian. The start of their relationship was rocky, due to Elizabeth’s personal feelings on the man- Leonardo could have cared less, but soon enough they started to appreciate each other’s qualities. Leonardo is mainly the only one she allows to touch her hair. They often speak Italian together on the balcony as Leonardo smoke a cigarillo and Elizabeth reads.

Isaac- they have the chance of being more than friends but their relationship is mainly just comforting one another through their presence and (when needed) touch- they also trust each other whole heartedly

Adores Isaac and will purposely sought him out just so she can listen to his calming ramblings while he tinkers away, a book in her hand and two cooling cups of coffee on the surface closest to the pair. He gets so red around her; at times he turns snow white from the intensity in her gaze and how her eyes never stray from her company. They share an endless loyalty to each other. Neither knows when the bond form, it just happened on its own (and very suddenly). Isaac has lost control and bit her but instead of reacting in anger she accepted it and pulled him closer, shuddering with each frenzied suck against her neck, her nails gently scratching the scalp of a whimpering Isaac. When Isaac finally came to his senses, he tried pulling away, his voice thick with unshed tears as his panicked words rang through the air until Elizabeth grabbed him and held him close, shushing Isaac as he trembled with regret and guilt in her arms. They had held each other for hours until they feel asleep in each other embraces. Isaac will link pinkies with Elizabeth when he is being picked on without realizing it for support and something to ground him so his thoughts don’t run too wild. Elizabeth will just glare and clear her throat and Arthur will shut his mouth while looking at the former queen as if he was a kicked puppy. She has a habit of fixing his clothing or hair after he nervously pulls, picks, or twists at it- Isaac doesn’t even notice it after a while. His face does burn intensely though when she places a hand on his overactive, bouncing knee when he is anxious.

Fun facts:

Due to her makeup being poisoned by her undetermined enemy, which resulted in her death, she refuses to wear any cosmetics other than what Vincent personally makes (learned how to from Leonardo) and puts on her skin himself when going to events if he asks to.

She tends to wear clothing that covers all skin other than her neck and face when leaving the mansion due to children being scared by her smallpox scars.

She usually never strays from wine unless her emotions become a little too overwhelming for her to just push the feelings down, only then will she drink something stronger.

Elizabeth is a quiet, peaceful drunk that tends to curl up on the couch, her shoes discarded on the floor, her hair loose and flowing over the decorative pillow she’ll grab and hug tightly to her chest.

She died a virgin and has remained one ever since her resurrection.

The former queen is hesitant to allow others to touch her hair from her past concerning the loss of said strands (a result of surviving smallpox), but if she trusts someone enough and knows they’ll be gentle she’ll let them style the curls, even if she is tense the entire time.

Prefers to braid her hair herself and wrap in into a bun due to the protective nature of the style.

Loves sleeping in but is often unable to due to insomnia.

She is highly particular when it comes to cleaning and organization. She has told Sebastian not to worry about cleaning her things or doing her laundry, instead she does it herself with up most focus and determination.

When she does open up or is around the boys long enough, they realize her heart is truly kind and nurturing instead of what she appears when first met (a cold-hearted woman with a resolve like steel). This is especially apparent when around animals.

She is very sarcastic and doesn’t mean any harm but usually her joking words sound hateful due to her dead tone and blank face.

Her voice is deeper and soothing, most times holding no emotion which creeps Dazai and Arthur out

Lives by “no pain no gain”

Doesn’t waste her breath on hate- if she doesn’t like someone or feels as if she can’t trust them then they just don’t exist to her. She won’t hesitate to cut someone off without warning.

Has a bad habit of bottling her emotions which causes her to explode when pushed over the edge resulting in one of the very rare moments where her anger creates an electric static in the room that demands the attention of anyone present. She doesn’t shout or scream but her words are sharper than a blade, her eyes burn with a fiery rage while she takes control of the room, overwhelming anyone (even Napoleon) and making them feel as if they are an ant beneath her boot.

Her eyes freak many people out- they feel as if the ice like orbs are staring straight into their soul, picking apart their insides, leaving nothing but shredded organs and an empty husk of what used to be a strong mind.

Can always tell when someone is lying. It’s a gut feeling, and her gut is always right.

She still wears her coronation ring on her wedding finger as a sign of her symbolic marriage to her people and country

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen series #ikevam #ikevamp oc #ikemen vampire oc #ikevam oc #elizabeth tudor #Ikevamp Elizabeth #ikemen vampire Elizabeth #ikevam Elizabeth

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neon-junkie · 4 years ago

Text

Yes, Mr. Bell - Male Reader

Summary: Your camp member with benefits, Micah, confesses his darker kinks to you, and for some reason, you decide to let him have his way with you.

Pairing: Micah Bell x m!Reader

Word Count: 3835

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Gunplay, Gun kink, Object insertion, Bondage, BDSM, dom!Micah, sub!Reader, Slapping, Spanking, Slight humiliation, Spit, BJ’s, Creampie, Fingering, Choking, Breath play.

Notes: Finally, the gunkink fic. I’ve always wanted to write this but never had any requests for it. I was gonna do it anyway, but when I re-opened my requests I had like 5 ppl ask for it, so here it is!!!

Female Version is in my masterlist!

How did you end up in this mess? You're not quite sure. Well, you know how you ended up here, but at the same time, you don't. Out of all the camp members that you could have picked out, you'd somehow tripped over and fallen into sleeping with this mess of a man, Micah Bell himself. Just like the rest of the camp, he'd flirted every so often with you and you got a satisfying itch out of flirting back with him, seeing his face turn red as he realized that for once, somebody was actually paying attention to him. Only the more you flirted, the more Micah began to chase after you, his attention fading from the other camp members and turning all his focus onto you. He'd managed to catch a moment alone with you on the outskirts of camp at Sean's return party, leading to you being pinned against a tree as his lips finally met yours, and yes, running your tongue along his chin scar and slipping it into his mouth did spark a fire inside of him, just as you thought it would.

This man had continued to surprise you as he seemed to actually be more than satisfying in bed, but the more you slept with him, the more his... interesting kinks came out. There was the stuff you viewed as somewhat generic, like being blindfolded or tied down to the bed, but Micah had confessed a handful of darker kinks that he'd always been itching to try one night when he was drunk with you sprawled over his lap. Micah almost picked you up and carried you off to bed when you replied that you'd be down for it, but you hushed him and told him to wait until he's sober, to which he agreed and spent the rest of the night making out with you instead. You weren't surprised when a few days later, Micah had told you to pack your bags and saddle up your horse, taking you away from camp for a few days. He'd lead you to an abandoned cabin that was surprisingly in good shape. Of course, you questioned how Micah had found the cabin, but he assured you that he found it like this and the owner hadn't been seen for quite a while, so you believed him and decided not to question it anymore. So, that was how you ended up in this mess, watching as Micah finishes up tying your other ankle to your thigh, keeping your legs bent whilst bound. He grins at the sight as he finishes the final knot, spreading your legs apart however he pleases, his eyes flicking up to check on the ropes that are securing your wrists to the bedpost. At least he was generous enough to place the pillow beneath your head, keeping you comfortable whilst restrained and helpless. If someone had told you a few months back when Micah first joined the gang that you would eventually allow this man to tie you to the bed whilst licking his lips at you as if you were a piece of meat, then you would have laughed at them. But you're here, your mind coming back to reality as Micah lands a harsh slap to your ass. "If only you could see yourself, sweetheart. All bound up for me. Prettiest thing I've ever seen," Micah tells you as he rubs over your cheeks, calming the sting from his slap. "Now, I've got a few rules for ya', alright?" Micah asks. "Mhmm," you say with a nod, watching as Micah sits back on his knees on the bed. "Firstly, you've gotta refer to me as Mr. Bell. Secondly, you do what I tell you to, whenever I tell you. And thirdly, if you want me to stop then just say it, alright, darlin'?" he questions. "Alright," you say with a nod. "Mr. Bell," you quickly add on. "Good boy. Fast learner, ain'tcha?" Micah grins, spreading your legs far apart as he speaks. He keeps one hand on your leg, the other moving up to press two fingers against your lips. "You know what to do, darlin'," he instructs you. Your mouth falls open and your tongue flattens out, drawing Micahs fingers in and sucking on them. He lets out a pleasing hum as you slick his fingers up, his eyes locked onto yours, his other hand trailing up and down your thigh, often fiddling with the ropes as he admires his handiwork. When he's satisfied with how damp his fingers are, he pulls them from your mouth, moving his hand down and slipping them into your hole. Micah knows you can take it, and although there is a slight squeeze, he pushes both of his fingers in, turning them over and curling them as he looks for that spot inside of you. You let out a moan, your eyes trailing down to watch Micahs fingers disappear inside of you. He's slow at first, clearly teasing you, beginning to test your patience and limits. Micah finally picks up the pace once he does find your prostate. He tuts at the way you move your legs, trying to bridge the gap and squeeze your thighs together, but Micah pushes them apart as she shakes his head disapprovingly. "Be good," is all he tells you, flashing you a disapproving look before moving his attention back to your ass. You can already hear how wet you are as Micah curls his fingers even more and begins to fuck you aggressively with them, knowing exactly how to turn you into a whimpering mess. Another finger is pushed into you, and Micah lets out a "good boy," as he watches his third finger disappear inside of you. Micahs other hand moves off your thigh to begin playing with your balls, massaging them a lot gentler than you imagined. Once he's satisfied with how prepped you are, he pulls his fingers from you, wiping them off on his white jeans. Micah unbuttons his shirt, leaving it to hang open, then undoes his pants. He pulls out his cock, already hard and throbbing, eager to be inside of you. He positions himself comfortably whilst stroking his cock, and finally slides into you, pushing himself all the way in as he lets out a satisfied sigh. "Three fingers inside of you and you're still tight," Micah comments as he draws his cock most of the way out, only to slam it inside of you a few seconds later. Micah quickly tucks his hair behind his ears before moving his hands to settle on your legs, holding them apart as he begins to roll his hips. Within a few minutes, Micahs picked up his pace and is now slamming into you, panting through gritted teeth, his eyes flicking between watching your expressions and watching his cock disappear inside of you. One hand moves off your leg to grip onto the bedpost above your head, his body towering over you. Somehow, the slightly changed position seems to make Micahs cock go even deeper inside of you, the tip hitting your core, making your head spin. You're already a moaning mess and he's barely even started, though you can tell from the way his cock begins to throb inside of you that he's close. His other hand finds its way to your throat and begins to squeeze, but not hard enough to make your head spin heavily. It's almost as if he was teasing you, knowing damn well how much you enjoy a firm hand around your neck. Your eyes flick down to watch Micahs cock disappear inside of you. "Eyes on me, sweetheart," Micah tells you with a sudden slap to your cheek, holding your face afterward, squishing your cheeks together as he tilts your head up to look at him, his hand no longer around your throat. Your eyes meet Micahs, and he grins from ear to ear at the sight of you. "I like this side of you, you know," Micah begins. "So submissive, in the nude and lettin' me do whatever I want to you, whilst I'm still here in my clothes," he says with a chuckle. "Whos this ass belong to, sweetheart?" Micah asks. "You, Mr. Bell," you inform him, your eyes fixated on his. "Go on, say it again, but tell me this time," Micah orders again. "My ass belongs to you, Mr. Bell," you tell him. Micah grins again as he moves his hand from your cheeks back onto your throat, giving you a pleasant squeeze. "Good boy," Micah replies, drawing out his words. "And Micahs gonna use it however he wants, ain't he?" Micah asks. "Yes, Mr. Bell," you say with a nod. "And to think, I thought I was gonna have to train you. Seems you're just the naturally submissive type, ain'tcha?" Micah coos, giving your throat a tighter squeeze. His grip is too tight for a verbal response, so you nod in agreement as your lips part, your head beginning to spin as it rolls back against the pillow. Micah turns his attention back to thrusting into you, and within a few thrusts, his balls begin to feel heavy again. Suddenly, he slips his cock from you and lifts his hand off your throat. Micah shuffles about on the bed so he can bring his cock to your mouth instead, slipping into it despite the slightly awkward position. He places one hand on the back of your head and holds you still, thrusting his hips into you, refusing to stop despite your gagging and the drool running from the corners of your mouth. He lets out a whimper as he cums down your throat, his cock twitching as you choke on him. He's considerate enough to quickly pull out, letting you swallow most of his load and catch your breath, the rest of it trickling down your chin and settling on your chest. Micah shuffles off the bed and admires the state you're already in as he kicks off his pants, leaving them inside out on the floor. Once you've composed yourself, you watch as Micah turns his attention away and picks up his gunbelt, pulling out one of his customized revolvers. You watch as he unloads it, leaving the bullets on the table, and flicks it shut. There's a grin on his face as he turns back to you, and you tilt your head in confusion, though you have a rough idea of what he plans to do with it. Micah shuffles back onto the bed, settling below your legs, his eyes locked onto yours. "You gonna let me do it?" he asks. "Yeah," you say with a nod, making Micah grin even more. "Now, just for your sanity, I'll show you that it's empty," Micah says as he flicks the cylinder open and shows you clearly that there are no bullets inside. Micah shuts it and points it to the roof, pulling the trigger more than a handful of times. Obviously, nothing fires. "I'll even put the safety lock on for you," he says as he does it. You hear a click as he locks it. "How sweet of you," you say with a smirk. Micah shakes his head at you as he says "shame on me for tryna reassure you." "I'm just playin'. I appreciate the reassurance," you reply. "Good," Micah says. "Now, where were we?" Micah places his revolver on your stomach, moving his hand to slip two fingers back into your hole, still dripping wet from moments ago. He lets out an "ooh" as he pumps his fingers into you a few times before pulling them out. He shuffles back a pace or two so he can lie on his side, propping himself up on one elbow, looking rather comfortable whilst you're still bound to the bed. Micah picks up his revolver and holds it by the barrel. He presses the base of the handle against your ass and slowly circles your hole, slicking his gun up with your juices. "Shit," Micah sighs, his cock beginning to get hard again. "I ain't even pushed it into you yet and I'm already losing myself at the sight," Micah compliments as he continues to rut the base against your hole, his cock growing harder by the second. Finally, Micah tilts his gun slightly, making it easier to slip into you. He takes his time, slowly inserting the handle, watching as the grip disappears inside of you. He lets out a sigh as it finally sinks all the way inside, a stranger and foreign feeling, but a welcome one. Micah begins to fuck you with his gun, making you roll your head back against the pillow as a string of moans escape your lips. "So pretty," Micah sighs as he hungrily watches one of the few things he cares about sink inside of you. He continues to fuck you with the handle, loving the way your thigh muscles begin to shake. "Keep them legs spread," Micah orders you and you try your hardest to keep them open, your knees beginning to ache from being bound for so long. You're surprised when Micah tilts his gun slightly to the side, giving him some space to he can dip his head down and pop one of your balls into his mouth. His facial hair brushes nicely against the base of your cock, his tongue lapping over your sack as he moves back and forth between them, his gun still fucking you. The urge to reach down and push Micahs face down onto your cock is strong, though he's bound you far too well and you're unable to break free. So, you watch through half-lidded eyes as he plays with them, neglecting your cock because you don't deserve that pleasure. "Come on, sweetheart. Cum on my gun, won'tcha?" Micah asks, though you know it's an order. "Can't wait to use that thing knowing that you've cum from it," Micah says with a chuckle, his laughter moving to the back of his throat as he moves his mouth back onto your balls. Another few thrusts and flicks of his tongue and you're cumming. You clench tightly around Micahs revolver, soaking the rest of the handle, your legs struggling to stay apart as your body shakes. You're surprised he's managed to make you cum without actually touching your cock, your seed pooling on your stomach and chest. Micah, the asshole that he is, continues to flick his tongue over your overly-stimulated balls, making you whimper and whine as he drags out your orgasm. "Micah," you sigh, though his mouth refuses to move away from you. "Mr. Bell," you correct yourself, and Micahs eyes flick up to yours, though his tongue doesn't stop its attack. "Much better," Micah tells you as he finally lifts his head up, shuffling up onto his knees. He slips his gun from you and gazes over it, admiring how soaked you'd left his firearm. "Open up and hold it," Micah orders you as he brings the gun to your mouth, making you bite down on the handle. The flavour of yourself surrounds your mouth, dancing on your tongue and trailing over your lips. Micah moves his hand away and you have to hold the gun a little firmer, almost accidentally dropping the firearm but managing to keep it firmly in your mouth. Micah can't help but grin at the sight of you, still bound with your ankles against your thighs and your hands to the bedposts. The sight of his gun wedged between your lips makes his cock throb, precum dripping from the tip which he uses to slick himself up before pushing back into you. The sensation of Micah re-entering you when you've barely recovered from your climax is enough to start you up again, whimpering against the handle of his revolver as he begins to thrust into you. "Give," Micah says as he puts his hand out, letting you drop his gun into his palm. He wipes your spit off on his shirt and takes hold of his revolver, his finger ghosting over the trigger but nowhere near it, despite it being empty with the safety lock on. "Open that mouth of yours," Micah orders as he taps the barrel against your cheek. You do so, your tongue sticking out in the process, awaiting another order. He lets out a chuckle as his other hand takes a hold of your cheeks, squishing them ever so slightly but not enough to shut your mouth. Micah leans over you, pushing his cock deep inside of you in the process, and spits into your mouth. Most of his spit hits your tongue, but a small trail runs across your cheek. "Thank you, Mr. Bell," you say as Micah removes his hand, swallowing his spit as you keep eye contact with him. You notice the way Micah shivers at the sight, watching you lick your lips after you swallowed without him ordering you to. He shakes his head a little to help bring his focus back to fucking you, starting up his thrusts again. "You missed a bit," Micah tells you. He uses the end of the gun's barrel to wipe the small trail of spit from your cheek, presenting it over to your mouth. You part your lips and allow Micah to push the gun into your mouth, only an inch deep so you can swirl your tongue around it and lick off Micah's spit. Micah has to stop thrusting again because his mind is so focused on you, almost drooling as he watches you suck the barrel of his revolver, the taste of smoke and gunpowder becoming heavy on your tongue. You open your mouth again, moving your head back so his gun slips from your mouth. "Something a matter, Mr. Bell?" you ask, before sliding your tongue out and letting the tip of the barrel rest against it. Micah snaps out of another gaze, realizing he's been so focused on the sight of your mouth playing with his precious gun that he let his guard down. "Don't get smart with me, boy," Micah replies as he lands a harsh slap on your ass, your cheek stinging a little from the contact. Micah begins to fuck you again, a lot rougher this time, and keeps the barrel of his gun pressed against your tongue. He's rolling his hips perfectly, brushing against that spot inside of you. There's another harsh slap to your ass, making you whimper against the barrel. Micah grins and does it again, over and over until your cheeks begin to sting. "Stop tryna close them legs," he orders you, moving his hand from your ass to push your legs apart. "Sorry, Mr. Bell," you reply, your lips brushing against the barrel. Micah moves his gun from your lips, placing it on the bedside table and using the same hand, he grips hold of your throat, hitting those spots under your jawline oh-so-perfectly. He's squeezing a lot harder than earlier, admitting the way your eyes roll shut and your head thuds against the pillow. Micahs other hand moves to your cock, lazily stroking you, his grip barely tight enough to satisfy you. The sensation of blood rushing around your brain gets heavier and heavier but Micah keeps his grip firm, watching your chest rise and fall as he continues to fuck you. He lets go at just the right time, grinning as you gulp down a load of air, your mind slowly becoming clear as you come back to reality. "That always makes your ass tight," Micah tells you with a laugh. "Come on, boy. Need you that tight around me again so I can finish," he informs you. Micah quickly finds the perfect balance, jerking your cock as he thrusts his cock into you. He knows your orgasm is near from the way your muscles begin to shake, your body trembling beneath him. "Go on, cum for me, sweetheart," Micah coos, watching patiently and finally letting out a satisfied hum as you tighten around his cock, moaning away as your orgasm takes you, more of your own cum spurting over your chest. Micah thrusts into you a few more times, letting out a "shit!" as he empties his balls deep inside of you. His breathing becomes heavy, panting as he tries to catch his breath from however long the two of you had been at it. Once he's caught most of his breath, he dips his head down to steal a quick kiss from you, pulling a face at the taste of gunpowder that his revolver had left on you. You watch as Micah slips out of you, shuffling up to his feet and heading over to his gunbelt on the dining table. He pulls his knife from it and gently cuts away at your binds, finally freeing you from the bed. You let out a satisfied sigh, standing up and stretching, though no matter how much you stretch, you can't quite shake the numbness from your joints. Micah puts his knife away and begins to clean himself up, passing you the rag so you can sort yourself out. He peels off his shirt, leaving him nude, and scurries into bed, fluffing up the pillows and waiting for you to join him. After a much-needed drink, though it doesn't quite remove the taste of his gun from your lips, you join him in bed, still stretching your limbs every so often. "Need a hand?" Micah asks as you fidget again. "How can you help?" you ask. "Could give you a massage," he replies. You pull an odd face, but Micah assures you that he knows what he's doing, and to your surprise, he does. His hands knead nicely at the parts that ache, and once you're satisfied, he lies back down and pulls you against his chest. "Did you enjoy that?" Micah asks. "I did. I didn't realize you knew how to give massages," you say as you shut your eyes. "I ain't on about that." "I enjoyed fucking your gun, yes," you reply. "If they ever go missing, you'll know who has them," you say with a laugh. "Let me do it for you," he says with a kiss to your forehead. "Oh, I will. I saw the way you were drooling at that sight, Micah," you tease. "Can you blame me? Pretty boy clenching around my revolver, how could I not drool at that?" Micah replies, trying his best not to sound too defensive. "Fair point," you say with a laugh, burying your head into the curve of Micahs neck a little more. Micah pulls the blankets up even more, ensuring you're comfortably tucked under them, before tightening his grip on you. His cheek rests against the top of your head, and within minutes, the two of you are sound asleep, looking a lot more peaceful than you were not too long ago.

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years ago

Note

Young starker au prompt where tony comes knocking on peters door, crying after Howard slaps tony and peter is just like oh baby come here it’s not your fault and they cuddle and peter plays with Tony’s hair until he falls asleep

TW: Implied/referenced child abuse | Implied/referenced physical abuse | Brief mention of abuse related bruising

The moment Peter opens the door, he knows.

Tony was always so expressive. The human face has 43 muscles, and Tony used every single one of them in creative variety. There was not a single emotion Tony was capable of hiding from his face, least of all his eyes.

Peter took one look and knew in an instant that the man before him was broken.

Pain, betrayal, hurt, hopelessness. They all blinked at him in neon lights, in the downturn of his mouth and the agony in his eyes, the tic of a muscle in his jaw. The tense shoulders, hunched spine and the red mark steadily settling into purple on his jaw were evident but unnecessary hints.

"Oh, Tony," Peter managed, pulling the door wider, reaching for him. Tony went silently, pliantly, like a ghost. He was cold to the touch and there was no obnoxious, cherry red Mustang on the sidewalk, which meant he'd walked all the way here, sans jacket. Peter knew immediately there was more or less only one reason Tony would’ve left the house in such a hurry, redness marring his jaw.

Tony said nothing as Peter pulled him closer, trembling in his grip like a horse about to bolt. Peter knew the rules for times like this. They were simple enough.

Don’t ask. Don’t make promises. Don’t say their names.

He held Tony close as he tugged him through the doorway and kicking it shut, fingertips sliding along Tony’s cold hip as he marched him towards the bedroom. Aunt May was still on her overnight, but Peter knew she wouldn’t mind Tony being here. Not least when she saw the reason.

Tony was like a limp ragdoll, distant and glassy eyed when Peter pushed him gently onto the edge of the bed, hair mussed and flopping towards, his restless fingers the only sign of life, tap-tap-tapping away on his knee.

“Did you know the name of the space shuttle that NASA launched in 2011 was Endeavour?”

Tony liked when he talked. Liked topics he could focus on, topics that would draw him away from his emotions.

Peter had once distracted him on the situation by saying as many false facts as he could, until Tony had leapt to his feet and, in order, corrected every single one of them until he was blue in the face and breathless.

Now, though. Now Peter just wanted to take care of him, so he did. He peeled off Tony’s leather jacket carefully, gently, setting it over the back of his desk chair before he pulled his shirt off him, too. Tony seemed to blink back into reality then, head tipping a little, out of focus eyes fixing on him quizzically.

“Don’t get excited, Champ. My shirts are softer,” he hummed, running his palms down Tony’s bare shoulders. There were no other bruises, no other marks, which meant Howard must’ve hit him once and that was all.

It was a tiny relief, but Peter didn’t linger on it, leaning forwards to press a soft, chaste kiss to Tony’s collar before he moved to his closet.

He chose a ratty but soft and warm shirt, stuffing Tony into it like a stubborn toddler before pressing a hand to his chest and wrapping his other one around his back, guiding him into laying flat so he could work on Tony’s belt.

“You can’t tell me not to get excited then do this,” Tony rasped, and it was weak and quiet, but Peter smiled none the less, looking up at Tony with a gentle smile.

“If you nap for at least two hours, I’ll ride you until you scream,” he promised, pinching at Tony’s hip to get him to lift so he could tug off his jeans. The sound Tony made was soft, cheek turning into Peter’s sheets. It made Peter want to crawl on top of him, around him, cocoon him in a bundle of warm safety, but to do that he had to get Tony comfortable.

When his jeans were around his ankles he took off Tony’s boots, set everything aside, and crawled along the bed besides him, reaching down for the soft comforter folded at the bottom of the bed.

Tony was still cold but Peter payed it no heed as he curled up around Tony’s back, nudging him gently until they were spooning, cheeks cushioned on his pillow. He wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist, palm splayed over his stomach protectively as he used the other to tug up the comforter.

“You know, I’ve always found the name ‘Francis Crick’ quite funny. He’s one of the two scientists that discovered DNA, you know. I’m glad my name is bland. ‘Parker’ isn’t really something you can make fun of,” Peter spoke lowly, hugging Tony close.

His breathing was steady and Peter could feel the vibration of when he hummed, a light sound to show he was paying attention. He smelt like whiskey and aftershave, a perfect and familiar combination.

When the comforter was tucked up over their shoulders he moved his hand, burying his fingers in the long, soft locks of Tony’s hair. The strands were just the faintest bit stiff with the remnants of hair gel, malleable and raven under his touch. At the contact, Tony let out a long, shuddering breath, head tipping back into the touch.

When they were settled he wriggled forwards a little to press a kiss to the hinge of Tony’s jaw, thumb rubbing against his side soothingly. “Its never your fault,” he whispered, the one remark Tony had reluctantly agreed to permit as they lay in the shadowed room, Tony slowly acclimating to the heat, breathing evening.

“Never.” he twirled a lock of Tony’s hair around his fingers before shifting his hand, scratching his nails slowly and lightly over his scalp.

Peter stayed awake as Tony relaxed in his arms, pain and sadness slowly fading, chased by their entwined bodies and the soft nonsense Peter whispered in his ears. When he was sure Tony was asleep he kissed his jaw again, featherlight and warm.

“One day you’ll find the strength to admit to him that you’re so much better than he could ever be. One day, he’s going to look back on the life he could have had and mourn you, and you’ll be bigger and brighter than he ever was. And I’ll be right there with you. One day, he won’t hurt you anymore.”

He paused for a moment, watched the way Tony’s shoulder rose and fell.

“I promise.”

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #ironspider #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #tony stark/peter parker #tony stark x peter parker #starker: abuse #starker: angst #starker: hurt #starker: au #starker: alternate universe #tw:child abuse #sie fics

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fiadhulresims · 4 years ago

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All outfit descriptions for Annabeth Chase

hi i'm weird so i decided to reread all of the books in which annabeth appears to transcript all the times her clothes and items are described.

i hope this can help someone out there in some way, like drawing her!

Observation: I might have skipped something

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

The Lightning Thief

“From under the collar of her T-shirt she pulled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring.”

“The air shimmered, and she materialized, holding a Yankees baseball cap as if she'd just taken it off her head.”

“Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.”

“Annabeth was bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she told me had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She carried a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve.”

“Her hand crept up to her necklace. She fingered a glazed white bead painted with the image of a pine tree, one of her clay end-of-summer tokens.”

“Annabeth kept worrying at her necklace. She was pinching the gold college ring that hung with the beads.”

“A few minutes later she came out in Waterland flower-print shorts, a big red Waterland T-shirt, and commemorative Waterland surf shoes. A Waterland backpack was slung over her shoulder, obviously stuffed with more goodies.”

“Annabeth rubbed her necklace like she was thinking deep, strategic thoughts.

‘That pine-tree bead’, I said. ‘Is that from your first year?’

She looked. She hadn’t realized what she was doing.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Every August, the counselors pick the most important event of the summer, and they paint it on that year’s bead. I've got Thalia's pine tree, a Greek trireme on fire, a centaur in a prom dress — now that was a weird summer...’

‘And the college ring is your father's?’

‘That's none of your —‘ She stopped herself. ‘Yeah. Yeah, it is.’

‘You don’t have to tell me.’

‘No... it's okay.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘My dad sent it to me folded up in a letter, two summers ago. The ring was, like, his main keepsake from Athena. He wouldn’t have gotten through his doctoral program at Harvard without her...’”

“At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads (...) The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.”

The Sea of Monsters

“She was wearing jeans and a denim jacket over her orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bandanna.”

“She had a ragged backpack slung over her shoulder, her baseball cap tucked in her pocket, a bronze knife in her hand, and a wild look in her storm-gray eyes, like she’d just been chased a thousand miles by ghosts.”

“She was wearing a sleeveless silk dress like C.C.'s, only white. Her blond hair was newly washed and combed and braided with gold. Worst of all, she was wearing makeup, which I never thought Annabeth would be caught dead in.”

“She undid the golden braids in her hair.”

“‘S'okay,’ I grunted, though I'd never really wanted to know what Annabeth’s sneaker tasted like.”

“One grabbed Annabeth and Grover by their T-shirt collars.”

The Titan's Curse

“Her blond hair was tucked into a ski cap and her gray eyes were the same color as the ocean.”

“She used to wear no jewelry except for her Camp Half-Blood bead necklace, but now she wore little silver earrings shaped like owls — the symbol of her mother, Athena. She pulled off her ski cap, and her long blond hair tumbled down her shoulders.”

“I thought of some harsh things to say, and I might've said them too, but then I looked down and saw something navy blue lying in the snow at my feet. Annabeth's New York Yankees baseball cap.”

The Battle of the Labyrinth

“She was wearing jeans and an orange camp T-shirt and her clay bead necklace. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail.”

“He slung a leather satchel off his back, unzipped it, and produced a sleek silver laptop computer — one of the ones I'd seen in the workshop. On the lid was the blue symbol ∆.”

The Last Olympian

“It's not that she tried to look good. We'd been doing so many combat missions lately, she hardly brushed her curly blond hair anymore, and she didn't care what clothes she was wearing — usually the same old orange camp T-shirt and jeans, and once in a while her bronze armor.”

“He brought out a bronze shield and passed it to Annabeth. It looked pretty much standard issue — the same kind of round shield we always used in capture the flag. But when Annabeth set it on the ground, the reflection on the polished metal changed from sky and buildings to the Statue of Liberty — which wasn't anywhere near us.

‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘A video shield.’”

“My brain started seizing on little random details, like the fact that she was still wearing those silver owl earrings from her dad, who was this brainiac military history professor in San Francisco.”

“She wore her orange camp T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was tucked up in her Yankees cap, which was strange because that should have made her invisible.”

“She was dressed in black camouflage with her Celestial bronze knife strapped to her arm and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder — ready for stabbing or surfing the Internet, whichever came first.”

“The girl had tangled blond hair and was wearing flannel pajamas.”

“Annabeth was wearing new clothes — jeans and an oversize army jacket.”

“She had pulled her owl helmet low over her face, but I could tell her eyes were red.”

“Kronos whirled to face her and slashed with Backbiter, but somehow Annabeth caught the strike on her dagger hilt.”

The Demigod Files: Percy Jackson and the Bronze Dragon

“She bumped me with her shoulder, which I guess was supposed to be friendly, but she was wearing full greek armor, so it kind of hurt. Her gray eyes sparkled under her helmet. Her blond ponytail curled around one shoulder. It was hard for anyone to look cute in combat armor, but Annabeth pulled it off.”

The Demigod Files

The Heroes of Olympus

The Lost Hero

“Two teenagers stood in the chariot — a tall blond girl maybe a little older than Jason, and a bulky dude with a shaved head and a face like a pile of bricks. They both wore jeans and orange T-shirts, with shields tossed over their backs. The girl leaped off before the chariot had even finished moving. She pulled a knife and ran toward Jason's group while the bulky dude was reining in the horses.”

The Mark of Athena

“She took out her camp necklace, strung with her dad’s college ring and a colorful clay bead for each year at Camp Half-Blood. Now there was something else on the leather cord: a red coral pendant Percy had given her when they had started dating. He'd brought it from his father's palace at the bottom of the sea.”

The House of Hades

“She'd tied her blonde hair back with a strip of denim torn from her jeans, and in the fiery light of the river her grey eyes flickered. Despite being beat-up, sooty and dressed like a homeless person, she looked great to Percy.”

“In his massive hand, the white shard looked like another toothpick, but when he offered it to Annabeth she realized it was a sword – a blade of dragon bone, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple grip of leather.”

The Blood of Olympus

“Piper and Annabeth were disguised as lovely Greek serving maidens. Even in their white sleeveless gowns and laced sandals, they had no trouble navigating the rocky path.”

“She looked uncomfortable in her serving-maiden outfit. She kept hunching her shoulders to keep the dress from slipping. Her pinned-up blonde bun had come undone in the back and her hair dangled like long spider legs.”

“Annabeth slung her own amphora off her shoulder. She, too, had a concealed sword, but even without a visible weapon she looked deadly.”

“Annabeth re-adjusted her golden belt.”

“She ripped through her supply pouch and unwrapped a piece of godly food.”

“She fingered the red coral pendant on her necklace – a gift from Percy when they started dating.”

The Demigod Diaries: The Diary of Luke Castellan

“As soon as I lifted the sheet of tin, something flew at me — a blur of flannel and blond hair.”

“Her ribs were bony under her flannel pijamas”

The Demigod Diaries: The Staff of Hermes

“She was wearing her regular orange camp T-shirt and shorts, but her tan arms and legs seemed to glow in the sunlight. Her blond hair swept over her shoulders. Around her neck hung a leather cord with colorful beads from our demigod training camp — Camp Half-Blood.”

“She wore a dark green sleeveless dress that showed off her long blond hair and her slim athletic figure. Her camp necklace had been replaced by a string of gray pearls that matched her eyes.”

Demigods and Magicians

The Staff of Serapis

“At the moment, her most deadly weapon was her backpack, which was loaded with heavy architecture books from the public library.”

“She pulled out something she hadn’t carried with her in a long time: her battered blue New York Yankees cap”

The Crown of Ptolemy

“I'd never actually seen her wearing her Yankees cap before, since she vanished every time she put it on, but there she was — wide-eyed with surprise, caught in the act of sneaking up on Setne.”

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard

The Sword of Summer

“She was dressed more sensibly in snow boots, jeans and a parka, with an orange T-shirt peeking out at the neckline.”

“She was better dressed than me — orange North Face ski jacket, black jeans, lace-up winter boots — but if people saw us together they would've mistaken us for brother and sister.”

The Hammer of Thor

“Annabeth was there before me, standing on the platform in jeans and sandals and a long-sleeved purple shirt with a laurel-wreath design and the letters SPQR: UNR.”

“Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders today. She seemed to be growing it out.”

The Ship of the Dead

“Her long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her dark blue T-shirt was emblazoned with the yellow words COLLEGE OF ENVIRONMENTAL DESIGN, UC BERKELEY.”

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notfeelingthyaster · 4 years ago

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Imagine (Son of Hades! Percy; Godswapped! Big Three's kids) The Lost Hero AU (1/7) (6/12)

Okay so before you read this, there's the whole PJO AU that I've wrote on this - check on the masterpost - that is more or less essential to this plot. So enjoy! Have a good reading, and leave reviews and ideas! And don't forget to check the warnings before reading :))

Jason wakes up on a bus - he doesn’t remember where he is. Why he is here? How is he here? He is not supposed to be here - where is he supposed to be? Who is this girl holding his hand?

Coach Hedge seems familiar - somehow. Something in his posture, in the way he walks a little wobbly, it’s strangely comforting. And he knows that Jason doesn’t belong here - it means he is not going crazy. Maybe. The jury is still out on that one.

He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know what a “Wilderness School” could possibly be - and who is this messy-haired hyperactive boy cracking jokes? Why is he with them - they're all seventeen? Sixteen? This boy looks young.

Piper. Leo. He has names now - information. Improvise, Adapt, Overcome. Say not always what you know, but always know what you say.

Jason has no idea where he learned that, but it seems like good advice. He doesn’t stutter - his back contracts with the phantom pain of lashes. He starts to ask - who are they, where are they, where are they going.

They are not helpful at all. Leo thinks he is joking - Piper is too busy defending her heritage, and he can’t really blame her for it - a flash of black skin, dark as night, crosses his mind, but is gone before he can connect it to anyone.

There's a pen in his pocket, a name carved onto it. It says Undisonus - which he knows means "resounding with waves".

They are in a Dam. The Hoover Dam. Jason ditches hyper kid, and goes to talk with the Coach - the man is a crackpot fool and Jason kind of thinks he is hopped up on cocaine or smh. He makes no sense - and he explains shit, like who lets this dude supervise children if he can't be clear.

At least Jason is not going crazy. Or not going crazy alone. There’s something evil in the storm - and the coach is a faun-...satyr-...Half-goat. Well, Jason hopes he is not traveling with his dude after this - the whole bus will smell like a barn.

They are fighting an evil storm. Jason's pen is not a pen - it's a sword, made of gold with green stones in its handle. Apparently, the rain doesn’t make him wet, and his sword can absorb energy.

He destroys the monster - Dylan was his name - By singing. He sings - it's not really singing as much as it's producing a very deep sound out of his chest - and the monster gets sloppy, erratic. The weaker ones - the venti - explode when the sound waves connect. It's like he is drawing the sound from the water itself.

Then he saves the girl from falling by using the tides to form something - a tornado? - and catch her. She seems cool. Kinda. Jason feels weird - he doesn’t know her last name. He doesn’t remember his last name.

Some teens come - three of them, in flying horses that he can hear on his mind, like badly connected radios. One of them is a tired blonde girl, who seems to take his presence as a personal offense. The second one is a buff girl who could probably break his neck by flexing her biceps, while the third one is a boy - a boy missing half a leg.

Jason tunes the rude girl out for a second - he is already getting punished for this mess by having to hear her. Apparently, she is after someone that is not Jason. But then, the boy missing half a leg - Alabaster - brings a name up, and Jason startles.

That’s the thing: He doesn’t remember anything - anything but a name. Perseus- no. It sounds wrong. Percy.

"Percy Jackson?" He asks.

Annabeth - or Commander Chase, how he thinks it would be right to call her - the rude blonde - looks like he just solved world hunger. Her voice cracks a little - Percy Jackson. Jason feels weirdly possessive of the name - it's his memory, his link to whoever he is.

"How do you know him? Do you know where he is?" She is on the verge of either fainting or crying, but Jason can't blame her - he would be bawling his eyes out too if only something inside of him didn't fear the sheer idea of sobbing.

Because Jason can’t tell why, or how, or who he is - but he knows that Percy is the key to unlock his memory. But he's been missing for a month.

He knows things. Jason knows they are demigods, what it means to be one - and Valdez (it sounds wrong to call him Leo in such an official situation) is a son of Vulc-... Hephaestus.

The blonde doesn't ask a lot of questions: he has been trained to follow orders, he has been hardwired to be a soldier. He stays in military parade rest the whole time until Commander Chase drags him to see an Oracle.

Jason is pretty sure it should've been called an augur. But they go anyway - and it's not the official person he is expecting. It's a redhead girl painting a face - a black teen, more or less Jason's age, with a purple and orange flower crown and a closed-off expression.

That's Perseus Jackson. He learns a lot about the boy in a conversation - Perseus is a son of Hades (Pluto, God of Riches and the Dead, his mind supplies). He is not sixteen/seventeen like Jason apparently is - he is eighteen and a high school graduate. He was - is, because Commander Chase is sure they're finding him - taking a sabbatical year before going to college - MIT or Stanford, the impossible choice, the Oracle jokes. No one calls him Percy - except for a select few close friends.

Something about this is wrong, just wrong. Augurs - Oracles, whatever - are not supposed to be girls in ripped jeans. They are not supposed to be planning to go to Parsons in the next summer - Aug- Oracles shouldn't even have close relationships to soldiers!

Something must show in his face - because the Cherokee girl, who followed them for a tour of the place, tries to grab his hand. He doesn't let her - Jason knows he shouldn't show affection in front of officers.

Commander Chase asks questions he can't answer. He doesn't know where Perseus had gone for a week without communication six months ago, nor why he came back with no memories of it. He doesn't remember meeting him. He doesn't know if he was in Kronos' side - even if a pit of rage opens in his gut at Saturn's - Kronos - name.

Perseus starts to sound wrong in his mind - Perseus is their leader, and it's clear in the way Commander Chase talks about him that she is his second in command - so he starts calling them General Jackson and Lieutenant Chase in his mind. He doesn't voice this - because even McLean is being called by her first name, and Jason follows as well.

Jason has a tattoo of a trident with bars - no, not a tattoo, a brand. So they split ways - Jason goes see (Senator? Consul? Magister? Consiliario?) Chiron, and McLean stays to be weaponized - It's bad management, Jason thinks, to give a soldier weapons before they know how to use them. But Jason is also just a foot soldier here - he has no opinion and no voice.

Piper is not having a good day - she is not having a good week. Her boyfriend, apparently, is not her boyfriend. Her mother, a goddess. She keeps having dreams - and the Queen of Gods just gave her a mission. To save her - or the whole world ends.

And Annabeth - the beautiful girl with the missing boyfriend (who Piper is not sure is hers or Rachel's, but she is pretty sure all priestesses must be virgins or something) - just rolls her eyes.

This happens all the time - the gods mess things up, and they clean it up. It'll have to wait until they have more information - and until there's an official quest.

They give her a weapon too - she has no idea how to use it, but it's a beautiful dagger. It even has a name, Katoptris. She feels like Arya Stark in that new show that aired in April - a true wolf.

Leo is also having a very weird experience - he has half-siblings. After all those years in the streets or being shoved in and out of foster homes, he has a family - and they think he is the second coming of Jesus or the Antichrist - no one is really sure yet.

Leo is a fire manipulator. Some of the younger kids there look at him with fear - but most of the older ones talk about Perseus Jackson (and isn't that a very popular person, jeez), and how he saved all of their collective asses with his own fire.

Leo gets curious - it's the boy Jason has never mentioned before, but is the only thing he remembers, his brother?

Jake Mason - their incapacitated leader - says that unofficially, yes. The dead counselor - the one that brought the curse - was Perseus's father figure, before he died in the war. But Perseus wasn't - isn't, they avoid using the past tense - a Hephaestus kid. He was the one and only son of Hades.

The thing is, Leo doesn't have a filter. So the first thing he blurts out is "Well, at least they did the fire right in the Hercules movie". Nyssa - and the idea he has a sister is equal parts amazing and terrifying - looks at him like he is crazy, but laughs anyway.

Jason has a vision of a goddess - he doesn't know her. She calls him her champion - but it sounds wrong - and she doesn't tell her anything, because why would her, really. Then, McLean enters, and, apparently, the Oracle was possessed (how is this any news, isn't the Oracle supposed to be possessed?).

This is all connected by the fact that Jupiter - Zeus - has closed off all mortal communications. Well, mostly - Magister Chiron says that it's possible the King still has some contact with his only mortal son, Nico di Angelo.

And isn't it just marvelous that the name makes something stir on him like everything else? Even so, Jason doesn't say anything - Magister Chiron is an officer. Di Angelo is clearly also an officer - and one who answers directly to Jup- Zeus.

Di Angelo appears - looking like a beggar in need of a shower and a haircut - and isn't this a blessing. Jason wants to interrogate him - but the moody teenager has important news - Hera is missing. And she is probably the goddess sending them the messages.

They go see a boy named Clovis, in the Hypnos Cabin - and that makes something stir in Jason - he feels happy. They're so relaxed - and while he has no memories, this feeling of comfort is foreign in his body.

Clovis - who Jason is half-sure is a zombie in human skin - tells him what he already knew - someone took his memories. News: It was Hera. Or Juno - because Jason didn't fall out of the railway yet and the gods have split personalities.

They go to sleep - all three of them because this has been a long day and none of them are in shape for the bonfire later.

Piper dreams of her father, and a fiery giant that tells her to go to a quest - and she is so, so tired of these all-powerful beings telling her to do something and not explaining anything. When she wakes up, she tells Rachel exactly that, and the redhead laughs.

"You and Percy, you'll be best friends. I don't even need to be an Oracle to tell you that" And then proceeds to tell Piper all about Perseus Jackson roasting the gods for being awful parents.

She thinks she might like him - Piper has never seen a black hero before. There's not much prejudice against color or gender or sexual orientation here - its harshly punished, and the person has to undergo classes about equality and prejudice. When Rachel spins her tale, it's clear Perseus was in love with Luke - and it's obviously unrequited but no less important for the decision that saved their civilization.

Leo is in a much similar situation - he dreams about his Aunt Rosa, and wakes up in a panic - he hated the woman. It's Nyssa - the acting counselor - who calms him down - she tells him all the newbies are like that, and once, it was Perseus who hold her.

It's weird how the hero seems like this larger than life person - everyone talks about him, all the time. He was their hero, an invincible wall of muscles and shadows with a giant ax, but most of the people his age see him as a big brother, a soft protective guy with big blue sweaters and horrible morning breath.

Leo goes spend time with Jake - but Jake is occupied. Being half a mummy and preparing to lose one foot because of nerve damage doesn't make him incapable of snogging his nurse, a very willing Will.

Jason is also on the Perseus Jackson boat - but he is in much deeper. He dreams about the hero.

He wasn't doing anything heroic though - it was just him, not even eleven yet, alone in a playground. He is sitting in the grass and there's a book in his lap, and some bigger kids are calling him names - charcoal lump, nigger, ape, monkey, negro - it just goes on.

Jason is a white person. A very Californian tanned one, but a white, blonde person nonetheless. He doesn't remember anything, and he has had no real contact with racism - that he remembers - even though he knows what it means.

But he is pretty sure people of color shouldn't be racist. Shouldn't they support each other? Why is there an Asian and a clearly Hindi (maybe Muslim, Jason is no good with this) person attacking him for his skin?

The memory changes now. Perseus is in his early teens, and he is at camp - well, at least this should be better. It's not.

Perseus is walking alone - this time, there's no one mocking him. It's worse. People look at him with a mix of fear and disgust - even people who have been singing his praises since Jason entered this camp. Even Chase steers clear of him.

The pavilion is different, Jason thinks. There are fewer tables, and the Hermes one is full - is where Perseus sits. People enter after him, and, although there's plenty of space around him, the only people who sit with him are three boys: one dark-haired in his later teens, a young blonde adult with an ugly scar, and Alabaster, with his full two legs and at least five years younger.

Jason feels some kinship for Perseus - the feeling of being ostracized is not unfamiliar. He tries to push after it - but he just wakes up.

When he wakes up, the first thing he does is chase Lt. Chase down (ha) and ask her about his dreams.

He doesn't tell her the first vision - she wasn't there, is not his to tell - but the second in great detail. She asks for a description of the two boys - and suddenly, she is both sad and happy.

"It happened to him," She says, and there's a tear rolling through her cheek that makes him think that this is Annabeth "Those guys... These are Luke Castellan and Ethan Nakamura... You're... You're getting visions of Percy. This... This is good. We can work with that."

Then she leaves muttering to herself, so Jason goes to track down the person who can tell him more: Alabaster.

Jason tells his dream again - and Alabaster gets a sad and wistful face. There are blue sparks playing in his fingers, and his mechanic prosthetic - a bold shade of red with a whip painted across the knee, the mark of Nemesis - whirs a little.

Alabaster doesn't paint Perseus as a hero or a beloved leader - he paints Perseus as a scared, relatable kid, twelve years old with the weight of the world in his shoulders.

He tells Jason how Perseus never had his own bunk - how most of them slept on the floor. How there were no cabins for minor gods and Cabin 11 brimmed with unclaimed children. How Perseus raged against the gods - but couldn't leave his friends to the mercy of Kronos.

How Perseus was never a hero just because he fought in the war - but because he fought for them, all of them, no matter which side they were in. They were just kids - the real battle was with the immortal beings.

Jason learns this, and something shines in his eyes. Lou Ellen snorts from her top bunk from where she is half-watching the scene - it's the same shine Nico Di Angelo got after Grover told him about Percy Jackson and that never left his eyes. At least this one is older.

The three newbies go to the bonfire - and they trade stories in the way. All of their stories involve Perseus - it's like he is the entity of this camp. He is this camp - there's no other explanation.

Jason starts talking about his dream - and Piper and Leo, who "remember" the blonde's crush on Piper, look at each other with resignation. Their memories may be fake - but this is very much the insufferable Jay they know.

Piper thinks she should be much more worried about her relationship with Jason, but she is cool - first, she apparently doesn't even know him, though she would like to, cause he is cool. Second, he is just a boy. The real life version of Aquaman - but a boy nonetheless. And she has bigger problems - like, for example, who is her mother?

They go to the bonfire - Jason creates a hurricane, and he's proved to be a son of Poseidon - he has a sister apparently, the Lieutenant of the Hunt.

Katie - a girl with the most amazing dreads Piper has ever seen in this life and a staff, which is not as cool as Piper's dagger, but just as lethal - tells her all about the huntresses.

Piper thinks that if there's a thing that she would give up boys forever for, it's an immortal hunt with a goddess. She asks Katie if the hunt accepts trans girls - perhaps after this whole business with Hera, she can join.

Maybe there, she will finally be accepted as a tomboy. Maybe there, she won't have to fend off questions of why does she "wants to be" a girl if she likes her messy hair and doesn't care about "girly" things. If cis girls are allowed to like skating and use baggy clothes and have short hair - why isn't she?

But she is kind of against the whole misandry thing. Sure, she can stop being with a man in romantic or sexual ways, but to not have male friends because "man is evil" is clear prejudice - doesn't matter where it comes from.

Rachel issues a prophecy - Leo volunteers (under the condition he must find a water-based way of transportation), and Piper thinks that's her chance, she is been having those weird dreams for a while now. But- as a girl she hasn't met, named Drew Tanaka - points out, she is not claimed.

Well - that changes pretty quickly. The dress isn't her style - not at all - nor is the make-up. But at least her mother recognizes her gender - it's Aphrodite, what could she expect? At least there are no feathers in her hair or animal skin clothing - the stereotype is just ridiculous.

At least now her magic voice has an explanation and she can throw it in Leo's face - see, she was asking!

Piper is given a bunk on Aphrodite's cabin - which has twenty-one children between the ages of 7 and 25, of all races and genders - and learns quickly that no one there is prejudiced - beauty comes in very different ways.

She makes friends, and discovers that Drew isn't a counselor - she trash-talked Silena Beauregard once and tried to use her charm speak on a young boy, and everyone ousted her - all Aphrodite children are resistant to charm speak.

Lacy is thirteen, and just a summer camper - she is cis and white and blonde with blue eyes. She also has social anxiety - so she is the only one Drew doesn't bitches to in public.

Mitchell is the only boy (of her fourteen half-brothers) in this cabin who actually talks to her. He is from Texas, and he's a shy nerd, with a big crush on both Annabeth Chase and Malcolm Cage - who Piper learns leads the Trans Support Group on camp, which has more or less twenty-five kids, from the now 157 campers.

Piper is surprised - it's 2011, and gender is still kind of taboo - but she shouldn't be. They tell her the gods are way freer with both gender and sexuality - Lacy doesn't have a father, but a mortal mother. There's a lot of year-rounders who stay because of homophobic parents.

She asks if gods can transition people. They tell her maybe Aphrodite, maybe Eros - but the ones who are over eighteen can ask to go on quests to see the deity Hermaphroditus - they are the only one who magically transitions people, but it's not without a price - they are a god, after all.

She decides that - prejudiced or not - Drew Tanaka is a bitch of mythic proportions. The girl has weaker charmspeak than Piper - but she uses it way more, and for worse reasons. She is twenty - almost four years older than Piper - and picks on everyone she cans - mostly young children of other cabins, even though she already got punished for it four times - counselors are ridiculously protective of their children.

Piper thinks Drew is such a bitch because of her trauma - the Cherokee girl sees her walking with a cane that looks directly out of a Prada store, and Lacy tells her Drew had to do a total knee replacement after the war, and when it's way too cold it bothers her. When she tells her theory to Mitchell, the boy laughs for the first time.

"Darlin'" He starts, with the southern drawl that makes people doubt he has no charmspeak "Drew was always a bitch. She was a bitch before she even knew she had charmspeak. She was a bitch when she got to Camp if that fella from Demeter is too be believed."

The older Aphrodite children just roll their eyes at it - Drew has no real power here.

"Don't worry, kiddo," Says the counselor, a non-binary kid that goes by Ariel and has an uncanny similarity to the princess, if not for the undercut and the pixie hair "She does her thing once more, and she is in laundry duty for the rest of the summer. And if she says an A about Silena too you, you come directly to us. No one trash talks Silena Beauregard in this Camp."

Leo has just done something amazing, he thinks. He fixed the steel dragon - Festus because maybe Jason will feel better with a Latin name - and he can totally make him work on water - like a sea serpent! He always wanted a Gyarados anyway.

It leads to an underground bunk - and isn't this the coolest camp ever - and Leo attaches motors to it. And a tail that works in water, so the transport is well and done.

Jason goes to explore his cabin - and he finds pictures there, of Thalia Grace's friends, that she left behind. There's one with Perseus, two girls in silver jackets with bows, a faun and Thalia herself - in the same Dam they were this morning.

She is his sister. He knows it, just like he knows the curve of his nose and hers are the same, the way both of them have the same curls when they let their hair grow - that's why both of them have it cut short.

He tells it to Lt. Chase. Not under the Styx vow - he has no need for it. Jason hopes she contacts his sister, and tells her about it - even when she tells him Thalia never told anyone about him. Well, maybe they're estranged. She might know something about him, anyway.

They leave in Festus, and Jason's water powers aren't even needed - Leo has it handled with his magical mechanic beast.

It's difficult to travel in the cold water - but Jason wills the water away, and it obeys.

Do you know who doesn't obey? Khione. The boreads go away easily with Piper's charmspeak - and isn't it a scary thought that she can will away gods - but Khione is more powerful than her.

And the gods keep complicating their lives. Instead of appeasing Aeolus - no. Let the demigods pay the price for their mistakes. However, Jason is a son of Poseidon - or Neptune, because Boreas exchanges form when they talk.

Their next stop is Chicago - which is really convenient because they can go the whole way by water.

The travel is, however, long, and Piper dreams of the fiery giant again - Enceladus. She hates dreaming about him - he calls her boy, doesn't care for her pronouns, and is clearly the villain, and Piper knows about dreams.

Her father may not care for their culture - and she is okay with that. However, she loved her grandfather's stories. And while Piper is Cherokee, she knows about the Navajo dream walkers and the Abenaki legend about the world created by the dream of the Great Spirit.

Dreams have power - in all cultures, in all religions. She is not making a deal with a creature that uses her dreams to communicate.

Jason - Jason Grace - Also dreams. And once again, he dreams of Perseus Jackson.

His first vision - they're not dreams, dreams mean they're not true - is of Percy in his middle teens. He is in a familiar pier and it's winter - as far from the water as he can possibly get. By his side, Luke Castellan - the one Jason knows later becomes Saturn.

They are talking. Well, Castellan is talking, all wide smiles and side-hugs. Perseus laughs at his jokes and blushes every time they get close to each other. There's not a sliver of Percy's skin to be seen under his neck - but Jason is pretty sure he is shivering when Luke whispers something in his ear.

It makes Jason weirdly bothered - two men aren’t supposed to act like that towards one another outside of the privacy of their tents or the throes of war. It’s a weakness - same sex’s company is stimulated in battle - to unite the ranks. But soldiers are supposed to do their duty and procreate more soldiers - even if he doesn’t remember who the war is against.

Perseus eventually leaves - melting into the shadows - and with him, Luke's smile is gone. Alabaster and the dark-haired boy - that Jason knows it's called Ethan now - come to talk to Luke, who is clearly bothered by something.

Alabaster asks him if he convinced Perseus yet. Luke says he didn't, but he'll keep trying - the son of Hades would be a huge asset to Kronos' army. The blonde's face is as cold as the waters must be.

The memory changes. Perseus is now maybe sixteen, hopefully, older - Jason doesn't know - with a giant hellhound by his side, hugging his own knees. He is in front of a river - somewhere dark, the Underworld probably - and he is crying.

This is the first memory where Perseus - Percy, for this memory is too intimate - shows any bare skin. He doesn't have a shirt on - nor shoes or socks. Jason gets sidetracked by the muscles - totally in a comparative way - but the presence of Alabaster brings him back to reality.

"Luke is going to rebirth," Percy says, full of sorrow "I saw him in Elysium only once - I'm barely able to get there, I'm no good with spirits, and I couldn't talk to him. It's his last rebirth before the Isle of the Blessed. Is it selfish, that I wanted him to wait for me?" Alabaster shakes his head, hugging the younger boy close.

"Did he ever love me, Alabaster? Even as a friend?"

Jason can’t see how it would be any different. Men don’t love men - men share beds and quick escapades into the night. But this - this thing Perseus has for Luke - is different. It’s all encompassing.

"Of course, Percy. He loved you as much as you love him. Just... Just not in the same way." He doesn't even hesitate to lie.

Jason wakes up furious for no reason - but he has no time to deal with that now because Festus is caught in a tempest. Without ways of controlling him, they shipwreck in a deserted beach - in Detroit of all places, still a day and a half of Chicago, even with Festus' speed.

There's an abandoned warehouse there. Both Jason and Piper are distraught from their dreams - everyone talks it over (kinda, Jason is too angry with his visions and too deep in denial) and they try to calm themselves while letting Leo solve the dragon problem.

Leo is worried about his companions. They can't sleep without having weird dream visions - Nyssa told him back in camp that was "normal" for demigods, especially those questing, but Jason has been dreaming of a missing person while being a missing person himself, and Piper is having dreams of a monster he is already 80% sure they'll confront sooner or later.

He must've been really sleep deprived and way too into his friends' stories, because he has a hallucination.

His sleep paralysis demon is clearly not up to news - She thinks Jason and Piper are together, even if Jason is having a hard crush on his literal dream dude and Piper is in love with her dagger - Leo thinks that if she doesn't get to stab something soon, she'll be stabbing them while they're asleep.

And even if they were together - what does it matter for Leo? In his fake memories at least, he has been third-wheeling for a while now. He doesn't really care - he is fifteen, for gods sake. Leo jokes a lot - but he had like, two crushes on his whole life: Penelope Cruz and Johnny Depp, and both because of the pirate movie they watched in class last semester.

Turns out the Muddy Mary was just stalling him - but he is Leo Badass Valdez, and he totally destroys those cyclops - What name is Ma Gasket anyway, what was Poseidon thinking.

They try to reform, but Jason mixes his relatives - and yes, Leo is holding this over him forever - with water: Monster Kool-Aid.

It gains time for them to get back on Festus and go to Chicago - with the tune up Leo gave on the disk, they're there in half a day and they don't even drown in Lake Michigan - even though Jason says he thinks there are sirens there.

Then its explore the sewers time. Festus is too small for them - so they are disgusting alone. Leo feels like a rat.

He and Jason talk - they start talking about their powers, and how Leo is confused about his own fire. If a hero had it, it couldn't be bad, could it? Jason equals it to his water powers - its the same, but in different sides of the elemental spectrum.

"If I learned anything with the Camp's fan love for Perseus - and I'm not kidding, Lacy totally has a shrine for him somewhere," Piper starts "Is that our powers, our parentage - it doesn't define us."

"I'm not a manipulative bitch because I can charmspeak... shut it Leo! It was just a car" Leo mimes driving away, and she swats him upside the head.

"Leo is not a demon because of his fire. Maybe a gremlin but-..." It's his time to try and swat at her, even if she is probably capable of killing him with her pinky after spending the whole two days in Camp with Rachel - her Oracle facade doesn't fool Leo, he saw that knife strapped to her leg - doing gods knows what.

"And Jason is not a fish, so we're all fine" They are laughing - and Leo thinks this is way better than those fake memories.

Their encounter with Medea goes a little differently this time. Jason is a son of the sea - his mind is too fickle. He and Leo don't fight each other - even though the scrawny boy tries really hard and Jason will lord this over him forever.

They battle the Sun Dragons - they're no match for Jason's power over water, and he does the weird singing thing - this time to lesser results. Maybe the bigger the monster, the less his powers work.

They escape through the sewers - with one very petrified Coach Hedge and a cage full of air spirits in tow. Jason liquefies the vapor trail in the sky - and they pray together for Zeus not to strike them out of his sky.

Leo finally has prophetic dreams of his own - his father. He is less cool than Leo though he was - but maybe that's Leo's internalized ableism talking. Or the fact that the god looks like he hasn't showered in a week - Leo can identify with that, being a sewer rat himself.

Their prayers don't work. Zeus - or something up there - shot them out of the sky when Festus is malfunctioning. Jason cushions their fall with a mini-hurricane - because the dude is clearly Ororo Munroe's frat boy version.

His baby is broken, partially cause someone up there hates him, partially because of where he landed. He prays to his father - and Leo thinks he's way cooler when he actually answers. With nowhere to go, the three of them go into the house.

Midas didn't count Jason being capable of controlling water. Soon, nothing is gold anymore - And he loves his sword a lot, but he hopes he doesn't have to see it for a while because anything gold will burn his retinas again.

Jason dreams of Perseus again. This time, the demigod is with a goddess who has the same exquisite skin color as him - and dreadlocks adorned with bones. They are curving shadows like smoke around their hands - even if Jason can barely focus on their conversation, because the guy he has been having visions about every time he naps is basically in a skirt and nothing more. Is he allowed to appreciate him if he is wearing womanly clothes?

It's really weird, to be peeving in a boy - in a man - he has (probably) never met and does not remember - but Jason is watching the guy's life. Private moments that someone (probably Hera/Juno, he bets she is the one who took Perseus too) is showing him - he feels like he knows him.

Perseus and the goddess talk - mostly about Perseus' school and Rachel. He seems happy - and carefree, even though he is probably over sixteen (if the last memories make any sense), and Luke Castellan is already dead. This is perhaps a little before he disappeared - and Jason rages against the unfairness of the gods' games.

Jason knows men aren’t supposed to be together - but he saw them at Camp. Same sex people holding hands and kissing in public - wherever Jason comes from, this isn’t talked about. He wishes that he could stay forever at Camp - this alternative reality where they are allowed to live freely. Jason thinks he might’ve asked Perseus for a date - lunch at the beach, perhaps. If he is allowed to stay and they find the son of Hades, he might do exactly that.

They rest in a mountain cave - and discuss Jason's dreams about Perseus (not in great detail, because Leo is teasing him enough about it) and Piper's nightmares about the evil fire giant - who Medea told them it's Enceladus. They have no idea who it is, but Jason is apparently a human encyclopedia of mythology - it's the bane of Athena.

They're attacked by Lycaon - who calls Jason "Lupa's seal cub". Jason is so tired of not remembering anything because this is probably supposed to be offensive, but it just sounds funny, and now Leo is going to keep calling him seal cub. If they survive, because Jason is way too exhausted.

He meets his sister - with Leo, because he needs a security net, and Piper has hypothermia - he feels guilty, because he did this to her.

And their story sounds like a tragedy. Thalia thought he was dead - and then she ran away, became a crying tree for five years, was saved by Perseus - because clearly, that Camp does not work without him - went on a mission with him to save Chase, almost destroyed the world, lost over half of her quest mates (because apparently, Perseus left the camp for reasons she won't explain - he doesn’t care, he’ll probably dream about it later), became the Lt. of the Hunt - and was now going stir-crazy because her mistress is locked up in Olympus.

Lieutenant Grace - how his soldier mind reverts her name quickly, sister or not, is really worrying - is happy to see him. They hug - and it feels for the first time, things are going well for Jason. Thalia and Leo even bond a little - over laughing about Jason's stupid decisions and dream crush on Percy Jackson.

He does have a crush on a guy - at least in the privacy of his mind. It’s just the boy’s stupid muscles and his stupid curls, and the way he was so carefree with that goddess, the way he curled in Alabaster’s arms, the way Luke Castellan never deserved him.

They keep talking - about Perseus, their missions, their lifes - and he feels like this was what he was supposed to find all his life, the missing piece to a long-standing puzzle.

They go to Aeolus castle. Due to their shared conversations, Leo doesn't make any conclusions - because all of these theories, about exchanging camps, they were talked about in the cave - when Jason first discovers the Wolf House.

They leave the mountain in a hurricane - Jason is really handy with these. At least they know where to go to find Enceladus: Mount Diablo. What a fitting name.

Piper meets her mother - and it's pleased that, when Aphrodite looks at her, she doesn't see blonde hair or green eyes - she sees a Cherokee woman, with short-cropped up hair and a lightning tattoo - the mark of a warrior. It's the woman she wants to be - not a boy she considers now one of her best friends.

Aphrodite tells her where they need to go. She tries to talk about Jason - but Piper says it was a bad idea. She shouldn't have given her those fake memories - it hurt more that way.

Aphrodite gives Piper a potion - and not only that, but she tells her that, when they meet again - not in a dream, but in life - she shall give Piper what she wants the most.

Her mother tells her some of her children are destined for greatness, and Piper is the Aeneas of this generation. Aeneas founded Rome - and Piper will shape the future of their civilization.

Then she tells Piper about the true enemy: Gaea. Suddenly, she wakes up, and oh Toto, they aren't in Kansas anymore.

They are in San Francisco - which triggers something in Jason because when they take a taxi, it's like he can't stop looking at everything.

There's a pier - Pier 36 - that Jason looks ready to cry when they pass through it. If not for the fiery giant threatening to kill Piper's father, she would probably stop the taxi - it's the first time Jason's facade breaks.

She thinks he might've been indoctrinated, as they do in cults or some religions, to believe that males have to act a certain way. Or fighters have to act a certain way - because he is certainly not misogynist. He looks fearful just to talk about his dreams about Perseus, though - like someone will come and take those from him because he likes them.

There's no much time for consideration, Leo thinks - soon, Piper saves her dad (who is prettier in real life). Then, they're fighting against Dirty Bubbles - because Jason is clearly Mermaid Man - if the way he keeps singing and the creatures get rekt by his voice are any signal. Does that mean Leo is Barnacle Boy?

The Earthborn holds no candle to Jason's power on an island. And Leo is helping a lot too because that's his best friend's father and he can totally paralyze mud with fire - is basic Chem.

Poseidon helps them defeat Athena's Bane - and how is that for irony - with an earthquake followed by a giant wave that - if not for Jason - would've killed them all.

Jason dreams on the helicopter - it's the first one not about Perseus. This one, there's a woman - her skin is as dark as the soil, but her hair merges with the wheat around her. She is clad in a green dress and holds a basket of strawberries to her chest as she whistles through the plantation.

Then, she sees him - and changes. Her hair goes up - there's a staff in her right hand, the corn went in exchange for loaves of bread. The woman smiles, and Jason feels like he's been embraced by warmth.

"My champion" Ceres starts, for he knows her name, with infinite care in her voice "You don't need to fear Juno's machinations. She knows nothing of motherly love - she shall never understand it. The winter is difficult - but the Harvest will bring deliverance."

It's the first time he is sad to see a deity go. Deliverance - does that mean that Perseus will come back by June? Summer is harvest - even if June is six months away.

Piper doesn't use the potion on her father - no. It won't help anything, to forget - she learned that with Jason. The boy has no memories and all kinds of triggers and internalized problems. Tristan McLean is going through shock - and as soon as Piper is done with the whole Hera/Juno and Gaea thing, she is going home and taking care of him.

Leo's fire can't see to open Aunt Callid-... Hera's cage. And isn't really weird his babysitter was a goddess grooming him for war - even though Aphrodite told Piper Gaea only awakened after Kronos, and they didn't even know Kronos would rise twelve years ago.

So Hera just groomed him because her mind went "Oh, Hades' child. May cause the end of the world - Idk how. Might need firebender - time to groom this child". Was he supposed to be her pawn for the first Titan War? Her way of being recognized - but she hid away her card when she saw the bigger threat on the horizon, to gain what? Prestige? Glory?

Is that why he survived so many years away from Camp, with no random monster attacks? Was he just... just hiding for later use?

Man, he sure understands now why people rose against the gods. They are assholes.

Khione is pretty - but as Leo said, a goddess. So, an asshole. She has this whole elaborate plan to make Jason's demigods (Romans?) start a war - but her plan is shit. So he fights her because she is an asshole and isn't even a good villain.

A mysterious horse appears - a very rude horse if Jason's increasingly appalled face is to be believed. Its (his) name is Arion, and together with Jason, they literally turn the battle tides.

Piper is magical. Literally - Aphrodite's blessing apparently doesn't cover only beauty - it makes her a battle queen. She jumps - and the air supports her. She falls - and the earth trembles. Piper moves like a dancer - even though she barely fought before - and her and Jason's voice make the wolves so confused they start banging their heads in the walls.

Piper sometimes forgets her mother is a daughter of the sea and the sky - because Jason's tides don't touch her, and the air seems to help her, to mold her. Aphrodite is not only pretty - Love is always in the last place you expect it. And so is Piper.

Jason fights Porphyrion - and the only thing he can think about is why. Why is he doing this, for a goddess who took his life from him - who took everything he was. Why him? Why not Di Angelo, who is a son of Zeus? Why not anyone else?

They keep fighting and fighting and fighting - and Hera helps, in the end, and claims all the credit - because this apparently isn't all her fault at all. She almost kills Jason - because is not enough to wipe his mind - but water (and Piper's reality control power) save him.

They go back to Camp - and nothing changes. They don't become their Cabin counselors - except for Jason, because he is the only mortal kid of Poseidon.

Lacy suggests it - but the older ones quickly shut it down. Piper might be a hero - but she knows nothing of schedules or child care, she has no idea of how to counsel - She is barely seventeen. She is a sophomore - Piper can't even be a year-rounder, and there are young children there.

Ariel does say she has potential - worth grooming to succeed be second in command to their second in command - Troy - when Ariel leaves for her master's degree in Chemistry on Princeton.

And Leo - Leo has no responsibility to take care of others. He is an incredible engineer - and his firebending powers are amazing - but he is also not a counselor. Between the sixteen Hephaestus children, he is the second youngest - he's beat by nine-year-old Francisca Alves - a Brazilian girl who gave them a whole lot of problems to immigrate because her mother was Hi Merimã (an isolated indigenous tribe north of the country).

Being a counselor is not something harsh - is hard work, taking care of tens of demigods of all ages, taking stock of their basic needs, and making sure they are educated and welcomed - it's not a job given away freely to fifteen-year-olds.

The cabins with more people generally have older demigods in charge - twenty-year-olds who don't run into danger unless under dire circumstances, who are year-rounders and take online college courses - an exception of technology rule made by Chiron when they first started getting old enough for it to be possible.

Ceres talks to Jason - she is the one to deliver back his memories, for Juno is otherwise incapacitated. She tells her what it means - the Greeks, the Romans. And that they shall not go looking for Perseus Jackson - for it'll damage the Romans' trust if the hero doesn't win them by himself.

Jason feels bad for Perseus - he won't find in the Romans the kinship he found in the greeks. The Romans are people of war and discipline - soldiers, and not friends. Everything within Rome, nothing outside Rome, nothing against Rome.

Leo is the Captain of the Argo II - who will go to Greece so they can defeat the giants. The prophecy is clear - Seven shall answer the calling. When Jason comes bearing news of Ceres' message and his past memories, it's pretty clear - Seven shall go to the Jupiter Capitol - the head of the Twelve Cities that compose the Roman side of the demigods.

It's easy to decide who goes. Jason, Leo, and Piper - for obvious reasons. Annabeth and Malcolm - who are diplomatic leaders and have their own mission on Greece. Nico Di Angelo - for they're traveling by both air and water. Will Solace - for they also need a healer.

Fourteen cabins are build - they don't know how many Romans are coming with them, but at least Perseus is. Well, probably. He has been through one Great Prophecy - he might just be way too tired of this bullshit.

Jason has his memories back. The Prophecy is in the works. He didn't count, though, on keep dreaming of Perseus for the next six months it takes for them to make it to Rome.

Oh, how he's going to be so happy when his counterpart punches Juno in the face.

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danddymaro · 4 years ago

Text

Young and in Love |Polnareff x Reader

Pairing: Jean Pierre Polnareff x Reader | Word count : 1464

The silver-haired male stared at the young woman, his blue eyes finding themselves wandering to her so often that it had become noticeable to everyone else in the group, herself included.

In fact, it was now expected.

She was well aware of his trained eyes, but she kept quiet. For one, she didn't know where to begin, or how to confront him on the matter. There was that, and the fact that admittedly, she did like it, and wasn't too keen on making him stop.

She soaked up every bit of his attention she could get, a present bloom of soft pink plastered over her face as she tried to play down the smile on her face. And she couldn’t help the expression from forming, not having the power to control it.

‘He’s doing it again,’ She said to herself, excited of course.

She liked having the Frenchman's eyes glued to her, watching her like she was a moving masterpiece, a wondrous work of art that had somehow gained the ability to walk and venture freely.

It wasn't lecherous, nor off-putting, and she’d never felt as beautiful as when he looked at her,

‘Oh, Polnareff,’ she thought while sighing softly. 'Do you like me?' she wondered, 'Do you think I'm special?' she went on.

'Am I pretty to you?'

She wondered just what made him stare so much, 'Is there something about my face that's different? Is that good? Or is it bad?'

Swallowing thickly she inched closer, a nonchalant whistle blown to the side as she came just A bit closer, testing her luck.

Earlier, Hol Horse, the cheeky gunslinger had called her Honey as well as given her a flirty wink before he retreated, promising he'd be back for her later on.

'That sure set him off,' She mused, recalling the encounter.

She swears she saw the Frenchman turn his reddest, words that were foreign to her, but no doubt obscenities, flying out of his mouth as he chased the blonde out of sight, his stand aimed to draw blood.

She was tickled pink to see him defend her in such a way, protective over her, fighting off another man for even being suggestive with her.

She almost hoped he came back just to get the same rise out of the charming man.

"Ah, Polnareff?" she said softly, turning to him slowly, her (e/c) eyes meeting his just as she turned, a result of having him already gazing at her.

He instantly bloomed with soft pink, the color staining his pale skin cutely, almost innocently.

“Oh! Yeah?” He said caught off guard, slightly leering down towards her, eyes glued to the soft lips which moved right before him,

‘I was thinking we could share a room this time…’ She thought to herself, wanting to tell him, but having all the words knot up in her throat.

Hoarsely, and below her breath she muttered the request, grimacing as she let it out in the open, knowing just how it sounded.

“Huh? What was that?” he asked confused, looking completely at a loss, not having heard anything but incoherent huffs and short mutters.

“O-oh!...it was nothing important,” (f/n) said hurriedly, refusing to repeat herself, picking up her pace instead,

‘Maybe it’s better you weren’t listening!’ she reasoned with herself, shaking her head with defiance. ' I mean what was I thinking! ' she thought with a blazed face, ' I can't just go and ask something like that! ' she internally screamed.

‘But I mean, it’s not like I was planning to do anything either!’ she went on to convince herself. ‘ I was just thinking about budgeting...budgeting … cash…To save money!’

Seeing her face filled with worry, he heaved largely, shaking his head just as quickly as she was hers, catching up to her urgently, “Non, Non, Non, Ma chérie! Mon amour !” He said anxiously, “ I didn’t mean to ignore you...Honest, it wasn't deliberate,” he assured her.

He began to walk in front of her, taking backward steps while they continued to move, keeping up with the rest for the crew.

"You must believe me, " he added with sincerity.

‘Ah again with those names…’ She thought to herself, feeling her heart race, 'It doesn't help one bit!'

She wasn't fluent in the language, but she knew damn well what the little endearments meant,

' He's just flirty…he'd call any girl that,' she thought while trying not to stare at the beautiful man in front of her. She tried to take away from the lovely feeling she felt when he called her that by reasoning that it was just something he said to just about every woman he came in contact with.

'Oh come on! Then why else would he always gawk at you? 'Her inner voice rebelled. ' Why else would he call you that!'

'And he worries so much,' she added, 'He goes completely ballistic every time you're in danger,'

Much more, 'He hasn't even talked to another woman, much less stared at them for longer than a fraction of a second.'

All in all, he was completely devoted to her, something the (h/c) haired young woman had trouble processing.

But deep in her heart, she knew.

For just a moment, they stopped, and sweetly, he moved the (h/c) strands that obscured her face aside, " Please tell me, you seem troubled." He said with a low, murmur.

'Oh, what the hell, ' She thought while looking up at him (e/c) eyes putting him in a trance.

"I was wondering if, maybe...Polnareff would you share a room with me?" She asked, watching the question slowly fall onto him.

His eyes opened wide, and again his face glowed, a darker rouge covering his entire face, reaching his ears,

"(f/n)" He said swallowing thickly.

'Could this be just a dream?' He wondered.

"I mean, it's just... instead of having a room of my own, we could lower the cost by sharing one " She explained, though sounding bashful, that clearly not being the only reason to her offer.

"Maybe...we can also share a bed..." she added meekly.

Absentmindedly he pressed his index fingers together, " O-of course," he replied back, "It makes perfect sense to me," he told her.

“We could sleep together, that way...that way we can cover each other's backs,” he added chuckling nervously.

Agreeing, she smiled cutely.

‘Maybe i’ll have a nightmare,’ She thought to herself, ‘ And then I can crawl into those big, strong arms,’ She gushed, thinking of the scenario.

“What if it’s too cold?’ he wondered, ‘We might not have enough blankets, and I suppose we could cuddle... just to stay comfortable,’ He reasoned, wanting nightfall to come already.

She then seemed startled, staring wide-eyed at him, " We have to catch up!" she reminded him, pulling him by the wrist, hastily falling back in line with the rest of the travelers.

...........................................................................................

“Good Grief,” Jotaro muttered to himself, quickening his pace, not wanting to lag behind with the two, dreading being stuck between their insufferable flirting.

He’d rather have the old man ramble his ear off than go on another minute with the lovie-dovie saccharine behavior of the couple who weren't really a couple.

Who were ' just friends '

‘And what’s more annoying…’ He thought to himself, eyes discreetly trailing back to them to see the two touching hands, fingers twitching to take hold of each other.

They clearly wanted to touch…

They clearly wanted to do such more…

“Tch,” He clicked his teeth, the sound making his grandfather chuckle, “ Cute isn’t it? “ Joseph asked grinning, indiscreetly pointing his thumb back to the two trailing behind.

They wouldn't take notice any time soon because it wasn't like anything else really mattered to them at the moment, so why be coy?

“To be young and in love,” The Joestar added with a musing tone, thinking back to the moments in his own youth.

“It’s fucking annoying,” Kujo said lowly, something Kakyoin overheard and decided to butt into, his pace matching the other two men.

Giggling he put a hand on the tall brooding male’s shoulder, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous there Jotaro,”

A very small shiver went through Jotaro’s body, a tremor Noriyaki could feel, and gloated about just as it was released,

"Ohoho?" Kakyoin sounded playfully. “You are!” he added with mock surprise.

“ Jealous about what?” Jotaro grumbled, his hand pulling down his hat to obscure his face more.

"She's cute," Kakyoin pointed out, "Didn't you say tha-"

"Shut the hell up," Kujo said stiffly, his face burning with embarrassment, his long legs moving faster, escaping the two men aside him.

He mentioned it one time...Just once.

“We’re here,” he added with a huff, pointing his finger up to their Hotel. Laughing, the two males followed in suit.

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littlestarofthewest · 5 years ago

Note

God your writing is incredible. Would you consider possibly writing male reader/deputy arthur, maybe featuring a pair of handcuffs or something of the sort?

Thank you for the praise, love! :) I actually squealed back when I first read this request because I have a thing for Arthur with his little star. I hope you don’t mind I made him sheriff instead of a deputy. I kept the handcuffs though :D

Title: Behind Bars | Word Count: 4444 | Rating: Explicit (18+!!!)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x male reader

Tags: handjob, blowjob, anal sex (what can I say, they’re going to town)

You always love coming to a new town. There's new people, new shops, and new opportunities, and all of it is just up for grabs if you know how to do it.

Tonight, it's too late to do much, so you decide to head for the saloon and get a feeling for the locals. After hitching your horse outside, you walk in as inconspicuous as possible. You only use one of the double doors, barely pushing it, your head drawn low but with most of your face still visible.

Over the years, you learned a thing or two about earning people's trust. Acting like a withered traveler who's only looking for work and a hot meal is often the best way to go. Just like you planned, a few eyes turn your way, but the people immediately lose interest.

You approach the bartender and ask for some drink and food before settling down in a corner. You determine that there might be even a few prospects for some naughty fun later on, once the decent guests go home, and the rest have some drinks in them.

After finishing your meal, you get yourself a beer, trying to decide which guy to hit on when the doors of the saloon open. The newcomer is tall, with broad shoulders, his hat covering his face. On his way to the bar, a few people nod or give him a small wave, so he must be one of the locals.

The stranger heads right for the bar, and as he leans on it, you get a nice look at his backside. His jeans sit tight in all the right places, and his shirt clings to him in a way that makes you think about scratching your nails down his whole back.

Without even thinking about it, you make your way to the bar, flanking the stranger to get a better look at him. He pushed his hat up, and while he looks a little weathered, you can't deny that you find him attractive. He's got full lips and a sharp cut jaw that's covered with a nice stubble. You surely wouldn't mind rubbing your face against his while doing some other enjoyable things.

Somehow, the other guys you considered before seem out of the question now. You want this one. At first, you try to come up with a line that could start a conversation with him, but then the stranger does you a big favor. He moves away from the bar, coming your way, and you step in his path in precisely the right moment.

You both collide, and out of surprise, the stranger drops his bottle while you cling to the bar to keep upright. "I'm so sorry," you mumble, your eyes drawn to the shards on the floor, "I didn't see you there."

"It's alright," the stranger says in a calm, deep voice, "it's just a beer."

The game you're playing is always risky. Instead of some fun behind the saloon, it's easy to end up with a black eye. It seems you got extra lucky today.

"Let me buy you a new one," you say, looking at the stranger for the first time. "Please?"

"Sure, if you want to."

"Of course, it's my fault after all," you say while waving the bartender over. "Please, join me."

You order a new beer for the stranger, and he accepts it with a nod before leaning against the bar next to you. "You're not from here."

It's not a question, but you still feel like the stranger is fishing for more information.

"No, I just got into town," you say honestly, right before launching into your perfectly crafted lie. "The farm I've been working on for years got sold when the owner died. Since then, I've been traveling around, looking for work."

The stranger takes a big swig of his beer before stepping back and looking you up and down like a horse he'd like to buy at the stables.

"I know most of the farmers around here. I could ask around if someone needs a hand."

"That would be great," you say with a smile, but it's hard to stay in the role of poor farmhand with the stranger's eyes still on you.

"What are you good at?" the stranger asks. "Gotta sell you somehow, after all."

You know that he's asking because of the work, but the way he looks at you implies so much more. Maybe it's time for you to go on the offensive.

"Lots of things, actually," you say, holding the stranger's gaze. "I'm most handy with a good tool, and I sure know how to ride."

A small smile plays around the stranger's lips, and he holds out his hand to you. "Arthur Callahan."

"Y/N," you say, holding his hand way longer than necessary. Arthur has a warm, firm handshake, and you wouldn't mind having those hands on you.

"Tell you what," Arthur says, "we meet back here tomorrow, and I'll let you know if somebody needs help."

"Thank you so much, that's great."

Arthur nods, taking another swig of his beer before eyeing you up and down again. "Now that business is out of the way, how about we move on to pleasure?"

A tingling feeling rushes all over your body. You had a feeling that Arthur wasn't the type to play around, but it's been a while since you've met someone who cut to the chase like that.

"Pleasure sounds great," you say. "What do you have in mind?"

"We could go out back, and you show me how good you really are with a tool."

You take a sip from your drink before walking past Arthur, your shoulder brushing against his. "Come on then."

By the steps behind you, you can tell that Arthur is following you immediately, and your heart beats faster. You've rarely gotten lucky so quickly, and Arthur surely is a treat compared to your usual partners.

Outside, you walk around the saloon, and Arthur's hand ends up warm on your back. You make it into the nearby trees before he turns you around and you don't waste time either, taking your first taste of Arthur's lips.

It's been a while since you had some fun, and you don't mind Arthur's hands roaming over your body. He's not shy to grab you wherever he wants, and you make good on your promise. Going down on your knees, you open Arthur's pants and pull out his cock, pleased with what you find.

Arthur leans back against the tree with a groan when you take your first taste, licking along his length. With your hand massaging his balls, you suck him into your mouth, your tongue teasing him with little twists.

At first, Arthur lets you do the work, moaning quietly with his eyes closed, but you can sense his desperation. He puts his hand on the back of your head but makes a little circle with his thumb to reassure you that he won't push you.

Not that he has to. You know you're good with your mouth, and having a guy squirm and moan because of you, gets you harder than anything else. Arthur does a great job with that. Harsh breaths make their way out of him, and when you swallow him down all the way, his fingers scrape along your neck.

"Goddammit, boy," he groans, holding you in place while his hips buck.

His grip isn't so tight that you couldn't escape, but being put in your place like this has you moan around Arthur's cock, your own dick twitching in your pants. Arthur runs his fingers along your neck now, almost soothing, drawing back a little.

"Got something for you," he says, giving you a way to escape.

There have been guys where you picked that option, but right now, you want all of Arthur, so you push forward. You take him deep into your throat, and Arthur curses, his fingers clawing against your skin as he comes. You eagerly swallow, and Arthur leans back against the tree with a deep sigh.

"Alright," he says, looking down at you when you give him free, "you do know how to handle a tool."

"Told you," you say with a grin.

Arthur puts himself away while you get to your feet, thinking that you're done, but suddenly Arthur pulls you into another kiss. He turns you both around, pushing you against the tree, and his hand finds its way to the bulge in your pants.

"I think I can find some work for you," he says with a grin, and you wish you could talk back, but his touch feels too good.

Arthur takes care of your pants, and seconds later, you're in his tight grip. He's even pushier than before, giving you barely an inch to move while stroking your cock. Usually, you're not much of a pushover, so it's even more intriguing how Arthur handles you.

He leans in close to bite and kiss along your neck, his hand always in motion. It surprises you that he actually takes the time after he already got off. You had a few guys who couldn't get away fast enough once they were done.

Arthur is the complete opposite. He takes his sweet time teasing you, and you feel like he enjoys watching you squirm as much as you do. You moan against his lips, loving that he kisses you at all, and soon, you claw your fingers into his shirt while you roll your hips to get more friction.

Finally, Arthur's done with the teasing. He strokes you with a clear goal in mind, and you don't care to hold back any longer. You let your arousal take over, drifting quickly to the point of no return until you have to lean back against the tree behind you when your hips stutter, and you come in Arthur's hand.

He leans in to kiss you, still carefully petting you until you come down from your high.

"You're pretty handy with a tool yourself," you say, and Arthur chuckles.

"See you tomorrow then," he says before giving you another quick kiss. You feel like he'll definitely have some work for you, one way or the other.

-------

After being with Arthur, you wouldn't have minded a good night's sleep, but a man has to eat, after all, so you find yourself at the back of a huge farmhouse a few hours later. You heard some guys at the saloon talking about the wealthy owners who once again left for the city to meet up with other rich people and congratulate each other on their wealth.

Judging by the house, there's a good chance there might be some money in it for you, maybe also some jewelry to fence. You're about to crack open the back door when something hard digs into your back. A gun.

"I'm sorry, darling," a familiar deep voice says. "I can't let you do this. Turn around."

You do as you're told and find Arthur pointing a gun at you. You're about to offer him a part of the loot when your eyes fall on a shiny little item at his chest. A sheriff's star.

"You in law enforcement?" you ask in surprise. "Who would have thought."

"I'm not surprised you're here," Arthur says. "I've rarely seen someone who had 'thief' written all over them like you did."

That surprises you even more. You've never met any police who suspected you right away. Usually, you pride yourself on looking innocent.

"Technically, I didn't steal anything," you say, making Arthur chuckle.

"Besides my patience," he grunts. "Are you coming along peacefully, or do I need to restrain you?"

You think back to earlier when Arthur held you against the tree, and his behavior makes even more sense. As sheriff, he must be used to giving orders and keeping people in check. You sure wouldn't mind being handled with the same authority now.

"I don't think I'll be going with you," you say, unable to hide a smile. "I guess you have to restrain me."

Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes, but then he pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "You better not try anything. I wouldn't want to shoot someone as skilled as you."

You hold out your arms to Arthur with a smile, letting him put on the handcuffs. He pulls you along and helps you up on your horse, holding on to your ass way longer than he'd have to without trying to hide it. With Arthur pulling along your horse, you make it back to the town, and he walks you into one of the jail cells.

Out of the handcuffs, you settle down on the hard bench in the cell while Arthur disappears into another room. Taking a deep breath, you consider your options. Arthur's not the type to be messed with, so talking yourself out of this won't work.

The same goes for brute force. You're pretty good in a fight, but Arthur's a mountain of a man, holstering two weapons he's probably well versed in using. You can't see yourself overpowering him.

Not that you necessarily have to. Although Arthur has brought you in, you don't think that he's going to give you much trouble over a tiny robbery. He'll probably let you rot in the cell for a bit before giving you a stern talking to and sending you on your way.

Arthur comes back with a bottle of whiskey and settles down on a creaky chair, putting his feet up on his desk. He takes a swig from the bottle before pulling down his hat over his face, crossing his arms, and ready to settle down for a nap.

You should probably do the same, but instead, you watch Arthur. He has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and your eyes follow the veins that run along Arthur's arms. You can't help but wonder what it would be like if he held you down or lifted you up.

The way he sits there is too inviting. You imagine walking over to him and pushing down his long legs so you could crawl on his lap and steal the hat before kissing him, not to mention taking a little ride.

With a sigh and tightening pants, you head to the end of your cell, leaning against the bars. "So, you just gonna sit there, huh?"

Arthur pushes up his hat, watching you for a moment. "Please tell me you're not one of the chatty ones who beg for a gag."

"I can be quite loud," you say with a smile, "and I am good at begging. Unless you keep me quiet. I like that, too."

"Just sit your ass down and take your punishment like a man," Arthur growls.

"Oh, I'd love to take it from you," you say, and when Arthur rolls his eyes, you grab the bars of the cell. "Come on, we both know you can't leave while you have a prisoner, and I'm not going to shut up until you make me. Might as well continue where we left off, have some fun."

Arthur's eyes travel over your body, and heat takes hold of you. You just took a shot in the dark, but he's actually considering your words. After a moment, he walks over to you, handing you the whiskey. You look at him while you drink, your lips tightly wrapped around the bottle.

"Just to be clear, you're not getting out," Arthur says. "We can have some fun, but it's no payment for your release. I don't do that."

Of course, you wouldn't mind getting out of here, but you understand what he means. You're not interested in offering sexual favors for your freedom, either.

"Just some fun," you say, handing back the bottle, "and then I'll sit here and repent."

Arthur's gaze clearly states that he doesn't believe in your penance, but he still nods. "Turn around."

You have no idea what he's going to do, but that's even more of a thrill. You do as he says and can hear him put the whiskey bottle back onto the desk. After that, there are more sounds, but you're not sure what Arthur's doing.

He comes back to you, always out of your field of vision, and you jump a little when he speaks close to your ear. "Put up your arms."

Again, you follow up immediately, and Arthur holds your hands against the bars of the cell before putting the handcuffs back on you. He hangs them up in a way that makes it impossible for you to bring your arms back down.

"Comfortable?" he asks, and you know he's giving you an out if you're not into that kind of thing.

You've never done something like this before, but then again, you've never met someone like Arthur. A tingling feeling washes in waves all over your body, and you're eager to see what else he has in store for you.

"I'm good," you say, much more confident than you feel.

Starting from your hands, Arthur explores your body. He opens up your shirt and runs his hands all over you with a firm touch. Goosebumps erupt on your skin, and Arthur reaches around you to open your pants.

"Are you ready to do some penance?" he asks, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice sinking deep into your bones and setting you alight from inside.

"God, yes," you say, unable to play it cool. "Please punish me, sheriff."

Arthur leans his head against the back of yours for a moment as his hands push down your pants. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he groans in satisfaction.

You wish you weren't so eager, but you can't help but push back, the cold bars digging into your skin as a starch contrast to Arthur's warm hands. He lets go of you for a moment, before pushing your cheeks apart and his fingers find their way to your hole.

Arthur's coated his fingers with something oily and rubs circles into your skin while his other hand rests flat on your chest. You let yourself enjoy the touch, and Arthur soon pushes a finger into you, opening you up a little. When he's satisfied with how your muscles loosen up for him, he retreats his hands, and a few seconds later, his hot cock is pressing against your entrance.

"Relax, darling," he says, and you only notice now how tense you are, too eager for Arthur to take you.

You let out all the pent up air from your lungs, and Arthur pushes into you, making you moan. You always love to be claimed and spread open, and Arthur fills you up in the best of ways. He bottoms out, pressing himself against you as much as the bars of the cell allow it.

He trails soft kisses over your neck and rolls his hips, giving you a first taste of what's to come. His hands are back on your body, touching every inch of your skin that he can reach except for your dick, and you have a feeling that's intentional.

Arthur lets you move instead, waiting for you to show him how rough you want this to go. The problem is that you're way too thirsty for some action, and you move as far away as you can before slamming yourself back against him. Whenever his cock thrusts back into you, you let out eager gasps and moans, begging him to go harder.

"You sure want to redeem yourself," Arthur groans.

"Please, more," you say, reminding him that you're not above begging.

Arthur's hand travels up your chest, his fingers going around your throat. There's no pressure behind it, but the mere touch has you arch your back as much as possible, the muscles in your arms straining from being held up.

Finally, Arthur moves with more purpose, grinding deep into you until you're completely ready to take all of him. Then he goes faster and harder, his fingers closing a little more around your throat. Your cock twitches, leaking with precome, and you're not sure how much more you can take before begging for release.

Arthur hits deep into your core, moaning, and grunting as he takes his own pleasure from using your body. Every sound of him hits you like a whip, wanting for you to do even better. You push back hard against the bars with a whine, and Arthur finally has some mercy on you.

He reaches around and grabs your dick tight, stroking you with purpose. Your whole body tenses again, pushing against all the restrictions, and Arthur bites along your neck before his lips come to rest against your ear again, his hot breath washing over you.

"You're gonna be a good boy for me now and come on my cock," he growls, his fingers closing even tighter both around your dick and your throat.

There's nothing you can do to hold back. As soon as Arthur thrusts into you again, you cry out, your orgasm shooting through you as if you've been struck by lightning. While your muscles tense around Arthur's cock, your dick pulses in his hand, your come trickling to the ground.

While you still catch your breath, Arthur pulls out of you, but his hand is still on your throat as he rubs his cock between your cheeks. You squeeze them tight to give him more friction, and with a few satisfied groans, Arthur follows you over the edge, painting your ass with his come.

He takes a moment to rest his head against you before letting go of you and reaching up to undo the handcuffs. You move your arms and rub your wrists to get some blood flow back while Arthur tucks himself away.

"That sure was fun," you say, and Arthur chuckles.

"I hope you don't get bruises from those bars," he says, peaking at your ass.

You can't help but grin. "So worth it."

Arthur shakes his head but smiles. He gets the bottle of whiskey again and a bandana from his desk so you can clean yourself up. When you're all dressed, he hands you the bottle, leaning against the bars.

"Can I trust that you behave yourself now?"

"God, yes," you say, and take a drink. "You wore me out, sheriff. I'm gonna sleep like a baby now."

Arthur laughs as he takes the bottle from you. "Good. See you tomorrow then."

He walks over into the other room, probably lying down, and you settle down on the small cot in your cell. It's anything but comfortable, but you're so tired, you're out like a light in seconds.

--------

"Rise and shine, darling," a deep voice says close to your ear, and you roll over, trying to make out your surroundings.

Arthur is standing in front of you, blocking the morning sun coming in through the window behind him.

"Morning," you mumble, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and sitting up.

"I fear I can't offer you breakfast, but you're free to go," Arthur says before heading out the door and sitting down at his desk.

You take your time getting up and are still stretching your body after following him outside. Arthur's eyes rest on you the whole time, and for the first time in your life, you actually want to stay in jail.

"Are you sure? I did try to rob that fancy place," you say. "Might be tempted to do it again."

A small smile plays around Arthur's lips. "We both know you're not that stupid."

"I might be," you say before walking over to Arthur's desk and leaning against it. Again, you're tempted to crawl into his lap right then and there. "Considering the following punishment."

Arthur studies you for a moment, then he gets up and puts a hand on your back. "Come with me."

You're intrigued, and even when Arthur leads you to the steps to the basement, you go with him without question. Downstairs is another cell, only dimly lit from the light above. When you approach, a man stumbles to the front.

"Are you alright? I heard horrible sounds yesterday," he exclaims, out of breath as if he's been running for miles. "Did he hurt you?"

Arthur can't hold in a chuckle, and when you look at the man in the cell, a weird suspicion arises in your mind.

"Sheriff Callahan?" you ask, and the man's eyes widen.

"Yes, that's me!"

"Come on," Arthur says, patting your back, and you both head back up the stairs, ignoring the sheriff.

"So, I guess you're not the real sheriff," you say, watching Arthur as he leans against his desk. "Care to explain?"

"My gang and I are working a few jobs around here, and since the sheriff was new in town, it seemed a good idea to replace him," Arthur says as if that's the most normal thing to do. "You're free to go, but I have to ask you to move on. We don't want any trouble that could bring some actual law out here."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Arthur shrugs. "You seem like a smart feller. I'm sure you'll know what's best for you to do."

Although Arthur acts all friendly, you know exactly what he's saying. If you dare to make trouble for them, he'll take measures to stop you. Coming from someone who's been holding the sheriff downstairs, you'd have to be pretty stupid not to heed his warning.

The thing is, Arthur's talk about a gang is interesting. You thought for a while that you'd be better off with some backup, and the idea of staying with Arthur is even more tempting.

"Any chance your gang could use another man?" you ask, bringing out your best smile.

Arthur raises a brow at you. "Depends if he's got something good to offer."

"I'm quite handy with a tool, and I can ride."

"I'm interested," Arthur says, his eyes trained at you as intense as yesterday.

You grab him by the collar, push him over to his chair, and finally crawl on top of him. "I could be your deputy, sheriff, and you could teach me a little something about the law. I think I need another lecture on those handcuffs."

Arthur puts a hand on your neck, drawing you in. "Tempting offer," he says before pulling you in for a kiss.

You feel sorry for the things Sheriff Callahan is going to hear now.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut #my writing #nsft #Anonymous

226 notes · View notes

husbandits · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas!

This is my secret santa gift for @unlikelynick, I hope you like it! this year I went with a minific abt charles and arthur’s relationship. it’s a little smuttier than my usual fare in the first half

@rdr-secret-santa

It’s a sweltering day in late July, and the air is so humid that Arthur’s shirt feels glued to his shoulders. He feels practically worn out by midday but does his best to manage with the weather, a shorter than usual list of chores to keep him busy, the promise of a little attention when the sun goes down, and only the barest amount of layers necessary to look presentable. Right now he has a big bag of feed for the horses thrown over his shoulder, and not much but simple manual labor in mind. There’s a twinge of complaint to the bulky weight somewhere in between his shoulder blades, though it’s not yet enough to actually hurt, so he ignores it. Pushes the ache aside for later, when he’s not as busy, and focuses on the heat settling on his cheeks, from the exertion as much as the persistent thought of the reward waiting for him later. On getting this chore done, and then finding the supplies Miss Grimshaw’d asked him for earlier that morning.

He does his best to shake off the carnal haze, hauling the heavy canvas bag across camp without much trouble. Offers Charles a wave of a greeting as he carefully clambers into the loosely gated off pen where the horses are being kept, though he doesn’t realize that, focused on repairing some worn bit of equipment as he is, Charles doesn’t see the gesture, and instead Arthur allows himself an eyeful of the man’s behind, the vague form filling out his grass-stained trousers, doing his mounting ardor no favors. He gives a masked groan, as he lets the feedbag drop to the ground, less discreetly than he’d like.

“Alright there?” Charles jolts at the sound, and glances up, briefly from his worktable, brows knit in worry. The hot sun casts a golden highlight across the line of his jaw, and Arthur takes a moment to just take in the sight.

He catches himself after a moment, and gives the man a shrug. “Yeah, yeah, s’fine. Just a little beat I guess.”

Charles nods at that, responds with a dull “I see”. Arthur lingers a moment, wanting to say something, clarify himself, but ends up with nothing. Just hangs there, lost in the moment. The heat sitting low in his gut, the way Charles’ presence makes the chaos constantly buzzing in his head grow still, and the want that’s been driving him half-mad all day.

Against his better judgement, against (or perhaps because of) the threat of [kissing] in the light of day, Arthur scans the sparse campsite briefly, and then his tenacity comes back in the form of a question, voice low in his chest. “Y’gotta minute t’spare? I, uh, I think this heat’s gettin’ t’me a bit...”

The offer is soft, hushed and almost hidden when he ducks his head, as if embarrassed, but it draws a warm chuckle from Charles all the same. It’s been nearly three months now, and Arthur is still finding himself taken by surprise by how earnestly affectionate Charles is, brazen almost, despite the risk. The man responds by reaching out, moving to ghost one hand around Arthur’s side in a feigned attempt to reach past him, for the leather-working tool hanging behind, palm warm against the thinned fabric of his worn-out work shirt. He gives just a moment of pause, eyeing the other side of the camp as well, before he moves closer. Murmurs, soft lips tantalizingly close to Arthur’s cheek. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes, if you need my help...”

The decommissioned wagon makes for good enough cover, as the pair duck behind it, shielded by the dense canvas, the wooden frame resting on the ground. Arthur gives to the heat building in his gut almost immediately, pushing closer still, following Charles down to the ground as they meet, arching into the hand that comes to rest at the back of his neck, absently. The kiss is soft, tender, and Arthur pulls away quickly, only for Charles to pull him right back. Chuckles again, holding the man’s sharp jaw with one firm, gentle hand. Guides Arthur down, sinking to his knees as Charles bows back, drawing him to follow.

They part again after a long moment, Arthur straddling Charles’ broad lap, large hands shaky with restless energy. In the back of his head, there’s the vague notion that this is getting to be too much, too open, but it's overridden by the languid, hungry way Charles leans into his touch. The rough feeling of the hands brushing against the sensitive buds of his nipples, the weight of the man’s brawny chest under his fingers. His shirt is being slid out of his waistband, buttons gently tugged out of their holes one by one before he can protest, and Arthur just sucks in a soft breath in response, catching Charles' lips once more. Delights himself in mapping the layout of his mouth, sucking the man’s lip between his teeth and toying with it.

Eventually he pulls away again, long enough to allow the both of them to catch their breath, and Arthur manages to find the presence of mind to mumble, “Need yer t-touch here,” before succumbing to the pull of his boyfriend’s allure again. Hums, sliding his hands up Charles’ coarse linen work shirt, while the man’s attention drifts lower, sliding his hands down the frayed waistband of his jeans, and practically squeezing his admittedly thick-set hips.

One of the horses, Old Belle, gives a curious snort as he shudders in response, but Arthur pays the interloper no mind, shooing off the mare with an absent toss of his hand. Feels as much as he hears Charles’ coarse laugh, lips pressed to his collarbone as his collar is pulled away entirely. Turns back to his boyfriend, meeting the man’s amusement with a reverent kiss to his temple. Falls back into his lips before he can give more than a moment of sentimentality.

This time they’re quicker, hungrier. Languor gives way to greed, and Arthur’s hand finds its way up to cup the sharp side of Charles’ jaw. Feels the attention drifting down to his [ass], and hisses against clenched teeth. Despite the cloying heat, the constant threat of being caught, he spreads his legs a little further. Lets Charles fumble with his belt, half-convinced that they’ll stop themselves before it gets too far.

The two of them have only done things proper a few times before, hidden away in one of the dilapidated cabins in the mountains, where no one could hope to stumble onto them, but right now, worked up as he is, all of the sense he’s managed to cling to over the course of his life is lost.

Once his pants are undone, belt hanging open depravedly to allow his throbbing length room, pressing against Charles’ still-constrained member ever so slightly. He sucks in an uneasy breath, shifting his hips to allow the hand toying at his behind better access, though the restrained man doesn’t move beyond squeezing him in loose handfuls. Mercifully, Charles at least seems to keep his head, and doesn’t go any further. Just allows himself a low sigh of want, and gently guides him back down, dick pushed where it can grind at his own rising member, moving one hand to pull open his trousers.

He gives Arthur a second or so of warning before he moves again, smoothing his slightly clammy palm over the head of his member. Arthur shudders in response, biting back a low groan behind clenched teeth, breath catching in his chest. He can feel the heat showing in his chest, the rosy blush Charles has told him, some months back, looks endearing on the tips of his ears; but he can’t do a thing about it. It’s been nearly a fortnight since he’s found the time to take care of himself, and now he’s all but lost to the satisfaction of it. Feels too good to care about modesty.

He knows he looks obscene, leaning back on his ankles, grinding himself forward helplessly against Charles. Feels worlds better, when he feels the man push back in return, chasing the pressure of Arthur’s member on his. Another beat, and Arthur throws out one hand, fingers splayed on the grain of the wood, grounding himself. Bites back another moan, less successfully this time.

Just as he gives in and puts one trembling hand on the pair of them, just as he feels himself start to bottom out, Arthur is hit with a throat being cleared, and the distinct sound of boots hitting one of the head-sized stones lying around the campground, exaggeratedly loud. Feels his heart nearly stop, and his blood freeze. Dares to look up, around the false protective cover of the canvas, after fumbling his pants back together with shaky hands, feeling Charles tug his own pants back together, presence warm at his side. Emerges, to find not only Dutch standing in the shade of the nearby elm tree, looking outright disappointed, arms folded over themselves, but Hosea standing beside him, expression pulled tight.

His thoughts grow still, breath almost coming to a stop. Every near-miss from his adolescence flashes in his head, the hushed reprimands about keeping himself hidden. The time they’d found him, kissing some boy in some town when he’d been somewhere in his early twenties, only to throw a fit and pack everything up in the middle of the night, skipping town. The-

“Arthur.” Dutch’s voice is sharp. Pulls him back to reality with it’s rigidity. “What, exactly, are the two of you getting up to back there?”

He gulps, feeling his hands tremble. Moves out from behind the wagon, unable to drag his eyes from the dirt floor, throat clenching up.

Before he can get more than a choked syllable out, Charles is responding. Has pulled his pants back together as if nothing had been happening, shirt falling back down into place, moving to his side with a light touch. “I don’t think that is any of your business, really.”

A pause at that, Dutch’s expression going from dismayed to incredulous. “It’s none of my business, what sort of, of perversion goes on in my camp?”

He seethes, growing in volume and indignation, but Charles doesn’t seem fazed. brick-walls the man with his usual nonchalance, as if there’s nothing really of interest to him at all. “I don’t really see the fuss, honestly. You don’t get this upset whenever you catch John and Abigail, do you?”

Arthur jolts at that, and Dutch seems to bristle. Fumes, voice turning to a cracked pitch. “You don’t see the, the fuss with what, I assume, the two of you were getting up to? With defying the very word of god, in my, in this camp?”

He flinches at that. Charles moves a little closer, one hand moving to Arthur’s. Though the memory of that incident, the threat of being tossed out, though a little irrational at this point, is still sharp in his mind, Arthur finds himself calming, though his throat still feels like it’s full of sand.

“Not really.” Charles eventually counters, voice dull. “I mean, it’s not like we follow the ‘word of god’ much anyway.” He deadpans, seemingly unaffected by the fury that seems to radiate off of Dutch at that. “I’d always thought the bible condemned theft. Not to mention murder, but we don’t seem to have much of a problem about all that.”

Dutch gives a guff, wrinking his nose in disbelief. “No, I suppose we don’t, but this is-”

“This,” Charles interrupts, low voice growing just the slightest bit sharp, just a hint of intimidation to Dutch’s heaping browbeating. “Despite what it looks like, isn’t some quick fling. What we’re, what we’re building is a real relationship. It’s earnest, and it’s certainly not dangerous, not from anything but the law, which’ll hang any of us either way, and you.” Charles’ voice is a tense growl, and “And, for all your talk about ‘family’, I can’t imagine you’d really turn on Arthur, not for something as harmless as this.”

Arthur feels his jaw loosen at the words, at putting their relationship out in the open, and laying everything out so plainly. He opens his mouth to speak, but still, still can’t manage a sound, and reaches out again to catch Charles’ hand again, give it a squeeze. “And I don’t know what exactly you think constitutes a healthy relationship, but I know I, for one, am willing to put in the time and the effort to make this work; and we’re not hollering at each other and dragging other people into our problems, so I don’t see why it should be so upsetting for you.”

When Arthur looks up, Dutch’s face is bright red, and his shoulders are slack. He gapes, but before he can splutter more than a syllable or two, Hosea pipes up, drifting back into focus. Is thoughtful and calm in contrast to Dutch’s indignation, and has an almost remorseful expression. Puts a steadying hand on Dutch’s shoulder, as if to pacify him.

“Well, I… I can’t say thought it would be quite this, ah, explosive, but it’s good to see the two of you finally stop dancing around all this,” He muses, brushing past Dutch to clap a warm hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Although in any case I’d think the both of you might like to be a little less exposed than out here with the horses. Maybe save the, er, houghmagandy for somewhere private?”

Charles grunts at that. Gives a long, cautious look, and then seems to ease up. Softens his posture, the aggression he’d shown smoothing over like it hadn’t happened in the first place. Turns to Arthur, pulling his hand away with a last squeeze. “Alright then. I’ll see you later?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, pressing a quick kiss to Arthur’s cheek before he pulls away. Strides off, heading back to the horses, after shooting Dutch another quick look.

“Uhh,” Arthur finally, finally manages to find his voice. The wall of unease feels lessened, now that everything’s been tossed out in the open. Now that Hosea, at least, has acknowledged them, and seems to have given his blessing, even. “Yeah, alright.” He tugs at the open edges of his shirt, eyeing Dutch’s receding form for a scant moment. Jerks into motion, one hand coming to rub at the back of his head. “I gotta move some a’the supplies fer Miss Grimshaw, now that I think about it...”

He gets a grunt at that, but Dutch doesn’t speak again. Just huffs, heading off without comment. He doesn’t get more than a moment to ponder that however, Hosea throwing an arm around his shoulder and leading him in the other direction. “Oh, you got talked into doing all that? Here, I think I know where the supplies she was looking for are, let me give you a hand, son...."

#rdr2 #rdr secret santa 2020 #arthur morgan #charles smith #charthur #some smut #i say minific but it ended up being like 2.5k :p

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