#dry lips gang rise

[rivetingrosie4]

What a Life (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 2)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for 2 of the edits above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: General | tumblr masterlist | Ao3 | Part 1

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Just a scene in which Arthur and reader enjoy secluded family life with their very young son. Arthur is a cute and loving dad and is adored by reader.

Tags: fluff without plot, family fluff, romantic fluff, domestic setting, parenthood

Word count: 2,660

In the cool shadow of the cabin, thrown long by the late morning sun, you sit with your little son, watching him play in the sandbox. The mourning dove’s rounded, plaintive hoots are parried by the sharp, tinkling warbles of goldfinches in the nearby pine branches, and the fragrances of crisp mist and thick sod linger in the mountain air.

You watch the faint glimmer of day paint the crests of Gabriel’s cupid’s bow with light, his plump lips resting between his two rotund cheeks as he concentrates on the toys before him. The wispy feathers of his splayed lashes bow and rise with each blink. His beautiful, shimmering eyes inspect each toy, each color, each shape. Out of all the blocks, large puzzle pieces, rings, balls, and animal toys half-buried in the sand, he has landed on one. You watch the bulbous pads and segments of each tiny, clumsy finger curl to a strong, stable grasp around the edge of the object of his aim—a large block with an Appaloosa sketched and painted lovingly on the side.

“Just like your daddy,” you whisper to yourself.

Dipping your fingers into the sand and feeling its chill envelop your skin, you look up with a smile to gaze in the direction of the stables. In the distance, you catch sight of Arthur hauling a huge saddle and its accompanying tack, a moment before he disappears through the door and into the shaded interior.

You recall the quiet rustling of his rising this morning when he’d been up before the sun, as he often is. And the way he’d kept from waking the baby in his room, intentionally leaving you to reap the reward of your son’s customary gleeful smile, his bounce in his crib, and his lifting of his arms for you.

You turn back to your eleven-month-old with a burgeoning smirk. “Wanna come help Mama make some sourdough?”

“Yeah,” he immediately chirps, recognizing nothing but the lilt of a question in your voice. But he doesn’t look up at you, still captured by the blocks and puzzle pieces.

You stand and take a few steps away to prompt him. “Well let’s go!” you call.

He braces himself on the sand with his palms, a moment later lifting his tush into the air. When he straightens, his brows knot, and his lips dangle from between his cheeks as he gazes down confoundedly at the discomfort of sand stuck to his flesh.

You snort a laugh as you cover the sandbox behind him. “Just go like this, Gabe Baby.”

You show him your flattened hands and slowly brush them together.

His brows don’t budge as he looks back and forth from your hands to his own, unable to fully brush them.

“Like this,” you whisper, gently taking his wrists and swiftly brushing his palms back and forth over each other.

When the sand is removed, he toddles to follow you up towards the cabin, and you carry him when you reach the oak staircase to the back door.

As you turn onto the wraparound porch, you notice Arthur now hefting a huge bale of hay by its cords into the stable, his black leather hat shading most of his face in the distance. But you like to imagine he wears a subconscious smile, now enjoying a life of simplicity, filled with nature and horses and art and family and love, tucked away from the gnarled heartache that gang life had left in its wake.

“Sandy baby,” you mumble when you arrive inside and close the back door behind you.

You promptly remove both your shoes and strip Gabriel to his diaper, tossing his sandy clothes into the hamper.

“Are you dry?” you ask vainly as he starts to toddle away. “Wait, are you dry?” You deftly hook a finger down his back and into his diaper before he can fully get away.

Peering into his diaper, you find no present. You carefully squeeze his bottom to discover no liquid deposit.

When you release him, he immediately darts down the hall. You follow and walk into the kitchen, beckoning him to join you. When he does and you bend to pick him up, he whines to be allowed to remain standing on his own.

“Well how’re you gonna see from down there?” you lightly ask.

When he shakes his head, you half-frown. It was just a couple weeks ago that eleven-month-old Gabriel began walking. Since then, he’s always wriggling out of your arms and dashing across rooms, seemingly already excited to be as independent as he can be.

At first, it stung. With the love and special intimacy of mother and son—and with even the chemistry and well-being of your bodies both dependent on the other—the two of you had been closer than peas in a pod, glued at the hip for so long. It’s always been and still is a precious bond to you, though its daily aspects continue to gradually change. And it was hard to so suddenly feel a little unneeded. But Arthur has helped you find a comfort in the balance of realizing that your feelings are only natural, and that you’ve been raising a wonderful and healthy little boy, with this change as just another bit of proof.

As well as the fact that Gabriel still likes to cherry-pick when he’s carried and when he walks on his own. You suspect that like any human, his adamant desire for independence doesn’t do one thing to hinder his deep enjoyment and fierce need of being held.

So you turn and begin pulling ingredients and dishes from the cupboard, at last going to the fridge to retrieve your sourdough starter. You begin mixing ingredients in your big bowl atop the counter, when you hear a whimper and feel a few hard tugs at your palazzos. And you smirk.

You glance down to find him with arms outstretched and upheld for you, bouncing on his tiptoes with longing. You stoop and lift him to you, hugging him to your hip and pressing a few kisses soundly to his smooth cheek.

Describing each action aloud to him, you finish mixing, dust the countertop with copious amounts of flour, and turn the bowl with your free hand to dump the dough.

“Now we knead,” you almost sing, in hushed tones.

Perched on your hip, his plump little arm drapes with familiarity and utmost contentedness over the back of your shoulder. He watches your every gesture with a mixture of restful curiosity and heightened interest.

You push the dough away and pull it towards you again and again, tucking the edges underneath as you do, to form a smooth, rounded surface on top.

“You wanna feel it? You wanna knead?” you ask.

Leaning forward, you let him reach and press his tiny hand into the supple surface of the cool dough.

“Gentle,” you say, showing him the way you keep your fingers outstretched and softly brush and pat the surface of the dough with the pads of your fingertips. “No squeezing.”

The two of you watch his little fingers delve into the pliant mass of dough, leaving a mark of small craters. When they begin to slowly bounce back, you watch his face instead of the dough.

He releases a single cooed sigh of delight as he looks at you with a bright smile, which you heartily return.

How you love, you love, you love him.

You sprinkle the dough with flour and rest it in a basket for its turn to prove. After fetching a dough you’d left proving hours before, you carefully score it with one long slice for expansion, and several small strokes for a quaint wheat kernel design on the other side.

“Mama.” Gabriel pats your sternum and rests a couple fingers past his lips.

“You hungry?” you ask.

When he nods, you brush a hand down the slope of the back of his head and kiss his temple. You add as you set him to his feet, “Let me get this in the oven, then I’ll feed you.”

After setting the parchment-papered sourdough in its cast iron dutch oven and pouring a bain marie past the paper, you place the whole thing in the oven and set a timer. You glance at the oven window with a small smile, eager to see the crispy crust on your extra-sour boule. Since you first noticed its resemblance to Gabriel’s tummy, you’ve made a tradition of kissing the top of the boule, then indelicately turning Gabriel sideways in your arms and blowing a raspberry on his bare belly, making him cackle hysterically. These days, he’s even begun giggling when you turn him in your arms and before you ever kiss his belly, already tickled by the anticipation alone.

With Gabriel in tow, you walk to the couch in the living room. Gabriel rests both arms over the seat cushion and tries to lift one leg up over the edge, but you reach your hands under his arms and pull him into your lap.

Just before you unhook your bra from its strap to nurse, the two of you hear the back door open.

Gabriel’s eyes widen, and a grin begins to pull on the corners of his mouth. “Da,” he says.

He wiggles down off the couch, and as he toddles down the hall, you listen to his bare little feet patting quietly along the hardwood floor. You smile to yourself at the precious sound, so deeply dear to you.

As you hear Arthur’s rustling, jingling presence in the doorway and the naturally firm, heavy footfalls of his work boots, you imagine him resting his black hat on the wall as his small son comes around the corner in only his diaper, bared rounded belly and all.

When you hear the playful growl and the resultant squeal and cackle, your grin splits wider.

“You’re in your nethers, baby boah!”

You can detect the pinch of a smile in Arthur’s voice and the breath of laughter with the last couple words.

More little pads of bare feet as Gabriel comes running back around the corner and down the hall. He hesitates as he toddles, turning back to ensure Arthur’s tailing, eager to play this game with his father.

Still, when Arthur leans around the corner and pulls an exaggeratedly silly face with an outright grunt, Gabriel’s little body gives a tiny jump. His squeal and adorable laughter ring out into the air. He clumsily darts into the kitchen.

When his father follows with a few long strides and the sturdy clops of his boots, he brings with him the musty scents of alfalfa hay and tanned rawhide, of trail dust and undiluted sunshine. And the two subsequently begin an elaborate game of peek-a-boo, back and forth around the island. You can’t help but laugh along at the purest sound of undiluted joy—the beauty and innocence of your own child so easily tickled and contented by life and love—as you turn on the couch and watch the pair. No matter how many times Arthur jumps out to stop him with a silly face and a low hoot or growl, Gabriel instantly screams and squeals, his body utterly racked with tightly coiled cackles.

Arthur wheezes and snickers every time.

“Oh my God, listen to him!” you laugh.

It’s always another several seconds before Gabriel totally recovers and manages to catch his breath, his laughter smoothing with each heave of air.

With the next turn of their game, Arthur lingers behind the island when Gabriel rounds it, not jumping out even when his son takes reticent steps forward, looking for him. Arthur continues to linger, even quietly backing up to hide himself, watching his son for the right moment to strike.

Finally Arthur leaps out, and Gabriel jumps with the highest squeal and loudest cackles you’ve heard yet.

You and Arthur both burst with your own laughter at his reaction.

When your son’s breathing finally evens, you call, “Gabriel, I thought you were hungry?”

“Oh, were you about to eat, son?” Arthur asks in his deep timbre. “You hungry?”

Gabriel nods and pats a hand to his belly above the rim of his diaper.

“Well, better go see Mama,” Arthur quietly grunts as he picks his son up by the underarms and sets him on his hip out of habit. Arthur lifts him over the couch back and sets him down into your lap, then remains behind the couch himself, watching over your shoulder.

After cushioning your back and adjusting him in your arms, you reach beneath your tee, unhook the front of your bra, and gently bring Gabriel to your breast to nurse. He latches on immediately, very well accustomed to your routine. A certain profound peace washes over you as you watch him. His lips flange around you as he suckles; his quiet breaths through his nose briefly pause each time he swallows; and his plump little arm rests wistfully over your chest.

Many people may look away, abashed and discomfited, unable to fit something at once both so innocent and intimate into their world. But it’s always made perfect sense to you. And maybe motherhood was a dream too quaint, one not rebellious or modern enough, seemingly not daring or adventurous enough. But it was your dream.

When Gabriel spots Arthur’s face over your shoulder, he pulls away from your breast with a growingly wry grin, clearly expecting to continue the game from moments ago. Droplets of your milk spill between you and his mouth as he voices a syllable and lifts his arm, attempting to goad Arthur into another silly face.

Arthur silently complies with cross-eyes and a sideways tongue.

Gabriel promptly giggles, and the two of you smile and chuckle at the sound.

“Don’t while he’s nursing, he’ll choke,” you lightly say.

After softly cooing and corralling Gabriel back to his feeding, you continue watching him with a contented smile. You brush your hand down over the back of his head, into the growing downy hair that curls funnily at the base of his neck. As he closes his eyes, you brush the backs of your curled fingers down over his temple, and gently trail your fingertips across the velvet flower-petal skin of his plump baby cheek.

You hear the long, relaxed sound of Arthur’s husky breath over your shoulder, a sound you know very well, especially these days.

“What a life, huh?” he quietly says.

He means to facetiously point out Gabriel’s current lot—nursing at his mother’s breast with his father at the ready to make him smile and laugh. That is, a life full of love and joy, well taken care of, and absent of a care in the world. Just as he should be for now.

It doesn’t take you a few moments, and you’re turning to look into Arthur’s cerulean-sage eyes. A knowingness resides in your gaze. Because you yourself, as well as your husband, have been given all you’d so deeply and totally longed for—and longed, a word too weak—more than you could’ve ever imagined you’d actually live to get.

“Yeah,” you quietly, pensively respond. “What a life.”

The love of your life holds your gaze, and understands.

Your love and gratefulness are immeasurable and uncontainable, filling you and stretching past the bounds of your body and being, like fragmented granules of glittering dust floating from a burst star.

Strangely enough, even with all the joy and contentment and peace, the words and the shared gaze are not without a mingling of loss and ache.

They are not gone entirely. But you both have someone now, to join you in weathering them.

You are not alone.

Arthur leans to you, and you share a few kisses, soft as breath. You turn and close your eyes a moment as he rests his forehead to your temple. And you both gaze down at your son with contented smiles.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead 2 #morgan & family #morgan & family fluff dump #what a life #fluff dump #fan fic #fanfic #dad arthur morgan #father arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x fem!reader #rdr2 fluff #arthur morgan fluff #family fluff #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan family fluff #rdr2 community #arthur morgan fic #fluff fic #wholesome #rivetingrosie4 #rivetingrosie

[maehemthemisfit]

❝ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ…?❞

MIKEY'S arms were warm around your waist, rubbing smooth strokes into the tense skin. Your mind wanted to flee his touch, but your body refused to slip away from his grasp as his eyes scanned you head to toe, checking you for any physical injuries.

Mikey could be childish most times, but by any means he wasn't an idiot. As soon as he saw a glimpse of a frown tugging your lips, he was on you in an instant, scrutinizing the drop in your shoulders and distant eyes.

"Look at me," He murmured, his low voice tickling your ear as his breath fanned over your neck causing you to shiver. "please..."

He held you tightly against his chest, something that should have brought you comfort but the hurricane of hypotheticals made it hard for you to feel safe in his arms. His plea went on deaf ears as you continued looking anywhere but him, your eyes finding the floor more interesting than anything else.

Nimble fingers traveled up your arm, curving around your shoulder and cupping your chin, gently lifting your face so your fleeting eyes would finally meet his, hands holding you like an expensive jewl that could crack at any given moment.

"What's got my angel so upset?" His obsidian eyes were soft along with his voice, a complete contrast of himself when he was in gang wars, ruthlessly kicking whoever tempted him. You had him and all of his attention. He was yours and you were his, burdens and all, so of course he wanted to know what was picking away at your brain, stealing the smile he craved to see every day.

"What if..." your mouth felt unbelievably dry as tears prickled your eyes, threatening to fall without remorse. All of your concerns bubbled in your chest, rising up and collecting into a lump in your throat, yet you forced out a choked response. "wha-what if you don't come back?"

Mikey's brows furrowed as he replayed the question in his head, wondering where all this was coming from. Before he could ask further, you beat him to it, shaking your head as you looked down at his chest, gazing at the healing bruises you patched up recently. You traced one of them, slipping out a sharp intake of air from the man you loved.

"What if you don't win? What if... what if today is the last time I see you? What if now is the last 'I love you'?" A bitter taste of death clung to your tongue, and you couldn't help but hold a somber look, tired eyes climbing to see Mikey's absent expression, likely in his thoughts as knots tied in his chest and his heart swelled from hearing your broken voice. "I don't wanna come home to an empty bed. I don't wanna live knowing you could be out there bleeding to death in some... some-"

"Nothing," he whispered, pausing to place a long-lasting kiss to your forehead, his thumb wiping away one of the tears that rolled down your cheek. "will ever take me away from you," His hand reached down to grab yours, hooking your pinkies together, something you always did as a kid when he was serious about something.

"I'll always come back." He kissed your hand, pulling it to hold onto his shoulder and closing the space between the two of you. "To hear your laugh." Your fingers brushed his hair, lips curving up ever so slightly as he kissed your tears away from your other cheek. "To see your smile."

Leaning his head to touch yours, his eyes held you captive, the panic and fear that once stewed in your stomach vanished the longer he held you. It was enough to ease your hurried heart, putting faith in his capabilities to protect himself and the people around him to do the same.

He would never leave you. Not without saying goodbye.

And with one final effort to convey his message, his lips slowly pressed against yours, a novel of thoughts and vows of assurance poured into it, mixed with the love he harbored for you, hands cupping his face afraid he'll disappear if you let him go. The tightening grip around your waist told you otherwise, words unsaid but your deciphered the physical meaning.

I'll be here.

The taste of his lips flooding the bitterness that once plagued yours. He pulled away, devoted eyes and an irenic smile coating his lips along with the essence of yours. He was here. He'll always be here.

"I promise."

#mikey #mikey fluff #mikey x reader #manjiro sano #manjiro x reader #mikey imagines #manjiro sano x reader #mikey sano #mikey tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo rev fluff #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro x y/n #mikey x you

[star2fishmeg]

I HAVE ARRIVED BWAHAHAHA I request a fic with Shibaman, please~ Picture it - the reader is walking down the street in the rain, trying to find the Sannoh diner where her childhood friend is waiting but she gets lost and ends up at Oya. She's a decent fighter, but she is quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of Oya students. And who comes to her rescue? Why, Shibaman and Tsuji, of course! Not that she would ever admit needing to be rescued!

The second time she gets lost and ends up at Oya, it wasn't an accident. She just wanted to see Shibaman again! <3 You can change whatever you like, just wanted to give you something to get your mind going. Thank you for opening requests, ily <3

ʀᴀɪɴ

Pairing: Shibaman x afab!reader

Summary: did y/n really get lost? Or did she just want to see him again in hope everything went according to plan? Not that Shibaman complained, he benefitted greatly from the situation

Warnings: fluff, swearing, suggestive (making out but that’s it), Shibaman has reddish hair (from worst x cross) and Tsuji has rainbow hair (from the worst), half-naked Shibaman

Authors note: this one’s for grandma, and a reward for dealing w me n kel *mic drop*

Request: above!

Y/n hugged herself tighter as she stepped into yet another large puddle that was deeper than expected, not that her socks were dry in the first place. Hair stuck to her face and her clothes soaked through, the rain hammered onto the concrete and clashed against the metal bins on the street. She didn’t even recognise the street she was in anymore let alone trying to find the diner in Sannoh she was supposed to meet her friend at an hour ago, but with the heavens opening so suddenly it was difficult to concentrate on which train stop was hers. And she was left fighting the weather alone, trekking through the dingy streets and deep grey skies with her only form of protection being a hoodie. Upon seeing the various buildings either closed or boarded up, she swore under her breath and concluded that she wasn’t in Sannoh anymore.

Thirty painful minutes trudged by, and the infamous high schools thrashed up gates appeared through the rain, and y/n wasn’t entirely sure if she was relieved or disappointed at where she was. Oya wasn’t known for its amazing hospitality (if they had any at all), but if it meant sheltering from the rain until it died down then so be it.

She jogged through the gates and remained under an overhang out the front, not daring to go inside the building at all, she was only there for shelter anyway. Various yells and crashing came from further inside and that was a solid sign to stay out or be bombarded with questions she did not feel like answering when cold and soaked. Her eyes fixated on the rain, specifically how the ripples in the puddles distorted her face.

“The fuck’re you doing here?” A rather gruff voice called out from behind her, followed by a crowd of men circling her. Now, Oya did not usually try to intimidate women, but recently the had a rising trend in spies from other gangs wanting inside information, so they had every right to be suspicious.

“Literally just sheltering until the rain dies down, then I’m off.” Y/n sniffed, wiping water dripping down her nose. A few of the men gave each other side-eyes before their supposed leader towered over her. She stayed nonchalant, glaring the dude in the eye, considering the bruise on his cheek and the fact his hands were in his pockets; clear kick to the groin and right hook if need be.

“Well, you’re quite pretty. We’ve had a lot of issues with spies around here, convince us you should stay.” His eyes raked her figure up and down, lips tugging into a smirk and puffing his chest out. Y/n stood still, adjusting her feet into a stable position, and clenching her right fist quietly. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d ended up in this type of situation, cocky men thinking that just because she’s a woman means she’s a damsel in distress. Although, she’d preferred to be fighting in a better mood and on dry concrete and when her hands were not numb.

“Yeah yeah, scram vermin, she’s cool.” His deep voice rumbled through the hallway, black varsity jacket with patches of American NFL peeking through the gloom until fully on show. Shibaman and Tsuji casually strolled towards the crowd, making their boots hit the concrete just that bit harder to break up the boys. The group groaned and scattered like flies, y/n’s shoulders relaxing and a sigh of relief heaving from her lungs.

“Every time I see you two your hair changes.” She chuckled, watching the boys lean against the wall.

“Guess it’s fate that we keep bumping into each other, huh?” Shibaman jested, his features softening, a rare sight to see but if you were lucky enough, he’d lower his walls. Tsuji scoffed and rolled his eyes; he knew she was referencing his braids phases and the fact she favoured his rainbow hair.

“What are you doing here, though? You in trouble?” Tsuji asked, adjusting his sunglasses on his head.

Y/n shook her head, taking a quick glance at the weather behind her, “Only with the rain, but it seems to have died down, so I’ll probably start heading home,” she turned back, pulling her hoodie sleeves over her hands, “Got lost and ended up here.” The duo guffawed, shaking their heads. Tsuji turned to leave, waiting for Shiba, who shimmied his jacket off his shoulders.

“I can see you shivering.” he placed it over her, watching her arms slide through and letting the oversized piece of clothing hang off her figure, eyes hopping to her lips while she looked back at him with doe eyes, finding her vision skating to notice his chapped lips. The thirty seconds in close proximity had them frozen in a time where it was just them two together, and nothing else mattered but their heartbeats in sync. Tsuji cleared his throat, dragging the two back to reality and ultimately ruining another moment. In the years they’d known each other, Tsuji had to painfully watch their awkward pining and if neither were making a move, he found amusement in ruining it until they did. Y/n just smiled softly at Shiba; eyes skittish as if she didn’t really know where to look aside from his eyes…lips…the vein in his neck…the structure of his cheeks. His course hands almost instantly warmed her cold cheeks when he cupped them gently, the same chapped lips she gushed over placing a lingering kiss to her forehead. Stomach flipping and butterflies once again whirling in her stomach, her face felt hot, and when he pulled away with a smile, she could barely mutter a sentence as he turned and walked back into the school building.

--

The second time y/n found herself walking to Oya was relatively late at night, she was prepared with an umbrella, donning Shibaman’s jacket from earlier that week. She had meant to return it earlier but with work and school getting in the way, she couldn’t find the time or energy. But Friday opened an opportunity, and she made the journey, in the rain but more prepared. She was not lost this time, and neither was she cold and so the smile that spread across her cheeks felt more pleasant than before, plus, she was seeing Shibaman again, her kryptonite.

Shaking her umbrella in the entrance way, her shoes squeaked as she attempted to navigate her way to the announcement room where Shiba and Tsuji had mention before (although their description was below helpful). The building was strangely quiet, no chairs being launched, no rowdy laughter, no…men around. Worry crept to her head, unsure if she had taken the right turn until she saw Shibaman’s head through the cracked window of the announcement room. A smile graced her lips, a bounce in her step as poked her head through the doorway. Expecting to see the duo, a burst of giddiness shot through her upon seeing just Shiba slouched back on a scratched-up chair, head thrown back, manspreading and skin doused in bruises and dirt, the occasional cut here and there but nothing that looked serious. She bit her lip, the way that neck vein bulging and his adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped, his lap practically inviting her in for a seat.

“Just you tonight?” she jested, perching on the end of a table. Shibaman sighed deeply, leaning forward.

“Looks like it. Tsuji went home and the rest of the boys left too. Just got back from a fight…if that wasn’t obvious.” He chuckled at the last part, eyes meeting hers. His heart skipped a couple beats seeing her in his jacket again, the memory of earlier that week where he almost kissed her before she left replaying over and over. He wanted to kiss her, and if Tsuji hadn’t been there, he would’ve. He’d been wanting to kiss her years back.

“M'kinda glad they’re not here. Been wanting to catch you alone for a while,” Shiba rained his eyebrows, eye contact becoming intoxicating, “Maybe not this late but, I’m happy I found you still here.”

He broke into a rare smile, shaking his head lightly before standing up and stepping closer to her. She stood up straight, his figure towering over her, almost chest to chest.

“Was waiting for you,” his voice low and raspy, barely above a mumble, “It’s late, let’s go home.”

--

Home. Home home home. His home was now her home and vice versa. The apartment wasn’t as bad as the one he grew up in, it was a lot nicer, and his family had worked hard to get it. She remembered the day he told her about it, she’d never seen him so happy to have a room he could sleep in and not listen to violence echoing outside. He stopped letting y/n back into Hope Hill after a while, and she happily hosted him when things got bad. But now he and his family were happy and safe.

Leaving their shoes and umbrella at the entrance way, they B-lined for his room in almost silence to avoid waking up his sister, who’s room was opposite, a bathroom in-between. Discarding his jacket, y/n threw herself onto his bed, and could quite happily just pass out then and there while Shibaman slipped into his bathroom. With a sigh, y/n rummaged through his drawers for one of his older t-shirts.

Meanwhile Shiba let the hot water rinse the dirt out his hair and skin, facing the showerhead with closed eyes and a thundering chest. It wasn’t the first time y/n stayed over, but as they got older sleepovers felt different and made his stomach flip whenever she laid next to him. Her scent lingered on his sheets every time and he’d never admit that he’d spent those few days with his face stuffed into his sheets, inhaling the remnants, and letting his mind enter filthy places. Eventually calming himself down, he turned the water off, drying himself and his hair as best as possible and pulling clean boxers over his body. With the brief moment he caught his own eye in the mirror, he knew he looked hot.

He thought he’d shaken his sinful thoughts off until he re-entered his almost dark room to find y/n, sitting on his bed, in his t-shirt and her panties. Closing the door gently behind him, he watched her eyes rake his torso, her mouth becoming dry, and a leering expression plastered on her face. Eyes locked onto each other’s devouring gaze, he slid under the sheets next to her, licking his lips and laying down. They faced each other with soft smiles.

“Did you really get lost the other day, or did you just want to see me?” his throaty voice felt as if it was vibrating through her ears.

“Was it obvious how infatuated I am? It feels empty without you.” Her giggles were music to his ears, if he could have a mixtape of her voice, he’d never stop listening to it. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t get the right words out, his stomach fluttered again, and nausea flushed through him.

“Fuck it-“ Hovering over her figure, he connected their lips slowly, a languid kiss where he trapped her onto the mattress and her hands held onto his biceps gently, kissing back. And they would’ve stayed like that if they didn’t have to breathe but giving each other a yearning gaze of long-awaited confessions, they dove back in, deeply breathing through their noses. Y/n’s fingers slid to his nape, tangling in his blush-red hair while tongue met each other halfway, lapping and attempting to suppress moans. Vulgar sounds of wet lips and saliva bouncing off the walls as hands roamed the curves of bodies until they had to pull away, gazes boring.

Lips tugging into smiles and low giggles, Shiba’s arm wrapped around her waist as he rolled onto his back, pulling her into his broad chest and placing a peck on her forehead. Tsuji would be so proud and relieved that years of unresolved feelings were finally resolved but his next challenge would be third wheeling. Not that Shiba or y/n cared, it was payback for being a cock block.

H&L harem (if you wanna be tagged/removed in future H&L content, comment or lemme know via ‘chat to me bbygorl’ :D);

@straysugzhpe @airbendertendou @strxwberrychocolate @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @rinwhore @simpforchuchu @thatpoindexterpixy @rainisawriter @cheshirecatuniverse

[Masterlist]

[Requests OPEN]

2023 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise, translate, repost, copy any of my works. If you notice that any of these have been done to my work, please let me know.

#shibaman x reader #high&low shibaman #high&low shibaman x reader #high&low #high&low x reader #high&low the worst #high and low #highandlow #high & low #oya high #high&low the worst x reader #high&low the worst cross x reader #high&low the worst x cross

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

Outlaw! Dabi tries so hard at first to follow Tomura’s orders to keep away from fellow gang members, trying so hard to keep his thoughts of you at bay, hidden in his mind.

He hates being around you because of it, hates that the smell of your hair makes his cock twitch and that you’re always so fuckin’ touchy when you’re coming down from the adrenaline of a good heist.

He doesn’t try so hard because he thinks he owes it to anyone, but because everyone says he can’t. He’s tired of the jokes that Compression and Hawks toss his way, the knowing looks they give him when you leave a room, the fucking comments they make about you, trying to get a rise out of him.

He’s especially sick of Tomura watching him like a fucking hawk when he’s with you, pulling him aside before a mission and warning him against getting distracted.

So when he takes a bullet to the shoulder while running from the law with you, forced to hideout in abandoned cabin alone, he can’t help but curse his luck.

Cold eyes land on you whenever you move to try and help, sharp words rolling off his tongue when you won’t stay away.

He hates that you won’t leave him be, but above all, he hates that he can’t have you.

That’s what he tells himself when you finally get tired of watching him sloppily stitch up the wound, settling heavily in his lap as you snatch the needle from him.

He can’t help but take advantage of the position, hips shifting beneath you as his palms warm your waist. Everytime he sucks in a sharp breath in pain, your eyes glide to his face, and he’s all too aware of the glint in your eye as you slowly pull the needle through his skin.

After a moment, he forces himself to close his eyes, head falling back as he tries to will away the hard-on he knows you can feel, aware of your eyes on him as he swallows thickly.

He doesn’t expect the splash of whiskey against his wound, doesn’t expect the sudden burn. He jerks forward, dragging you up further onto his lap until your noses are brushing up against one another, his chest heaving beneath you.

For a moment, neither one of you makes a move, and then you slip further down his lap, seat yourself perfectly against his erection and a groan wrenches free from his throat.

His head tilts back again when your lips ghost over his jaw, head shaking slightly even as his hand comes to rest on the back of your head, keeping you close.

“Can’t. Can’t do it, darling,” he keeps repeating hoarsely, as if repeating it would strengthen his will, even as your pretty lips travel lower.

He feels his restraint waning quickly, eyes hooded as he watches you kiss along his chest, not minding the blood drying on his skin.

That glint in your eyes is back, and he watches with bated breath as your mouth hovers over his fresh wound.

Your breath is warm, a sharp contrast to the whiskey still dripping down his skin. Even warmer though, is your tongue as it flattens just below the stitch and then slides up, gathering alcohol and drops of his blood alike before it retreats back into your mouth.

The way you lick your bottom lip as you glide back up to his face is the final push he needs, and when your palms cradle his cheeks, he finds himself letting you.

He never stood a chance in hell, he realizes, seconds before your mouth is slotting against his.

#mha #t writes #cowboy anon writes #thecowboyanon writes #dabi #outlaw!dabi #outlaw! dabi #dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi fic #outlaw au #Wild West au

[calx-bdo]

KAZUJA??? AND SPIDERMAN??? 2HAT IF

I AM NOT A TRAINED MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. ALL METHODS FOR TREATMENT ARE PURELY FICTIONAL, AFTER BRIEF RESEARCH. DO NOT FOLLOW FOR TREATED WOUNDS IRL. SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP FOR TREATING OPEN WOUNDS AND GASHES.

Something knocks on your window. It was late at night, past 12 am, perhaps even 1 am. What on earth could be outside your window at such an unholy hour?

Slowly, you grasped the wooden bat underneath your bed (in case, can't tell what could happen in New York), and slowly opened the curtain, hand tightly wrapped around the window handle. Slowly, you pushed the window open, the wooden bat ready to be aimed at the intruder's face.

You swung your bat- Hey, where'd it go? And what's this sticky web on your hand?! You gazed in fright at your intruder, expecting some punk with a black ski mask or something, with those dragon tattoos and all that. You know, typical Underground Gang stuff.

"Kazuha? What..what are you doing here? OH MY GOD ARE YOU BLEEDING?" You quickly gasped in horror as a wave of panic swept over you. Kazuha had a huge gash running down his chest, though not deep, but still enough to make you lose your absolute mind. "Get in, I'll bandage you up!" Thank god you were a trained medical professional. You haven't even realised the Spider-Man mask half pulled up, letting some of his front hair out.

Kazuha plopped down on your bed, letting out a wince.

"Sorry, this might hurt a bit."

You slowly cleaned the wound with clean water from your tap, truly hoping that the government-assured "drinking quality tap water" wasn't a fraud. Then, gently, using a clean, dry towel, you pressed it to the gash, absorbing the moisture from the wound.

Next, you tightly wrapped the bandage around his gash, trying your best to not stare at his muscles and abs, but god. It was so..stunning? It's almost feminine in a way, with a tiny waist and broad shoulders. His collarbone is so defined, and his skin with cuts here and there, healed scars, oh my goodness, he was beautiful.

"Haha, are you trying to bandage me up or trying to get a good look at me?" Kazuha's soft voice teased. You could feel the heat rise to your face, eyes trying to look everywhere but his softly smirking face, his eyes gazing at you with a smidge of mischief in them.

You quickly finished bandaging him out of embarrassment and plopped down next to him. "L-let's talk about the bigger problem. You're Spider-Man?"

Now it was Kazuha's turn to blush. He looked down, face tinted a light pink, laughing nervously.

"Yeah..And the reason why I came to you was because I didn't really...have anyone else to go to? Sure, Aunt Beidou and Aunty Ningguang are trustworthy, but I'm not really keen on letting them in on my vigilante double-life. You know how Aunt Beidou is when she's tipsy. I guess I only ever really trusted you, Y/N. With this secret. With my other life."

A beat of silence turns into two. A small smile crept up on your lips, realisation dawning on you that Kazuha only ever trusted you with this. You're the one that holds his heart in your hands. Kazuha's wrapped around your pinky. Kazuha entrusts this huge secret that could potentially end both your lives and many others, to you. He trusts you more than anyone. He loves you more than anyone.

"Thanks, zuzu. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we? The dirt on your face is really ticking me off. And it's on my bed now too..I definitely need to change bedsheets later. But for now, let's focus on you. I love you, Kazuha, and nobody can change that."

You press a small kiss to his forehead. 'A worthy price for saving New York everyday, ' Kazuha thinks.

(sykyu008 on twt)

#genshin x reader #yingyue'snovels #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #anime #fluff #genshin kaedahara kazuha #kazuha x gender neutral reader #kazuha fluff #kazuha x reader #kazuha #genshin impact fanfic #kazuha fanfic #kazuha x you

[happyk44]

Nico getting ganged up on in the middle of the night. There are some kids, ex-Titan army, who blame him for all their problems. It's not his fault they lost. It's not his fault their ostracized because they attacked the place they now live.

But they hate him all the same.

Honestly, he'd been expecting this to happen for a while. Thought it would've happened years ago, but he supposes his in-and-out presence in camp, plus the second war, made him difficult to pin down. But now he's there. Tensions have boiled and it's time to strike. They drag him out of his bed and into the woods.

He doesn't think much of it. Kicks and spits and bits until they drop him. Then scampers off. One girl, child of Apollo seems likely, follows him with a ray of light that bats the darkness away. Keeps it from pooling at his feet.

He keeps running. Away from the cabins and the trees. Towards the beach with its crashing waves. Sand hits his bare feet. The rough ride of rocks and shed skin from crabs grate at his skin.

One kid knocks him down from behind. His face hits the ground. He spits out speckles of rock from his tongue.

"Come here," they snarl as they flip him on his back. The others come panting into view, grab him by the wrists and ankles. So he's easy to hit despite his flailing.

They never once wonder why a child of darkness and earth started running for the water in the first place.

The first blow splits his lip. The second byrises his cheek, his eyes. He laughs and they hit him again. He keeps laughing nonetheless. Tartarus and monsters and his own shattering heart and they really think a couple blows to the face will break him?

"Stop fucking laughing," one girl shouts. She seems younger than the others. He almost feels sorry for her.

"It's just funny," he wheezed through a mouth of blood. Spits it up and out onto the nearest face. The boy recoils and snarls. "You're beating me up in front of my boyfriend. That's so stupid."

They look around, panicked. But when no one else pops into view, they glower down at him.

"There's no one here, you idiot!"

He rolls his eyes. "Nyx is here," he says, eyes to the black sky above him. "The stars were people once too. The moon, Artemis." He tilts his head back and smiles at the twiddling waves. "The ocean is here. My uncle." The water thrums viciously. "My boyfriend."

They didn't notice the way it pooled under Nico's head like a pillow, too busy enacting their blows. But they pause now as it trickles away. They loosen up as the water rises. They let him go as the sea froths with inky blackness.

Nico rises to his elbows. The wave behind him is a tower of terror. A threatening tsunami. His assailants are cowering away from him now. Pooled together in one easy to target group.

"I'd tell him to go easy on you," he sighs. "But he's an untameable man. Doesn't really listen to anyone. Especially when they hurt the people he loves."

A drop of blood leaks from his lip. Wells into a tearful droplet and splatters to the ground.

The wave crashes.

It sweeps around Nico, keeping him dry, as it knocks his assailants down. One kid screams, the sound drowned out in the roar of the ocean. They're pulled away by a watery hard, crawling desperately at sand that gives out under them like gravel.

Poseidon swallows them whole.

The others drown. Battered and bruised by water that is as unforgiving as a riptide. One is torn apart, blasted into pieces on impact. The others are thrown around. Played with like its a game.

When the game is done with, Nico sighs. There is no remnants of bodies, no visible death. They have been sunk deep where people can not follow.

Poseidon wraps wet watery arms around Nico's chest. His body forms more solid against Nico's back as rivets of seawater bead up and down his skin. They sting at his cuts. It doesn't take long to heal him. It's accented by a firm kiss to his cheek when completed.

"Do you feel better now?" Nico asks.

Poseidon pinched him. "Cheeky."

Nico snorts and turns in his hold. The god is clean-shaven today, black curls bouncing as though he's still underwater. His hands are large and possessive. Nico sinks into him like a dense rock.

"Thank you," he hums.

Poseidon squeezes his hips. "No worries, little scavenger."

Nico giggles at the name. He likes it. A crab. A lobster. An eel. Something found in the deepest depths, surrounded by darkness and death.

Poseidon's hand drifts through his hair, shaking out sand and debris. "It's almost morning," he muses. "Want to get breakfast?"

"Fishcakes?" Nico asks.

The god hums. Nico stretches out before standing. Poseidon rises with him, an arm looped around his waist and a steady hand on his hip. He leans in. Breathes sea salt and blood. Warm lazy days and shipwrecks.

Water laps at his feet. Twists and pulls him needily towards the swell. He walks, easy, unafraid. And lets the waves crash around him as he sinks.

He's not afraid of drowning.

#nico x poseidon #poseidon (pjo) #nico di angelo #my writing #my fanfic #happy talks pjo

[anystalker707]

Be good for me

Pairing: Gerard x Vampire! Reader Word count: ~ 1 400 Genre: Light angst / Comfort / Intense Summary: In the light of all the murders that have been happening lately, (y/n) decided to pay Gerard a visit. Kind of content: Blood play / Religious themes / Gaslighting [a/n]: Not proofread.

Gerard was far from being the best person, and that’s exactly what had sweat trailing down the back of his neck as he read the first pages of the daily newspaper issues sprawled over his desk. The last one, which had been delivered to his front door that morning, had a picture in black and white of the police leaning over a body covered by a white sheet while the big, black letters above it read SIXTH BODY FOUND THIS WEEK.

The press was going to play dumb, of course, none of them wanted to receive a death threat attached to their desk with a pocket knife. Either way, Gerard was aware. He knew that pattern of killing very well—the way the bodies lacked some organs along with blood, with precise wounds—, and it was clear someone had bothered the vampires yet again. It alone made him think over and over about all the favors and connections he ever had with them. Maybe he had helped rival groups without knowing? Or didn’t do something right?

A shaky breath escaped his lips as he tried not to overthink it, muttering critics towards the others—who did The Used think they were to mess with the Deathwish gang, after all? It was no surprise one of their men showed up dead across the sidewalk without any blood in their veins. Gerard chuckled while lighting up a cigarette he stuck between his lips.

All that calmness lasted until Ray’s voice rang in the back of his mind. “I heard something regarding Deathwish,” he had said during dinner, “but keep it low.”

God help him it hadn’t reached their ears.

The church wasn’t far from the house. It only took him a cigarette and a few minutes of walking before he found himself inside the holy and quiet place, only accompanied by God, his angels, and saints. It was all silent, with barely any noise coming from the outside, and that lack of noise made the place more comfortable along with the dim lighting. Only the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling kept the place alive, summed up with the yellow lights of the candles burning with a favor someone asked from God. It almost had Gerard listening to the quiet prayers people would mutter under their breaths, mumbling into their praying hands.

He had been close to that ambient once, truly close. He could still remember the name of each of the images that sat behind the altar, fragments of long prayers, but instead of being a comfort, it was much more of a weight in the back of his mind. Ironically, the church still felt like a safe place. Whether it was because of his family or the rumors of vampires being weak before holy symbols... he didn’t know.

“Thought I wouldn’t find you?”

Gerard’s blood felt cold. His eyes widened and he swallowed dry. Anything he did could send him not six feet underground, but straight to hell.

They sat a pew behind him, leaned forward so their elbows rested above their thighs, their steady and deep breath hitting the back of Gerard's neck. Even from that distance, Gerard could smell the fucking blood.

"Why would I hide from you, (y/n)?" Gerard sounded tense. Jesus, that anxiety would get him into actual trouble at some point.

"I don't know, you tell me," (y/n) scoffed with a chuckle. "A church would be the first place I'd head to if I needed to protect myself from a blood-sucking demon."

"I keep my faith alive."

"Sure you do," they hummed, reaching out a hand to Gerard's shoulder. "But you needn't be so tense. All I wish from you is a favor." Their fingers found his dress shirt's collar and pulled it down just enough to trace their cold fingers against his skin, feeling it rise with a shiver.

Gerard wishes he could feel nervousness, to be afraid of (y/n)—it would be a lot less pathetic than wanting more.

"What would it be?"

"I need to know where Ray is." (Y/n)'s fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, sinking into the skin just at the same moment Gerard tensed up and gasped. "I know he's one of your close friends, practically family, so—"

"I can't!"

"—so that's why nothing too bad will happen to him. With respect for you. All I need to know is where he is, hm?" Their words were muffled against the back of Gerard's ear. Fuck.

"S-Sorry," his voice trembled, and for a second he wondered what his friends and subordinates would think if they saw him in such a state. "But I can't. Ray is like a brother to me."

A gush of air hit him, even making the flames of the candles tremble, and (y/n) now sat by his side with their forehead almost pressed to his. "Look, let's not make it harder than it actually is, hm?" They had an arm around Gerard's back, their other one held his face so he wouldn't look away—Gerard groaned softly as he nuzzled into their hand. "I need to know where Ray is. He won't be the tenth person. He won't be on the next newspaper cover, baby. Don't you trust me?"

Only lost bits of words escaped Gerard's mouth, no thought being allowed to be completed because what if (y/n) didn't like his answer? What if he said the wrong thing? What if he said where Ray was and the others found out?

"I trust you," Gerard's voice was small and trembling. "But..."

"Shhh, it's fine," they whispered and let their lips trail down to his neck, bending his head to the side. "I'm not forcing it out of you. Just relax for me.”

Gerard couldn’t help but comply, pressing his lips together as he let himself go in their arms with a shaky sigh. A shiver ran down his spine with the light touch of their lips that eventually opened up as their touches turned into open mouthed kisses that now and then had a breath caught in his throat. His hands sought for something to hold onto, anything but not (y/n)—his hands balled into fists around nothing by his thighs, letting his nails pierce into his palms, only not painfully because of how short they were.

(Y/n) tugged at the thin skin with their teeth, having fun in how easily Gerard reacted, something they’d extend for longer if they weren’t so anxious. They wouldn’t drink blood from anyone and subject themself to drain the blood from men with rotten bodies; they’d only get the best from the best, and the best included Gerard.

A squeal came from Gerard at the same time (y/n)’s teeth pierced through his skin, escaping his throat as much as he tried to muffle it down, but soon the pain turned into a discomfort he was already used to and allowed him to relax into their arms. (Y/n) had to bring an arm around his body in order to hold himself up properly, all of that without ever disconnecting their lips from his neck.

No matter how much they wanted to, Gerard would never serve as a proper meal—a dessert, maybe, a snack, but not a meal. Firstly because (y/n) didn’t want to risk losing him, and secondly because he wouldn’t be so special if they kept drinking from him as if he were cheap wine.

(Y/n)’s tongue dragged against the punctures, catching the most of the blood they could before the tip of their tongue pushed into one of the wounds. Gerard hissed as his hand found (y/n)’s thigh and his fingers sank into it with a strong hold, but according to how they kept their motions, he was forced to let go of the breath he held, eventually whimpering. They could almost catch their name among the mess of sounds that escaped his lips, almost sobs, something that just had the feeling in their stomach bubbling up.

That couldn’t last long enough, it never could. (Y/n) was panting when they pulled away while Gerard leaned against their side, seeking comfort in the cold and bloodless body of the creature. He buried his head in the crook of their neck, taking deep breaths.

“The south house,” Gerard said quietly, almost muffled. “Near Delaware. Ray is there.”

(Y/n) thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to get there or how to bring Ray here as they licked their lips clean, then cracked a grin. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” They chuckled, and pulled away just enough to press their lips to Gerard’s, letting him taste his own metallic taste on (y/n)’s lips.

#gerard way #x reader #x female reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #mcr #mcr x reader #gerard way x reader #vampire #revenge #fan fic #fan fiction #my chemical romance #my chemical romance x reader #imagine #oneshot #writing #my writing

[little-diable]

A woman's helping hand (1/3) - Tommy Shelby

Ahh I’m so hyped for this! It was time for another crime story, here we go with my new mini series. Please reblog if you enjoyed reading this, I'm always open to chat about this series with you. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: A serial killer is keeping the people of Birmingham on their toes, with the number of victims rising higher each night, Tommy and the Blinders are forced to interfere, eventually having to rely on the help of a woman. The woman that warms Tommy’s bed at night, the woman that has always been kept in the dark about their business. 

Warnings: 18+, unprotected vaginal sex, degrading, spanking, choking, talks of murder and blood, mentions rape (but no description of it)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.7k words)

Header by @hidingsikki

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Part 2 Part 3

“Have you read this?” Arthur’s voice filled the dining room, eyes focused on Tommy who was staring socially ahead, barely sparing the man a glance. Arthur threw the newspaper he was holding in his hands onto the table, forcefully hitting Tommy’s tea cup. And for a second nothing but silence filled the room, echoing off the four walls as if their final verdict had been spoken.

“Can’t have one morning to ourselves, eh?” Tommy’s eyes met (y/n)’s, who kept glancing between the men surrounding her. One by one she studied them, their grim expressions, the cigarettes hanging between their lips and the barely noticeable expression of uncertainty tugging on their features. 

They were afraid. But of what? 

Slowly Tommy picked the newspaper up, not sparing the maid who was cleaning the wet table any of his attention. His eyes moved along the lines, eyebrows furrowed together as he found himself deep in thought. 

“What is that? A fucking waste of my precious morning with my wife, that’s what this is.” An annoyed huff left Tommy as he pushed the paper against Arthur’s chest, hoping that he and the other Blinders would finally leave his home. But his prayers went by unheard, once again did Arthur open the newspaper, placing it down on the now dry table.

“A serial killer keeps the people of Birmingham on their toes. Another victim has been found, dumped near the canal. Too many cuts litter the man’s face, he couldn’t be identified yet. The cruel work of a gang?” Arthur read the article out loud, eyes finding Tommy’s whenever he inhaled another deep drag of air. The man kept quiet, not reacting to the gruesome words that rolled off Arthur’s tongue. 

“Wake up, Tom! That’s bad news, fucking bad news. We can’t afford to have any more attention on us, not when the deal with the,” a loud “Shut up” rumbled through Tommy, shutting his brother up before he could spill any further information. Information Tommy tried to shield (y/n) from, not wanting to pull her into the mess of his business. A sombre fact the woman was awfully aware of, forcing her to rise from her seat, hands folded in front of her waist.

“If you excuse me, I am still quite tired.” The men watched (y/n) leave, patiently waiting till the sound of the bedroom door falling shut echoed through the house. No longer did they care about Tommy’s morning, no longer did they care about wasting any time, fully focused on the pressuring fact that a serial killer was walking freely around their city. 

“This is nothing but gossip, you hear me? You are making a fucking fool of yourself, Arthur.” Tommy reached for a cigarette, and with the first pieces of ash he burned a hole into the newspaper. But the men kept pressing on, sitting down on the empty chairs to force Tommy’s attention onto the problem at hand. 

“Tom,” John took off his cap, eyes closing in on his brother, whose features dripped with annoyance. “This is serious, seven victims so far. The number keeps growing nightly. We have to do something about this.” 

Tommy didn’t reply, deep in thought he kept watching ash fall from his cigarette, falling like the soldiers he keeps dreaming about at night, barely able to sleep through an hour or two, ripped from his nightmares. There were pressing matters keeping him busy, deals he was  working on, the business he had to care for, a serial killer wasn’t something he wanted to waste any of his time on. But even Tommy seemed to understand that whoever was making trouble in his city, only meant bad news for their business. 

“Alright, we gotta be fucking smart about his. Do we know anything about whoever is doing this?” Tommy reached for another cigarette, impatiently studying his family members who only shook their head no. 

“Gotta start somewhere, eh, John, see what you can get your hands on, I don’t care who you’ll have to pester with this, just be fucking quick. Arthur, ask around the Garrison, maybe some will talk after a drink or two.” He rose from the seat, cigarette left to burn out as Tommy started moving towards the stairs, ending their conversation right there and then. 

“What about you? What will you do?” John’s voice forced Tommy to halter in his step, eyes fluttering close in annoyance before he turned towards the curious men. Like God - or rather the devil - about to judicialize them, Tommy towered over the men, staring them down.

“I’ll apologize to my wife for my fucking brothers disturbing our morning together.” He left them standing, making his way into the bedroom, where (y/n) was patiently waiting for him. She held a book in her hands, barely reading the words that have oh so carefully been printed onto the expensive paper. 

“I was wondering if you’d return at all.” A chuckle bubbled out of her, the book found its way to the ground as Tommy moved closer. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, allowing him to press his front against hers, settling between (y/n)’s outstretched thighs. A searing kiss was shared between the lovers, Tommy’s hand disappeared underneath her dress, caressing her warm skin, the skin he had touched only a few hours ago. 

“As if you’d doubt my return. I’ll always find my way back to you, love.” He cupped her heat with his calloused fingers, groaning against her lips at the loss of clothing separating his hand from her cunt. “Have you been sitting bare with my brothers around?”

“Perhaps I was simply gambling, hoping that you wouldn’t manage to stay away for long.” Tommy pushed himself off her frame before he flipped her around, front now pressed against the mattress. Quick movements shuffled her dress up to her waist, exposing her bare behind to his twinkling eyes. And without a warning, his palm connected with her skin, set on burning his handprint into the spot.

“Such a desperate whore, you got no shame, do you?” Her moans left his cock twitching, growing harder in his trousers with every passing minute. She was soaking the spot she was lying on, arousal dripped from her slit, sticking to her skin like honey dripping down one's lips. 

“Five more, then you’ll take my cock like the slut you are, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” (Y/n) could only reply with another moan clawing through her, whimpering at every hard slap that connected with her skin. She felt her clit pulsing in need, hoping that Tommy would finally give in and fuck her, burying his cock deep inside of her. 

And like a prayer being heard by whoever was listening, he let go of her, hands working on his tight trousers to pull his cock free. With one hand slung around her waist, Tommy pulled her back against his front, forcing her to kneel on the warm mattress in front of him. He pushed into her from behind, ripping open her walls as if he had never fucked her before, claiming (y/n) with every ferocious thrust. 

(Y/n)’s cries left her like a shout leaving a dying woman, desperate for any help. But no help would come, not with Tommy Shelby having his grip on her body and soul, forever marked as his. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tommy fucked her with no mercy lingering in his system, set on pushing them over the edge in no time. His hand found her throat, squeezing her windpipe to heighten her senses, watching how goosebumps littered her body. Excitement. Anticipation. And the thrill of death over life.

“Taking my cock so well, fuck, I always knew you were the right one for me.” Tommy murmured his words into her ear, eyelids falling shut as her walls started fluttering around his cock, pulling him even deeper into her. Soon she’d cum, let go with his name rolling off her tongue, a sound so sweet Tommy would have no choice but follow her down the rabbithole. 

The sound of their bodies slapping together rang in their ears, filling their every vein with the aching need of pleasure they were oh so addicted to. A bittersweet feeling they’d chase even in the darkest nights. 

“Cum for me, soak my cock.” Blindly her body followed his command, she came with a moan, having to hold onto his forearms to stabilise her trembling frame. Tommy fucked her through her high, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible, not up for letting her go just yet. 

(Y/n) felt Tommy imprint himself on her walls, filling her with his hot cum, a feeling she should be all too used to, but still found herself moaning over like an easy woman doing this simply for the money. 

Tommy gently let go of her as he pulled out, watching his cum drip from her cunt, making a mess on the sheets. He couldn’t help but chuckle, enjoying the blissful expression tugging on his wife’s features. Wordlessly he started cleaning them with the towel kept nearby, only fully letting go of her as he started redressing himself. 

“I’ll have to go now, can’t leave them alone for long.” He kissed her one last time, forcing a moan of protest out of (y/n) as he parted from her. 

“Where are you going?” She called after him, but without any luck. Tommy didn’t reply, once again leaving her in the dark. 

“We don’t have much. Just his name, Abe Chimes, he was a regular at some brothels in the area. Apparently he was known for being too rough and not paying for any services.” Arthur leaned back in his seat as he watched Tommy turn towards him, leaning against his office table. 

“A fucking rapist?”

Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx

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#Tommy Shelby smut #a woman's helping hand #Tommy Shelby imagine

[pryce0]

Hi hi!! Hope you're having a great day!

You're so right we need more John Marston content! This is a bit of a lengthy ask so if you want to ignore it or any aspects of it feel free.

But what about some fluff w John and a gn!reader that slowly warm up to each other, always teasing and joking together but reader is hesitant to do anything bc they think John is still in a complicated situation w Abigail. But that has already been solved even before reader joins the gang and now they're just co-parenting Jack

Pls and thank you <3

Complicated (John Marston x GN!Reader)

gif by: deactivated :-(

a/n; lease let me know what you think, and i’m intending to do a part two if anyone is interested! also this is my first time ever writing for mr. marston here, so if i apologize if he’s OOC! readers pov :-)

word count; 3,026

last part: here

masterlist: here

——————

John fucking Marston.

That dry humored, angry, dense yet soft man. He could tell a joke, grumble about how no one got it, then call your humor terrible. He’s fast, somehow smart, and a great shot. He’s terrible compared to Arthur, but if you’re betting then Sean at shooting, you’re great. John is remarkably quick to pick up on everything to do with violence, he reminds me of a deer every time he picks up on something I do not. John will put a hand out in front of me to stop me in my tracks as he freezes alongside me. I eventually learned to shut up after a few times this happened, and listen with him. Sometimes, I don’t pick up on it, but other times I can hear it so faintly.

I’ve asked him so many times how he is able to hear it, especially after being around guns for so long, there has to be some hearing loss, right? Somehow, he’s avoided all of that. His hearing couldn’t be more perfect. I’ve learned to trust John’s intuition, as he’s right… most of the time, anyway.

I’m thinking about this while prepping some traps for hunting, and I feel a heat rise to my cheeks. No doubt I’m visibly blushing, which just makes my face more red as I’m embarrassed. I pat my cheeks in an attempt to get ahold of myself and then I grab a rope, and begin to tie it to a new net Arthur bought with the camp money. To my understanding, it’s supposed to be one of those traps you tie to a tree, make a lever system, and hide the net in the leaves. Leave some bait on the net, too. I’ve tried to tie this knot about six different fucking times, and I’m usually great at it, but John’s got me all distracted. From what I understand, I got picked up by the gang a few days after they left the mountains, left this place called Colter. I met them after I was having a lot of run in’s with this other gang.

“The O’Drsicolls,” I remember Dutch sneering. There was clearly some personal business between the two gangs, but at the time, I wasn’t too interested. That’s the first time I met John. Long brown hair with a puffy, stitched up face. The scars I know today were just stitches. The two deep gashes running along his cheek, sported by a less deep gash across his chapped lips, part of his eyebrow was nicked off, a stitched up gash across his nose, and a healing cut across his other cheek. His eyes were particularly striking, they hold a secret that seems to be dying to be let out. Dutch and the others didn’t automatically accept me into the gang, nor invited me at first. It took a couple of run in’s, and one conversation I remember very well got me on Dutch’s good side.

It was with John, it was maybe about the fourth time they’d shown up where I was near O’Driscolls. It wasn’t like I was purposely going after them, but the O’Driscolls were coming after me hard for killing a bunch of them already. After the last one dropped dead, I met up with the familiar faces in the midst of the camp, avoiding stepping on the dead bodies. “Funny seeing you here,” I remember Dutch remarking. It was Dutch, Arthur, Micah and John all together. I didn’t know John or Micah’s name, but I knew Dutch and Arthur. “This is like the fourth time, c'mon guys!” I remember joking around with them as I wiped the blood off of my face. “We run into you way too often.” John’s voice came out low and hoarse, a permanent grit to his tone. He seemed annoyed. It was something I would never forget. “Nice to see you too, Scarface. I’d like to think it’s a coincidence, but maybe you’re just following me.” I smile as I remember John rolling his eyes. “I don’t remember seeing you do much action in this situation, saw you come from the back all the way over there.” Arthur stepped up and motioned towards John’s face. “We was in the mountains and he got attacked by wolves.” Arthur offered an explanation, and I feigned a faux-sympathetic expression. Honestly, it’s hard to be sympathetic towards people I don’t know, but I didn’t want to come off as weird. “Seems like they didn’t get only your face, but your brains, too.” That earned me a howling laugh from Dutch and a smile from Arthur. It’s been a good few months since then.

In the middle of my struggle, someone places their hands on the table, next to where I’m attempting to make the trap. I don’t even have to look up because I know who it is. “Damn, how are you struggling this much when you tied Kieran up perfectly?” John mutters, watching me pathetically fail another knot. I look up at the man with furrowed eyebrows, yet it’s clear that my words are lighthearted. “Hey! This is different from tying knots to prevent a person from getting away. This is a net, not a person.” I retort, feeling the stinging frustration building up inside of me. “Well, in that case..” He says, examining where and how I’m attempting to tie it. “Think of the net as a uh, real skinny person. Or.. somethin’.”

I pause and blink at him a few times. “I’m not too sure they stitched you up right from that wolf attack, because your brains are larkin’ all over the place, Marston.” I joke, a smile appearing on my face. His jaw drops and he shoves my shoulder lightly, but I can see the amusement, yet frustration on his face. “Hey!” John complains, grumbling. “I was going to offer to tie it for you, but not now.” I perk up and before he can leave the table, I grab his wrist. “No! Tie it for me before leaving, I gotta get some hunting done today so I can take the load off of Arthur. He’s got enough on his plate, as it is.” I complain, shoving the rope and net into his hand. “Don’t we all,” He mumbles under his breath, but he takes a seat next to me anyhow. John places the door and the net on the table, and within seconds he’s got the perfect type of knot for the net. “Why don’t I just go hunting with you? Make sure you don’t step in the trap.” John retorts, leaving the trap on the table. I blink in awe for a moment before looking at John. I make eye contact, and I feel all warm. He’s such a nice thing to look at. His eyes, his features, his jawline, his hair.. He makes me wanna run my fingers through his hair. “Sure.” I answer quickly before looking away, feeling that heat spread from my stomach to my face.

“Alright, I’ll meet you on the edge of camp. Hosea showed me a lil’ place to hunt.” John says as he stands up, grabbing the rope trap. I quickly snatch it from him, narrowing my eyes playfully. “My trap,” I hum. “I’ll meet you out there soon.”

John sighs and shakes his head, walking towards the horse’s area. I get up from the bench and quickly jog over to my tent, grabbing my hunting satchel along with a rifle I haven’t tied to my horse yet. I sprint halfway to the horses before I hear Hosea’s voice. “No running in camp, you know that!” He shouts lightheartedly. I grumble and settle for a power walk pace. I look around for my horse, but I don’t see him anymore. Before I call out to John, I see him on the edge of Camp on his own horse, Old Boy, and holding the reins of my horse. I sigh in relief and I make my way over there. I tie the rifle to my horse, put the satchel on, and swing my leg over, mounting my horse. “Thought Seer ran off again.” I say quietly, patting the side of my horse’s neck. “He only runs off because you own him.” John says with a smile, clicking his tongue to lead his horse into a trot. I do the same and keep a consistent pace next to him as we go down the path. “Oh, shut up.” I say under my breath, leaning down and looping the trap onto my saddle. “The place is a bit away from here. We don’t have to ride hard, but we wanna be there at a reasonable time.” John says as he looks over at me, taking a turn down the road. I follow him on my horse and nod. “Just don’t get us lost, hm?”

————————

It didn’t take us too long to arrive. From my understanding from the route we took, we’re close to Grizzlies East. It made me nervous but John assured me that we’re staying in the part near the deer and rabbits. “We can hitch here.” John mutters, stopping at a tree with a low branch where you could tie your reins to. I pull my horse up next to his, my horse huffing and flicking his ears. “Oh, you’ll get an apple in just a secondX you impatient buffoon.” I grumble as I dismount my horse, unlooping the net trap. I toss it onto my shoulder and open the bag attached to my saddle, roaming my hand inside for an apple. I hear John doing his own thing for a bit, rustling around and I can hear him making sure he has enough ammo. As my hand grabs an apple, John speaks. “It might be best to use a bow and arrow, I don't want you to come and shoot me when you get angry.” John expresses with a tone of amusement. I scoff and pull out the apple, holding it out to my horse who happily munches on it, core and all. “Oh, how dare you! I might aim for you anyhow, now.” I retort as I wipe my hand off of apple juice. I sigh and look at the rifle I brought. “So no rifle?” I question, a bit sad. I was kinda looking forward to using it. “Uh.. Bring the rifle anyway, we are in bear country, after all.” John reminds me. Right. I pull the rifle from the saddle and sling the strap over my shoulder, then I grab my arrow pack, sling that over my shoulder as well, and I grab the bow and arrow Charles had gifted me as a ‘welcome into the gang’ present.

I pause for a moment as John’s words ring through my ears. Just thinking about his voice makes me feel butterflies. I shake it off by patting my cheek, looking at John. “Did you bring any scent lotion?” I ask, looking at him. “As a matter of a fact, I did.” John replies, and quickly takes a can out. We’re both wearing long sleeves and pants, but we need to get some dinner as soon as possible. “Put it on my body.” I say in a weird tone, laughing as I’m joking. He shakes his head and opens the tin, holding it out to me. I dip my hand in and take out a glob, putting it on my face, my neck, my hands, anything that’s left exposed. I’m careful to not get it in my eyes as I rub it into my skin. I glance over at John who is doing the same, holding the tin between his knees as there’s no surface to place it down on. “I got some bait, bought it fresh the other day.” I say to fill the silence. I grab it from my hunting satchel, and the seal is still covering the tin. “I think mine went bad last week or somethin’. Bet it would still work, though.” John grumbles as he puts the lid back onto the lotion tin and puts it away. I chuckle as John grabs a rifle and a bow and arrow as well, slugging the rifle and arrow pack over his shoulder like I did. “Vultures, maybe.” I say, walking a bit away from the horses and John. “They are only in New Austin,” John reminds me, as I said the exact same thing when I first joined the gang. It embarrassed me immensely. I wave him off as he catches up to me and walks side by side. “Don’t matter.” I mumble, my face heating up with embarrassment as John laughs at my misery. We walk a bit in silence before we find a good area with a tree and a rock nearby. “Here will do just fine.” John says, grabbing the net trap from me without asking. My mouth drops, putting a hand on my hip. “John Marston, rude as ever.” I joke, watching him move leaves from a spot. “Yeah, yeah, who cares.” He says with a sigh, crouching down and placing the net trap. John looks up and jumps a bit as he tosses the rope over with a grunt, the rope falling over onto the other side. “Come place leaves and that bait here.” John calls for me. I nod and walk over bending down and I push the leaves back onto the net. After it’s hidden, I open the tin of bait and sprinkle pieces all over the area where the net rests. After a bit, I put the lid back on. “That should be enough. We should go hide by that rock, now.” I murmur, standing up. I walk over to the rock, and John follows. He’s holding the rope that’s resting over the branch, and the rope is long enough that we can both be behind the rock.

“We should be out of sight for now, until we hear an animal.” John says quietly, rasp filling every word. I only nod and sit behind the rock, my back pressed up against the surface. John does the same, but the rock is on the small side, so our shoulders are pressed against each other. I feel my heart skip a beat when I feel his warmth deep into my sleeve. He looks at me, strands of hair falling out in front of his face. “I’m strong, but I ain’t Arthur. We’re gonna hafta pull the rope together.” John whispers to me, and we’re so close I can feel his breath on me. I say nothing and just nod, grabbing onto the rope. My hands rest between his, nearly touching. I slow my breathing to make less noise, and the next ten minutes are excruciatingly slow. We can’t talk, or even make faces or else we won’t get this.

I manage to zone out, thinking about John. I will admit, I like him more than friends like their friends. Over these days of spending time with the gang, with John, I’ve warmed up to him. At first, we weren’t great friends. We teased each other, but John tends to have a short temper so he would sulk if I said something a bit too mean. He’s been a bit of a standoffish guy, awkward and headstrong, but fun to be around. He’s such a looker, too. He’s so handsome, I see why he and Abigail are together.

“Now.” John suddenly whispers, and pulls the rope. I’m startled out of my thoughts and mindlessly pull the rope with him, and we are met with heavy resistance. I grunt and we both stand up, pulling the rope to tie it around this other tree. I glance over and we caught a pretty hefty sized doe. “Harder!” John rasps out as he guides me around the tree. “I’m trying!” I call out, grinding my feet into the ground as we make our way around the tree a couple of times. I can hear the doe shrieking and struggling as we tie the rope, leaving us slightly panting. “God..” I say quietly, pulling out my knife. I begin to walk over to the deer “I got it.” I call out.

“Wait, [Name], don’t!-“ John shouts. I furrow my eyebrows and I start to look back at him, until I’m frozen, staring at a huge buck who is currently charging at me. I hear a loud boom, a gunshot maybe, but I’m not sure because I closed my eyes from the sound. I hear the sound of a deer wailing in pain before falling over with a thump. I open my eyes, and the buck lays only a foot away from me. I release my breath, which I didn’t even know I was holding. I look over at John who is holding his rifle. He looks panicked as he slings it back over his shoulder and runs over to me, grabbing my shoulder. “Are you alright?? He didn’t get you, did he?” He questions me, looking over my body. I blink as he touches my shoulder. “No, he didn’t.. Thanks for that. Didn’t think about how her mate might’ve been around..” I murmur with a smile, finding it impossible to stop. John lets out a sigh of relief and shakes my shoulder, not yet letting go. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?” He scolds me, with a… serious tone, John has never done that before. “Were you worried?” I ask as I turn from him, grabbing onto the net and shoving my knife into the doe’s neck without a second thought. “I, ‘course I was! Why wouldn't I be?” He asks me as he lets go of my shoulder. The doe cries out, but she stops struggling as she dies. I shrug, smiling lightly with this newfound information. “I dunno, I just expected it to be hard for you to care about new people, with your family and your lifestyle.” I respond as I cut the rope with my knife, the doe and the net thumping to the ground. John sighs and responds with, “Let’s just get to camp, we can talk there.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #john marston x reader #john marston #john marston x you #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #complicated #in love #romance #hidden love #hunting #abigail roberts #jack marston #requested

[the-pale-goddess]

Halloween, book 1, post Miami, at Donahue’s. Tiffany is wearing a costume and Ethan can’t tear his eyes out of her. What is she wearing?

Tension rises between Tiffany and Ethan at the Halloween party. 

Rating/category: Teen+ /  angst-ish, AU

Warnings: whole lotta pining 💕

Author’s note: In my personal E&T canonverse, The Miami Conference took place right before Christmas, so I come here bearing a short AU scene 👀

____

The sight of Ethan Ramsey glued to his precious whiskey, frowning deeply at the cheerful lot surrounding him, his stern, unimpressed gaze sweeping the room as though searching for the easiest escape route, isn’t a surprise—but the timing most certainly is.

This must be an image torn out of his personal hell: watching his ridiculously dressed coworkers clown around as they indulge in the adult rendition of trick-or-treating. He’s the odd one out, wearing outrageously ordinary and just as expensive blue suit and displeased grimace twisting his majestic features. His presence at Donahue’s on one of the busiest nights of the year doesn’t make any sense, and yet…Doctor Addams seems to know why he’s here.

As if their minds were doomed to collide, he finds her silhouette in the crowd; the ocean of his eyes washes over her again and again, sending an overwhelming thrill down the length of her body. His demeanor instantly softens—he’s suddenly less frightening, more frightened. The way he devours her head to toe, deliriously roaming around every curve, makes her feel powerful.

Proves she is right.

Inspired by her second Bloody Mary, Tiffany sways over to Ethan, her hips boldly move to the sultry beat of She Wolf playing in the background. Her heart pulsates in her throat, stomach churns maliciously, ready to betray the pathetic whims, but she trusts her disguise—she’s skilled enough to survive the anxious wave surging up.

„They let you in without a costume?” Her roguish smirk greets him, and she’s certain he doesn’t miss the flash of fondness and longing mixed in her keen gaze as the very same shade couruscates in his dazzling sapphires.

His lips twitch slightly, but all she gets is a nod and a dry response flatly contradicting its unintended comedic purpose. „I smiled while passing through the door.”

She bursts out laughing, the roar so infectious the corners of Ethan’s mouth inevitably quirk up, forming into a sly grin.

„Clever.” Tiffany raises her glass. „No one would recognize a smiling Terminator.”

„What about you?” He asks, his eyes pierce hers, clearly intent on avoiding her deep cleavage inviting him for a not-so-innocent peek down the path his hands wandered with reckless abandon a few nights ago.

„What about me?” She replies nonchalantly with a raised brow, her heart rate increasing to a dangerous pounding.

„You’re not engaging in this lunacy?”

„Oh, but I am.”

Doctor Ramsey falls silent for a long, obscene moment, drinking her in, measuring her face. The probing intensity of his icy blue eyes almost melting her resilience.

Letting the air between them sizzle.

„What is this supposed to be then?” He points his finger at her all-black outfit, all but convincingly unstirred by the skintight material of her dress and its sole intention to bring him ruin.

Tiffany bites her lower lip as she quickly reconsiders her options, their eyes still locked and loaded.

There’s a she-wolf in the closet

Let it out so it can breathe

With a life-ruining smile fit for a wicked enchantress, she decides to aim for his head—it’s the night of horror after all.

„The risk you didn’t take.”

_____

*mic drops*

Then, I imagine that Bryce calls Tiffany and she waves Ethan goodbye as she retreats to her friends, the tension dragging around her 🥰

This aka the outfit: The gang has been excited about the Halloween party at Donahue’s for weeks, but Tiffany couldn’t share the sentiment. She’s been too absorbed in her secret life with Patient X and Dr. Ramsey.

Sienna decided to take the matter into her own hands and came up with a last-minute costume for Tiff. Their joint effort brought a modern day witch to life, AHS Coven style.

Like this, but with burgundy lips:

Anon, dear, you made me want to create an AU to my post-Miami fic Puncture Wound khdkhdkbk I’ll be thinking about this deliciousness for the entire week now. Thank you so much for the ask! ❤️❤️❤️

#queuetiful #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #i didn't proofread this #ficlet #halloween #open heart fanfiction

[kashi-prompts]

Flowers for a Shinobi

Chapter 14: Doubt

Word Count: 4,264 (sorry)

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀ Archive of Our Own Link ❀

A/N: I know this is long, but this might be one of my favorite chapters so far. I hope you like it <3

❀❀❀

Kakashi stepped out of the shower. The hot steam cut through the chilled air in his bathroom as he shut the glass door behind him. He reached for his towel, rubbing the water from his face roughly. Above him, a cool breeze wafted into the room, causing goosebumps to rise up on his exposed skin. Reaching up, he shut the window as he towel-dried his hair with his other hand, damp silver strands falling naturally into place on his forehead. 

Drying off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stood in front of the mirror. He felt tired. More so than usual. He combed his hair sluggishly. Leaning forward, he looked at himself intently in the mirror, pulling at his exposed face. The thin skin under his waterline had shifted to an unsettling deep purple. The gymnastics his mind had played on him today wore on him. He slid a tired hand down his face, grazing the grey shadow on his jaw. Sighing, he reached into the drawer for his razor.

"Kakashi," Lady Tsunade had addressed him earlier that evening, her tone grave and gaze sharp. "It's worse than we suspected."

"More shinobi?" Kakashi had asked carefully, clearly seeing a strain on the Hokage. 

"Thousands, Kakashi," the Hokage slid her hand on to the stack of papers beside her, "thousands of men - almost all in the Sand Village." 

"They're targeting Sunagekure now?"

"Looks like it."

Kakashi sighed, thinking back on the conversation as he carefully slid the razor up his neck. Thousands were right, he thought. Whoever was behind this had upped their ante, becoming bold now. What was the purpose of all this? Were they wearing the shinobi forces down to ambush them? To wipe them all out? When would they stop? Would they continue on to other villages?

"I'm sending you to the Sand," she told him, "I need you to find as much evidence as possible. I have three man squads combing through areas between the Leaf and Sand for any signs of suspicious activity. I need you to go and find whatever you can."

"Of course," he had acknowledged with a nod, "But what is the plan for those who are already afflicted?"

"I haven't gotten to that yet," the Hokage had looked up at him with a cocked brow, "You returned the Lotus Art scroll to Shizune yesterday. Were you able to use it like I asked you to?"

Kakashi had shifted his weight uncomfortably, "I did, but the flowers were not adequate, m'lady. They wilted almost immediately." 

She let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping, "I was counting on you, Hatake. You, of all people, should have been able to copy and use that scroll."

"I believe there must be some type of built-in safeguard that only allows those in the Hana clan to use it," Kakashi had told her.

"That doesn't make sense. Then why would Daichi try to steal it if he couldn't use it? What would his gang want with this?" Tsunade had lifted her eyebrows at him. 

Yes, Kakashi wondered now, wiping the shaving cream from his blade as he proceeded to a new section of his neck -- why would Daichi have wanted the scroll? Was it just to take it away from them? Who would have used it if not for the only Hana Clan member left - Ayame? 

Ayame, he thought for a moment, his mind shamefully wandering to her. He had tried so desperately to remain platonic over the last six months, but since the moment he saw her in the Yamanaka shop, he knew it would be a challenge.

He could almost hear her affectionate laugh in his ears, teasing him as a friend would, the sound like something he had memorized. Her sense of humor was his favorite part about her, secondary to the specks of gold in her green irises - always prominent when the sun hit them just right. Just as it had earlier. The constellation of freckles across her nose, her strawberry blonde eyelashes that dusted her cheekbones - the feeling of her lips pressing against his. 

"Tss!" Kakashi pulled back the razor, lifting his jaw to reveal a small nick beside his Adam's apple. He shook his head, red blood bubbling quickly to the surface. He swore softly to himself and sighed as he applied pressure to the cut with a hand towel. What has gotten into him, he thought? His jaw clenched, fingers running through his hair in exasperation. Get a grip, you fool, he scolded himself. 

"So that leaves me no choice then," Tsunade had continued earlier, leaning back in her chair. She was clearly troubled by what lay ahead, "You'll be taking Ayame with you." 

"Understood." The Hokage had paused then, looking up at the Jonin with a defeated stare. 

"Truthfully, I don't have much faith in this operation, Hatake," Tsunade had told him honestly, "Five shinobi have already died. Do you truly think this girl is read-" 

"Yes," he had interjected boldly, "I've seen how far she has come. She's resilient. She can manage."

Kakashi washed his razor off under the faucet, slapping it to the side of the porcelain sink as short bits of his hair fell into the drain. He stared at himself again in the mirror.

He did have faith in her, he echoed to himself. What he had said in the Hokage's office was true. Even when his commander had revealed just how many flowers it would take to cure all the current men out of commission, his faith in her ability did not waver. Yet, a small voice in his head caused him to worry about her.

"I usually trust your judgment, Hatake," Tsunade had said, "but you seem distracted lately. Especially now. Did something happen I should know about?"

"No, m'lady," Kakashi had bowed his head, feeling an unfamiliar sense of embarrassment. 

But that wasn't true, and he knew it. He couldn't stop thinking about her. This unsettling, unfamiliar, potent feeling that overcame him whenever she was near him disoriented him in a way he had never experienced before. The soft and delicate way she had kissed him caused his head to spin even now, hours later. The way his body had unraveled, like a pent-up coil finally bursting from its confines. This gravitational pull towards her shook him, riddling him with uneasiness that was so contrary to his usual demeanor. 

The thought of letting his guard down to grow closer to her only then to lose her, just as everyone else had, preyed upon every nerve in his body. He wouldn't survive that.

Pulling his pajamas on, he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the knots in the hardwood flooring. This needed to stop before it got worse. Well, it had already gotten worse, he thought. He rubbed his eyes irritably, thinking of how he had lost control the moment she kissed him. What happened to being disciplined? It was as though every ounce of self-control he had melted into the ground the moment she looked at him and handed him that flower. Such a small, warm gesture brought about an unfamiliar twist in his stomach.

He couldn't go on like this. He had a duty to fulfill as a shinobi and as her teacher. She had things to learn, and what good would he be if he turned into some buffoon who couldn't have command over his own emotions like the grown man he was?

This entire experience of training her left him feeling strange and vulnerable. Although, he did pride himself in masking his emotions - something he learned in his youth - it hadn't helped him much in those moments of weakness. As soon those lapses of judgement enveloped him, he would back peddle, just as he did earlier this evening on the training grounds. He had panicked when he saw her again.

What a fool he was, he thought. He had seen the look in her eyes on the training grounds, the disappointment written on her face when he walked passed her. It would only worsen from here if he continued to entertain their flirtatious exchanges. She deserved better. Not someone as lost as he was.

Honestly, he thought, even if he somehow conceded to these feelings, he could never love her the way she deserved to be loved. The thought of being so vulnerable with someone felt so foreign he was sure he would disappoint her. Swallowing, he took a deep breath and laid back in his bed. 

It was settled then. This had to be the end of it. Going forward, he would put forth his best effort and find a way to control this. He would protect her with his life, but he could not subject her to the disaster of a man he was. It was for her own good.

Reaching up behind his bed, he grabbed his book. He stared at the cover for a moment, processing his decision. Outside, a late summer shower began tapping against his window. The sound of the rain barely registered in his mind. If he had any hope of falling asleep tonight, he needed to distract himself. Their mission going forward would be a long, stressful one. He needed to get his head straight if he was going to be a successful captain. 

Carefully, he peeled open his book, content to settle into bed and read in solitude. Carefully assessing each page, he flipped through the novel with his thumb. Where had he left off again? Was it -? 

A blur of purple fell from the pages of his book. Looking down, he noticed the sprig of lavender she had given him lying on his chest. Warily, he reached down and picked it up in his hands, twirling it between his two fingers. 

A frown crept up behind his mask.

❀❀❀ 

Ayame shuffled her boots towards the Konoha entrance gate, her legs feeling like cement blocks tying her body down. She stopped at the gate, taking in the smell of the early morning dew after a late-night rain shower. Her freshly washed braid coiled around her shoulder, the scent of her lavender shampoo clinging to each strand. 

"Heading out?" Kotetsu asked from behind the guard's base. Ayame nodded, adjusting her knapsack on her shoulders as she gave them her name and rank to record. The late summer morning was cooler than usual, a precursor of the average temperatures to come. Ayame shivered slightly, both from the tiredness that ached in her bones and the slight chill in the air. 

She hadn't slept much last night. Between what felt like the physical weight of dying men on her shoulders, coupled with the constant tug of grief washing over her every time she remembered their kiss, it all felt like some strange, unsettling dream. She had pondered Kakashi's actions, wondering if there was something she had done or didn't do that caused him to back peddle in his feelings. She had thought of Sakura's words about her sensei - how much of a private man he was and how no one, not even his students, had ever seen him with anyone romantically. Perhaps he wasn't interested in her - and she had to respect that. Regardless of how much of a jerk he was being.

"Oh, you beat me," Ayame heard a cheerful voice behind her, pulling her away from her thoughts. She turned, greeting Sakura with a weak, tired smile. 

"Not by much," Ayame assured, watching Sakura as she gave the guards her information.

"Kakashi-sensei isn't here yet, I see," Sakura huffed, walking closer to the gate entrance. "Typical behavior. I don't think he's ever been on time for any of our missions." 

"He was on time for the first one we went on," Ayame pointed out, realizing it herself. She frowned, watching the birds fly over the trees in the distance. 

"Oh, well, of cou-"

"Ready, ladies?" Kakashi appeared beside them suddenly. Ayame jumped, turning to face him. He avoided her gaze, handing Sakura a pair of boots just as he had on their mission to Rōtasuagekure. She watched him for a moment, amazed at his boldness to avoid her eyes. The morning breeze picked up, pushing strands of damp hair into her face. She quickly moved them away, watching his nose twitched once, then twice. She watched the muscles in his temple flex as he itched his nose.

"Use these," he told his former student. "Ayame and I stumbled upon a root on our way to Rōtasuagekure in the spring when this all began. I'm sure the pathways to all the villages are littered with these obstacles. We have to be cognizant of where we step."

Sakura nodded, replacing her sandals with boots and standing up straight. The awkwardness was felt by Ayame; his clear admission to avoid eye contact only stung worse. She pursed her lips, folding her arms across her chest.

"There you are, Tenzo," Kakashi greeted with a wave. Ayame traced his gaze over her shoulder, spotting the man she had seen in a hospital bed all those months ago when this all started. She cocked her head. Wasn't his name Yamato?

"Kakashi," Yamato greeted with a nod, "Sakura, nice to see you again. And - ?"

"This is- "Kakashi began, but Ayame pulled forward and greeted the man in a polite bow, "My name is Ayame Hana." 

Yamato's eyebrows lifted quickly, his eyes glancing over to Kakashi's precariously. One dark eye widened slightly, the muscles in his jaw clenching again tight. Quickly, Yamato cleared his throat and smiled between the girls as he reciprocated her polite bow himself.

"Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot of great things about you," He said warmly at first, his tone quickly correcting itself as he continued, "I mean, like, what an incredible kunoichi you're turning out to be after such little training."

"Nice to meet you as well," Ayame smiled at his compliment, "Tenzo, was it?"

"Yamato," he corrected quickly. 

"Right, my apologies."

A few beats passed between the group, Sakura's gaze switching between the three adults awkwardly.  

"Right, well, let's get going then," Kakashi stepped forward, leading the group out of the village gates. "I'll brief you all on the way." 

❀❀❀ 

It would take them three days to get to the Sand Village.

With each passing moment, Ayame could feel herself growing less confident in her abilities to help. How many shinobi were infected? The Hokage seemed to elude that there were many, but they were mostly isolated to the Sand. What if she couldn't handle the amount they needed? Sure, she had the serums Sakura had made, but the toll of using them all at once would put her body in a coma. 

With constant anxiety and uncertainty poisoning the well of her mind, she barely thought of Kakashi until he acknowledged her. 

"Ayame," Kakashi had addressed her on the first night of their journey, looking at her from across the humble campfire Yamato had made, "Lady Tsunade told me you have been given a chakra-boosting serum for this mission. Have you used it yet?" 

"I have," she had told him quickly, pulling her from her own thoughts. It was the first time he had directly looked at her since their interaction on the training grounds the previous day. "It worked well."

"Good," Kakashi had nodded, clearly in thought, "The 12 dozen flowers you made last night will go to neighboring villages affected. But unfortunately, we have bigger problems. The last reports from the Sand show 3,478 affected shinobi. That is almost a quarter of their shinobi population. Each moment they go without this antidote their chakra levels drop further, and another moment their village goes unprotected."

He had paused, looking over at Yamato briefly, "Five have already passed away. The faster we get these antidotes made, the better. At 10 flowers per antidote, that would require almost 35,000 flowers to be made when we arrive."

"I-… okay" Ayame had nodded, feeling a cold sweat sweep across her body. Sensing this, he had continued to watch her from across the campfire. The wood popped, sending a spark skidding across the dirt. Yamato and Sakura ate their dinners beside them quietly. She had been able to sense their uncertainty in her.

35,000 flowers was something her entire clan made in a week - let alone one person in one day. 

"You'll do fine," she had heard Kakashi say, "I believe in you."

Her anxiety grew more the following night, gnawing at her like a dog does on a bone. 

On the evening before they arrived to the Sand Village, Ayame found herself awake well into the early morning hours. Beside her, Sakura, Yamato, and Kakashi all slept quietly. The wood fire Yamato had made occasionally sparked, reigniting each time an ember found a new untouched piece of wood to lick.

Who was behind all of this, she asked herself? Her mind reflected on her brother, the overlapping moments in their young adult life having been few and far between. Changing shifts to make more batches of flowers to sell were practically the only times they saw each other after their adolescents. And even then, those moments grew infrequent.

Aoi wasn't a bad brother. On the contrary, he had always cared for his older sister. Despite being three years her junior, he looked out for her like an older brother. She missed their friendship sometimes. But the reminder of what he had started, of the destruction he had caused even postmortem, left a sour taste in her mouth and a hole in her heart.

This was entirely her own brother's fault. But really - wasn't she partly responsible, too, for not seeing the signs? Responsible for the way she covered for Aoi during shift changes when he would mysteriously disappear, only later for her to find out that he was gathering up like-minded men and women who believed their labor to be unfair. 

She tried to take a deep breath in, filling her lungs with the scent of burning firewood. Anxiety rattled her bones, the haunting feeling of inadequacy lingering in her mind. If she had let her entire clan down by not seeing her brother's deceit, wasn't she just as capable of letting her shinobi peers down as well? She was weak, after all. Even the training she had worked so diligently at was still not enough for her to recover completely from the three blows she had endured. It should have killed her.

The continuous nagging feeling that this all relied upon her, a Genin who had barely found her own path in the ninja world, was overwhelming. She felt herself spiraling, taking in another deep breath and another as panic rose in her throat. There was no way out of this situation, she thought to herself. Sure, it wasn't hard to make some flowers - but what if she couldn't? She knew she couldn't. These men would die because of her. Five had already perished. What if more died? She flexed her hands as they grew numb.

It was all on her.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably as she sat up from her makeshift bed, feeling nausea rise up into her chest cavity. She couldn't breathe, her chest tightening like a vice. Quickly, she flung her blanket off her legs and stumbled out into the dark path between a canopy of trees. Her vision tunneled. Leaning against a tree, her palms tingled as she lost her dinner into a bush. 

Coughing, she wiped her mouth and sunk to her knees. She would never be able to do this. She would never be strong enough, she thought. She would never be good enough to be a proper kunoichi. Why had she said yes? Why had she gotten herself into this? Everything was relying on her, a pathetic nobody. Panic consumed her. 

"Ayame?" She heard behind her, "Everything okay?"

She lifted her head, quickly pressing her palms up her cheekbones as she wiped away tears that had escaped from her waterline. Kakashi appeared in the darkness, backlit by the campfire as his eyebrows knitted together with concern.

"Ayame?" he asked, sounding puzzled. He knelt beside her, searching her blotchy face under the moonlight. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" 

She blinked at him, astonished at his audacity. Yet the feeling of his hand on her upper arm was warm. Her stomach twisted. 

"I can't do this," she uttered to him, "I'm not strong enough to help all these shinobi." 

"Yes, you are," he responded quickly. "Why would you even think that?"

All her resentment towards him vanished, if only for that moment. She couldn't even begin to rationalize staying mad at the only person she cared for in this village. Her only close friend, the only one that understood her. She took in a deep breath, trying so desperately to quench the thirst for air in her lungs.

Another deep breath, and another, until she felt like she was gasping for air. 

"Ayame," He took her shoulders, steadying her. "Hey - breathe. Listen to me. You have to breathe or you're going to pass out."

"I can't," she barely managed, the air leaving her lungs, "these shin-shinobi are going to die. I can't-"

"Yes, you can," He gripped her shoulders, "didn't I train you? Didn't we train all summer? Look how far you've come, Ayame. You couldn't even make a leaf twitch before."

A quiet sob escaped from her lips, her body leaning forward and her head settling against his jacket. She cradled her chest, her hands tingling with numbness. Was she going to die right here? She certainly felt like it. She couldn't stop the waves of fear that crashed against her body.

"You have to get ahold of yourself," he said whispered against her ear, a hand sliding across her upper back. His breath was hot against her skin. "I know this is a lot of pressure for one person - this is your first real mission, and much of it relies on you. But you're not alone here. You have support - Lady Tsunade, Yamato, Sakura, we're all here. I'm right here. I'm not going to let you fail." 

Thick tears slid down her cheekbones as she processed his words, her eyes shut tightly. She stayed slumped over against him, the pounding of her heart in her ears the only indication of time passing. He let her cry, his hand brushing over her shoulder blades every few minutes. She felt ashamed to be crying. How weak it must make her look.

"Ayame," He called to her again once her breathing had evened, his tone quiet. "Look at me."

She paused a moment, inhaling deeply as she flexed her hands. She opened her eyes, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. His hand slid down her arm, barely grazing her skin as he rested it on her wrist. Their faces were inches apart, enough for her to see just how deep the divot of his scar was. She inhaled shakily, her body still quivering. She hadn't meant to be this close.

"It's okay to feel what you're feeling," he told her calmly, "But you're a Leaf kunoichi. You can handle this. I have faith in you."

Ayame blinked at him, a hiccup twitching in her throat as she felt her anxiety slowly dissipate. She considered his words, searching his face as she realized his honesty was genuine. A small, reassuring smile bunched up the fabric of his mask. She stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"Thank you," she finally managed quietly, his single dark eye holding hers. He hesitated, swallowing with difficulty as his smile began to fade. His head turned slightly, almost as though he wanted to look away. She could feel her mouth go dry.

"You're welcome," he replied almost weakly, his thumb twitching against the underside of her wrist.

Time could have stopped there for all they knew, the two of them on the forest floor of some unknown location on the outskirts of Sunagekure. Neither said a word, their eyes locked together in some strange dance to make up for their bodies being cemented in place.

She wanted to lean forward, to press her lips to his again, just as she had earlier that week on the training grounds. There was just something about him that drew her to him, like a mariner to a siren. She felt his grip just barely tightening around her wrist. Was he going to kiss her this time?

"Oi, Kakashi!" The pair jumped, startled by the irritated voice coming from their campgrounds. Quickly, Kakashi pulled away, standing to his feet to see Yamato striding forward.

"Are you trying to set the forest on fire?" Yamato asked sharply. 

"What?" Kakashi asked, puzzled but also clearly flustered. He turned his head back to Ayame, his hand poised in the air to support her as she shakily stood from the ground. 

"Come see for yourself," Yamato turned on his heel, walking back to the encampment without another word. 

The two exchanged glances, quietly wandering back. Once they reached the clearing, they could see the thick smoke in the air, a foul stench of burnt fabric mingling under their noses.

"Did you just throw your blanket into the campfire?" Yamato asked scathingly, his tone pointed at Kakashi. He gestured to a charred piece of wool next to a burnt-out campfire. 

Ayame lifted a hand, "oh, that's my blanket. I'm sorry." 

Yamato's demeanor changed, uncrossing his arms from his chest, "oh, well. Be more careful then, will you? It could have done more damage if Sakura hadn't smelled it." 

"Of course," she nodded, looking down at her blanket, now a quarter of the size it once was. She shook her head, her body still trembling from the adrenaline of her panic attack and whatever it was that just happened between them. She glanced over at Kakashi, watching him scratching the back of his head nervously as he pulled his body to the ground.

"Everything okay?" Sakura asked nearby, her voice soft with concern. 

Ayame turned to her and nodded, giving the girl a faint reassuring smile. 

"We still have a few more hours until sunrise," Sakura said, looking up at the fading stars. "You should get some rest, Ayame-chan."

Ayame nodded again, pulling her body down onto her pillow. She sighed, closing her eyes as she heard the rustling of her teammates settling back in. She placed the back of her palm on her forehead, feeling the aftermath fatigue hitting her. 

Kakashi's words wove in and out of her dreams, disrupting the moments of panic that consumed her when she would startle herself awake. Her skin was slick with a cold sweat as the sun rose. Opening her eyes, she heard her teammates begin to gather their belongings as the crows cawed in the distance. 

Pulling herself up on her elbows, Ayame looked over at Kakashi and Yamato as they disassembled the campfire. Sakura sat on a rock nearby, brushing her hair with her fingers, her bag already packed.

"Good morning," she said brightly, her expression sympathetic. 

"Morning," Ayame replied groggily, sitting up. She felt her shoulders grow cold and looked down at a blanket in her lap. Reaching down, she touched the wool fabric, noticing it was a different color than hers. She looked back up, remembering her burned blanket as it was still crumpled on the ground beside her. 

Puzzled, she looked over at Kakashi, watching as he and Yamato began packing their belongings into their knapsacks. She pursed her lips together, forcing away a smile and noticing that between the two men, only Yamato had a blanket to pack away. 

#kakashi x ofc #kakashi x original character #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi hatake #kakashi #kakashi imagine #naruto fandom #naruto oc #naruto fanfiction #slow burn #anime fanfiction

[ohrenoir]

you base your orgasm on your mental reconstruction of pleasure in a patch of silky skin on my erection 

you are not free to look at my crotch

soft cotton t-shirts and naked below -- the cotton erotic, the hot and cold of train stations, a mix of directions 

the rough desire passed around at night by guys in a park or an alley

pleasure hidden like treasure in that scary place 

a sexual consummation: he groans from the deepest place where his body (the world) begins

a man watches me shower and follows me into the sauna. the fragrance of hot cedar. he is short with large features, glossy black curls, and a narrow waist fanning into cheeks as cantilevered as the drawer of a file cabinet 

i spread my legs and my tip rests on the wooden slats 

the eye of a sex hurricane 

a glimpse of a sped-up shadow fucking hard

i think he is going to blow me. the human race fixes its eyes on that possibility 

we both have semis 

the odor of deodorant 

after i learn to jack off, my memory improves

our early-morning dives into the steaming lake

you watch the grass rise after my bare foot presses it 

i put my cock in your mouth

my isolation expresses itself as sex

your reality takes shape in this blow job

i fuck him as carelessly as he wants. i enter him from behind, my strokes are so hard that my thighs spank him. his intricate lower back and the jiggling of his thin flesh move me in surges of tender lust 

discovering each other's body in a swimming pool, pressing erections together, the zest of youth

roving gangs of stuffed jeans

i wear black satin shorts, his face turns and his lips cup the satin bulge. the room sways when you put my cock in your mouth. its shaft rubs your arm from elbow to fingertip 

my young dad, on all fours, lays his face in my lap, and breathes on my cock. he actually presses against my erection and kisses it 

he jerks the flesh pole 

the feeling of riding on a train. his hand rests on my thigh. i wrap his palm around my cock as we speed up 

on his bed the feeling of apple trees persists

dry pine smell

mown lawns at twilight

the forest aware of its beauty, lit with shimmering glass

sometimes underwear is more beautiful than flesh

it feels like roses have just bloomed. you trick me into letting you suck me. after a struggle i lie still and come in your mouth 

cherry blossoms in your face

#nocturnes #2023

[mrs-kelly]

Drabblecember #3

ship: renlie

word count: 453 words

content warnings: thalassophobia, drowning, fear of death

a/n: takes place during “the gang goes to hell”. necessary setup is that the gang is in the brig of a cruise ship because they’ve broken cruise rules, and now the ship has hit something, and a leak has sprung loose while the gang is trapped inside.

also takes place in an au where Charlie and I are not dating at this point. for that trope of near death confessions and all you know <3

The water had almost filled the brig of the ship where all of us were trapped, and we all were barely keeping our heads above. Specifically, I, who couldn’t swim, clung to Charlie to stay above water.

“Charlie… If you’re about to sink, just let me go,” I squeaked out.

“What? …No way, Ren. If you’re going down, I’m going with you.” He wrapped his arms around me tighter, bringing me closer to him. “I’m not just gonna let you go.”

His words touched my heart even more knowing that we could die at any given moment. The water continued to rise, and as it did, I closed my eyes tightly, knowing I would finally have to get these words off of my chest.

“Can I tell you something?” I whispered to him, my lips so close to his ear from how he was holding me.

“Yeah. Yeah, anything, Ren. Hey, this might be your only chance.” He chuckled darkly, then hoisted me up a little more as the water kept rising.

“Charlie…” I paused, clinging to his shoulders a little tighter, “I love you. Thank you for protecting me.”

He was quiet, and before he could answer, the water rose up to his chin.

“Oh, my God, Charlie, no!”

He tipped his head back, taking a gulp of air.

The gang around us all started to realize what was happening. One by one, they looked each other in the eyes, and dove under the water to accept their fate. Suddenly, the only ones left were me and Charlie.

He was trying to hold me up, but the water was getting too high. I looked over at him, catching his gaze, and we looked into each other’s eyes. At that moment, I felt an odd peace, and he smiled softly at me.

Wordlessly, we nodded to each other and joined our friends at the floor of the ship, holding our breath and taking their outstretched hands.

Charlie and I looked at each other as best we could under the water, and he squeezed my hand.

Under the water, we all planned to hold out together, until the end. But a light that cut through the water above held different plans…

-*-

In an office on dry land, the insurance representative finished taking our statements about what happened on the cruise. And as the rest of the gang left the office together, arguing about how the insurance company wouldn’t give them any money, Charlie lagged behind with me.

He took my hand and smiled at me. “Hey, I… I haven’t forgotten what you said on the ship. Unless you want me to.”

I squeezed his hand back and smiled at him. “Never forget it, Charlie.”

His eyes lit up, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t think I could if I tried. …Hey, why don’t we get something to eat? My treat.”

taglist: @greghouse @myscaramouche @leibholz @gideongrovel @superliminalselfships @eternally-smitten

Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be added or removed <3

#ok here you go; I finally wrote another drabble ahdjffl #a little longer than a drabble but still!! #I reserve the right to rework this idea later bc I like it shfjfl #ren’s writing #renlie #drabblecember

[cramajoki]

The Witch, Rebecca, in the Land of LaYora: Chapter 1

War is upon us. The Militaries of the many planes are building themselves up, hoping to do their best to restore peace to the land of Layora. A world of many worlds stacked so neatly on top of one another, lifted up by trees and clouds. Each presenting a home unique to their culture, and presenting rich resources for the imperialists at large. 

The dwarves of the cave kingdom whistle about as they collect their stone. Their smiths hammer away at the hot metal, casting iron into swords and tools for bloodshed. The bloodshed of neverending terror. 

  Many centuries have gone by as these worlds devolve into chaos. Gangs rise and fall, but one figurehead reigns supreme in the land. The witch, Queen Namora, who guides her armies through the land as she has for eternity. 

The caves of the dwarves were full of hammers and pickaxes as they whistled about, but soon it was cut short as the ground began to tremble. They all stopped, waiting patiently to see what it was. 

The ground only shook slightly, and it was hard to say what it was. Masorath, a bearded dwarf in the cave with a patch over her eye, waited patiently for a response from one of the watchers. Soon enough a coo was heard. She twiddled back for more details, smacking her dry lips afterwards. It was only a moment later he got back a whistle which explained everything. Masorath paused, scared. She soon screamed out to the rest of the dwarves. “SHE’S HERE! HER ARMY HAS BROKEN THROUGH THE GA--”

A thunderous crack shattered through the cave as various centipede-like creatures crawled about the walls with great speed, each hosting millions of insectoid creatures on their back. 

The dwarves screamed out as they prepared their weapons. Masorath, her ax. She turned to have her back to her sister, Caraya. A younger dwarf with a ginger beard. She muttered out her words through her dry lips as the insects swarmed their cave. “How did she find us?”

“And how did she get the Grekken on her side?” Masorath asked, looking at the insects. Soon the Grekken lept off their centipedes to attack, hovering in the air a bit with their wings before cascading to the ground, throwing their swords about. 

The dwarves scattered into place like ants as the Grekken swarmed them like wasps. Metal clinked together as blood was shed. Grekken and dwarves alike had their limbs torn from them as they slid down the slides of liquid which formed in the cave. 

Masorath soon found safety up high, locking herself into the tech room. She looked over at Kopo and Woo-oo-oo-oo-oooh as they put their goggles on. “Kopo, Woo-oo-oo-oo-oooh, is it ready?” 

“Yes, yes,” Woo expressed. “And that’s the wrong pitch, its Woo-oo-oo-oo-oooh.”

“Where’s Caraya?” Kopo asked. 

“I lost that chika in the crowd.” Masorath explained. “Limbs are being pulled off everywhere, and you know how deranged that chika can get in battle!”

“Right, well, don’t mind if we get started on our cannon.” Woo rolled by with the cannon, pointing it towards the window.

“Woo-oo-oo-oo-oooh!” Masorath whistled correctly this time. Correctly this time. “Don’t you go blowing holes in the under-realm, now you hear me! Krika like this glass is expensive down hear, don’t ya know?”

“What? What was that Masorath? I can’t hear you over the sound of my Yogga!” Woo prepared the cannon and fired, shattering the glass in front of them. The shard flew about in the air, lodging itself into the eyes and bodies of various soldiers, Grekken and Dwarf alike.

“Now see what you did, you silly chika!” Masorath began before going into whistles. Woo ignored her as she fired again through the window, the shockwave sending them all back. 

The centipedes took their time and finally got hungry, feasting on the corpses on the battlefield as death spread throughout. The mounts did not discriminate between the bodies of their masters and those of their enemies. 

Cannonballs flew overhead, smashing into the heads of various victims, or the walls, causing parts of the walls to come crumbling down. In the holes of the walls escaped various insects. One of which crawled up to Caraya who looked at the tiny thing for a moment before scooping it up as a snack. The juices flowing down her beard. 

She then headed out with her sword. It swung graciously into the air through the heads of her insect enemies. Seeing the decapitated corpses on the ground, she laughed. As she flung her metal about, she backed right into a centipede, pumping it, and knocking over the Grekken on it. The Grekken was carrying a lantern which soon broke and set fire to the guns around. 

Woo and Kopo fired off more balls as Masorath begged them to stop. “Please, you chikas, you’re causing more damage to our homeland than the invaders!”

“Grow some fun in your life, Masorath!” Woo called out.

Having enough of this, Masorath lept through the window and slid down the slope of the cave, before hopping up above for more of the action. There, she saw the various tunnels the centipedes were creating, and took the time to cut off their heads as they escaped, using her ax. After which she hit the side of the cave wall, causing the centipedes still crawling through to be crushed with their jockeys. 

Heading to the front as she sliced off more heads, she found Caraya once again. “Finally, we return to each other’s company in battle.” 

“Look at you, you’re the one who left.” Caraya said, leaning her back upon her partner. “And speaking of which, what were those explosions?”

“Woo-oo-oo-oo-oooh and Kopo were firing off their new canon.”

“Really? That’s righty Yogga, I must say.” Caraya spoke.

“Please, it’s a mess. We already have the Grekken to destroy the walls, we don’t need to do it ourselves.” 

“Right right, I hear ya Chika.” Caraya accepted.

With that discussion, the two found themselves getting distracted, soon being knocked out by some falling rocks.

The battle came to an end as another wall opened up. Pausing, everyone looked through. Out of it came the queen, the witch, Lady Namora. She passed through the portal with her gown flowing by. The Grekken soon presented to her four of the dwarves. Woo, Kopo, Caraya, and Masorath.

“Lady Namora… ” Masorath spoke.

“What a familiar face to find down here, Masorath.” She smiled.

“Ay, but never again shall I bow down to you!” Masorath spat at her feet. 

Namora began to laugh. “Fine then, then it shall be.” She waved her arm in the air, and soon enough one of the Grekken came by and sliced off Masorath’s head. 

Caraya screamed in agony. “You bitch! You bitch of a Chika!”

“Quite…” She smiled. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t mind a quick execution on your behalf as well.” She pointed to the dwarf.

“All I want to know is how you got the Grekken on your side.” Caraya asked.

Namora shrugged. “They are but a simple species. Kill the queen, take her place… and they worship you as their own.”

Angry, Woo began cursing at Namora in whistles.

“And who might you be?” Namora asked the young dwarf.

“I am but Woo-oo-oo-oo-oooh, the youngest of the house of Woo-ooo.” Woo whistled her name.

“Ah, a traditional Dwarf name only. Hardly worth worrying about.” Namora pressed her staff against the face of the dwarf. “Come now, you are to be my prisoners of war. “

“Why not just kill us?” Caraya asked. 

“If I were to kill all of my enemies, I’d have no one to threaten. With you alive… I can control the rest of the dwarven populus.” 

She had her Grekken soldiers take them away to her castle, long off into one of the highest layers of LaYora. They traveled for days, given little food or water. The dwarves as they went smacked their lips, feeling the dry heat of the desert, and soon shook in the frozen tundra of another. As they went, Kopo fell over dead. 

They stopped for a moment to check her out. One of the Grekken looking over her. “She’s dead.” He proclaimed. 

Namora paused before nodding, wanting them to get the move on.

#LaYora #Writing #story #fantasy