#sick so I gotta do somethin with my time lol

[the-home-of-innovation]

Drawing up some SDMP Schlatt and Connor

#sick so I gotta do somethin with my time lol #jay.txt

[arachine]

૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა ... i'd follow you anywhere .ᐟ

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x avatar! reader

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in which reader uses her new avatar body to finally show neteyam just how much she loves him… + based off of this thirst!

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), minimal angst (?), lots of fluff and banter lol

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, dacryphilia (v tame), corruption

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 2.5k

ᥫ᭡ note :: guys this is what happens when i ask for thirsts!!! i get carried away and never know when to stop ;(( anyway, here, have this while i work on my annual dick analysis for jake & quaritch.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Shh, you’ll see, kitty boy,” you giggled, tightening your grip on his wrist.

Neteyam shakes his head, tongue in cheek. He could never say no to you—not that he wanted to…he always wanted to play with you. He’d follow you into the depths of hell, or whatever the na’vi equivalent of hell was. Yeah, he’d follow you there, he thinks—definitely.  

The boy relinquishes all of his motor skills to you, allowing you to drag his body further into the forest. He mirrors all of your agile movements, jumping when you jump, running when you run—and then you come to a halt, turning around quickly to face him. You’re so close—too close, the sudden proximity disrupting his equilibrium.

“Don’t go falling for me now,” you grab his forearm before he can fall, pulling him back up with a wink. He scoffs at this, mumbling something sly under his breath. You were always so quick-witted, with quick reflexes to match, too. To anyone else, this would be annoying, but to him, they were your most admirable traits. It’s what made him fall for you.

“Ha, ha, can you tell me what we are doing all the way out here now?” he raises his hands, gesturing to the clearing that you were now standing in. You smile wildly, pursing your lips together in avoidance. The boy reaches behind you to pull your tail, tickling your sides until you surrender.

“Okay, okay, just s-stop it already,” you belt out, “I wanna show you somethin’…gotta be nice to get it, though.” He retracts his hands, letting them fall slowly to his sides. Just what were you planning?

Grabbing his hand this time, you usher him to follow you with a tilt of your head. You lead him to a tree surrounded by shrubbery, a spot that, up until now, only you were privy to its whereabouts. The perfect place for privacy.

Letting go of his hand, you push him down to sit on the forest floor, with his back resting against the bark of the tree and you nestled between his legs. His pulse quickens. What was so important that you needed to drag him so deep into the forest? In such a secluded place, nonetheless. 

“I’ve been wanting to try this with you for a while,” you start, voice so low, just barely above a whisper. His eyes squint in confusion, but he remains silent—listening, as to not scare you from continuing. 

“You know, growing up in a shack with grown men…you hear a lot of things,” a silence, “things only men talk about.” Your eyes flitter to his, unmoving. 

“like, the things they missed doing on Earth, the girls they miss fucking—and what they’d do to have a woman’s lips wrapped their cocks…” The last bit comes out more hushed, gently kissing the shell of his ears. His tail reacts to you before he can, swishing in jagged movements, exposing his excitement. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you down there?” your eyes flit to his groin. 

He shakes his head eagerly, “No, I have n-never heard of this…nobody has ever…”

“Can I?” you tilt your head, flashing him your best doe-eyes. It was fun teasing him, a feeling that you’d never grow tired of. From first glance, to first introduction, you’d been bound at the hip since you could talk. Everything he did, you did, and vice versa. If you were feeling sick one day and couldn’t play, then shit, he was too. If you wanted to jump off a cliff one day, he’s jumping with you!

His loyalty to you was unyielding, grounding. And as the years passed, and the two of you transitioned from bright-eyed little kids to gangly, awkward teens on the cusp of adulthood, you started to realize something. That you wanted to be all of his firsts. 

Determinedly, you set out to do just that. On his thirteenth birthday, you kissed his cheek. A scintilla of your love, stained onto the expanse of his face that served as a mental reminder that this boy was yours—promised to you, and only you. 

Then, three more years passed. The boy with the rounded cheeks and toothy smile, had begun to change. It started out slow, though, then the differences became more gradual. 

The first to change was his face. What was once round and doughy, had now become slim and sharp. And then it was his physique. No longer was he the awkward child with gangly limbs, and a head too big for his body (as you liked to put it). No, he was much more…different. And each and every one of these changes, a testament to his inevitable journey into adulthood. 

On his sixteenth birthday, you kissed him. Once. But in that one kiss, you poured every ounce of love that you’d collected over the years. Every thought, every wish, every yearn, went right into that kiss—another piece of your heart that you carved just for him.  For him to have and hold, to keep safe. 

And when it was over, you pulled away with a smile, and a dagger of a tongue dipped in poison, ready to deliver heartbreak. 

You’re a man now, you uttered. I wanted to give my best friend his first kiss. And that was it, that was all it was ever going to be—because you were human, then. Still a weak, measly, little human who spent all her time living in a false reality, chasing something (someone) that could never really truly be promised to you. Not until you made the change.  

So, you waited. And…waited, and waited, and waited until one day you could meet his eye without having to look up, or for him to drop down. You waited until the day when you’d be recognized as his equal. 

Today was that day, on his twentieth birthday. And so you ask again. 

“Can I kiss you down here?” 

He nods. Once, twice, then stutters out an eager yes. Gently you smooth your palm up and over his knee, the skin of his thighs, and then stop beneath the fabric of his loin cloth. Your fingers trace the area teasingly, and you giggle when his hip juts up from the sensation. So sensitive. 

Slowly, you remove the cloth from his body, and take him into your hand. He’s semi-hard and leaking pre—and warm. So, so warm. You bring it up to your cheek, rubbing it against the area before turning your head to leave a zephyr-light kiss on his shaft. You kiss it once, then twice, then kiss it again for every year you spent not kissing him. 

“What are you doing?” he laughs, “Come on, it tick—hahhh.” A whine vacates from his throat upon you licking a long stripe from the base of his shaft, to the tip of his head. Naturally, his hands find solace atop of your head. 

“So dramatic, I didn’t even do anything yet.” This time, you take him into your mouth, forcing him to watch you as more and more of his length disappears into the cavern of your mouth. 

Technically, you’d never done this before (save for the few times you practiced on fruit) so it was your first time, just as much as it was his. But he didn’t have to know that. You wanted to appear like you knew what you were doing, or at the very least, like you’d done this before. You try to remember all the things you’ve heard over the years.

1) Girls who used teeth were bad, but girls who flattened their tongues and relaxed their throats were good. 

2) Girls who didn’t use spit sucked, but girls who got really messy were good fucks. 

3) Girls who didn’t play with balls were lazy, but girls who did knew how to have fun.

So, you use an amalgamation of all of the tips that you garnered. You flatten your tongue, ease your throat so that you can take him farther, until the head of his cock hits your uvula. 

“Shhit, mmf,” he breathes, attempting to stifle a moan by digging a hand into the forest soil. Immediately, you grab his hand and place it back onto your head, pulling off of him with a wet pop.

“Keep ‘em here,” your hand fists his length, “want you to use me. Wanna make you feel good, ‘kay?” His dick twitches in your hold, because fuck, the sight before him is almost too much for him to handle. 

You, before him on your knees, with your dainty hand wrapped around him, and your face wet with drool. And you want him to what? Use you? To make him feel…good? God, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was Eywa playing tricks on his mind. Giving him a taste of euphoria before yanking him back to reality. 

He has half a mind to pinch himself, and half mind to poke you, because there’s just no way this is real. Bullshit. But then you’re sinking back down onto him, and swirling your tongue around his head, and using your hands to massage his balls, and—

“Fuck,” his hands reflexively push you down onto his length. His body shivers when the tip of your nose makes contact with his pelvis. You’re so warm, and wet, so inviting, he can’t seem to let go. He keeps you there until you physically can’t fathom it, and pull off of him in search of air. 

“That felt…nice,” he says bashfully, “can you do that again?” You nod eagerly, accumulating a generous amount of spit in your mouth to use as a salve, lathering it up and down the length of him before he guides you back to his awaiting cock. 

He watches intently as your lips stretch to accommodate him again. Now his hands, which are tangled in your tresses, are moving more confidently. They push and pull you, maneuvering your head gently and at a steady pace, then gradually, they increase their speed. 

Neteyam does this a few times and then allows you to take the reins. When you’re ready, you take a deep inhale through your nose, and push yourself down until you feel the weight of him hit the back of your throat. The first time was a bit easier, mostly because your jaw wasn’t as fatigued as it was now, but you persevere anyway. 

Inhale, exhale. A mantra that you have to repeat to yourself to distract you from the urge to gag. You try your best to keep your jaw relaxed and your throat open by digging your nails into the fat of his thighs. 

When you look up at him, there’s an elated expression molded onto his face. His head is thrown back against the tree, hair strewn about with tendrils sticking to his forehead, and his eyes are shut closed. 

He looks…so beautiful. That’s when you feel a tear ribbon down your face and onto his thigh. You’re unsure if it’s because of the air steadily leaving your brain, or if it’s because of how pretty he looks right now—all sweaty, slick with your drool.

You settle on the former. It had to be the air. Eventually, your lungs give out and you have to take a breather. The sudden loss of warmth forces his eyes open, and then they fall on your face. Your eyes. Doe-eyed and clouded. Cheeks stained with tears. 

“Pretty.” Is all he says, bringing up a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You work him the rest of the way with the iota of energy you have left, concentrating on the head of his cock while your hand fists him to climax. 

His abs begin to tremble and flex when you switch between hollowing your cheeks and massaging his balls. A visual indication that he was close to coming. 

“Waitwaitwait, it feels like,” he’s panicked, trying to push you away. You dodge his attempts to remove you and continue your assault, only this time, you gently apply pressure to his perineum. Unceremoniously, he pushes your head down to the hilt and you moan around him from the force. 

The vibrations from your throat makes his head feel all fuzzy. He’s so close, on the precipice of euphoria. And your hands—that are still situated on his thighs—rub the expanse of them reassuringly, coaxing him to finish right on your tongue. 

With a final lazy piston, he comes into your mouth, and the warm, salty seed that you’d been anticipating leaks down the column on your throat. Moans tumble from his lips, along with hushed expletives, and he’s shaking. The cords of muscle beneath your palm tense and flex before regressing to their natural, relaxed state. 

You remove your mouth promptly and rise to your haunches, making sure that his eyes are locked onto yours as you stick out your tongue to show him his seed. 

“No, do not swallow that, I didn’t mea—“ Disobeying his wishes, you do it anyway. Swallowing it all all down and making it a point that you did so by sticking your tongue out again. His tail flicks in response, eyes wide in disbelief. 

“Why did you do that? It’s dirty,” he caresses your cheek, wiping away the leftover spent from your mouth. 

“‘Cause I wanted to…” You counter. “And it’s not dirty, you tasted good.” 

Neteyam rolls his eyes at this, like him tasting good is too hard for him to believe. 

“Don’t believe me? Here, try it.” And then you give him the gift that you had gifted to him all those years ago. A kiss. It’s equal parts sweet and needy, different from the first time it happened, but that’s because it was supposed to be. You wanted him to know exactly what you meant. No more waiting. No more pining. 

When you draw back, breathless and dizzy, he’s still stuck in a stupor. Lips jutted out and waiting for you to kiss him again. Again, again, again. He opens his eyes, and sees you staring back at him. 

“See, I told yo—“ He takes a fist full of your hair and connects his lips to yours. This is him returning the gift. Letting you know that he got the message, loud and clear, and that it was reciprocated. Every ounce of love that flows through his heart is poured into your own; he hopes you can feel it. 

“I told you not to fall for me,” you whisper, looking up at him with an avian flutter of your lashes. Neteyam’s hands find solace on the sides of your cheeks, and then he speaks.

“I think I fell for you a long time ago.” Warmth washes over you, his sweet words and strong hands overriding all of your cognitive functions. Specifically, the one in charge of keeping you calm and collected. 

“Good, ‘cause I think you’re gonna fall for me a lot harder when you see what I have planned for you later.”

“What’s later?”

“Shh, what fun would it be if I told the birthday boy the surprise?” You grin cheekily, unaware of the way your tail swishes from side to side as you say it. Neteyam knows you’re up to no good, but he doesn’t care. He’d follow you anywhere, after all. 

© arachine 2023

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam smut #neteyam sully smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x reader smut #avatar x reader smut #avatar x reader #atwow smut #avatar the way of water smut

[stevenose]

𝖌𝖔𝖙 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊, 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊 (18+)

kinktober: cowboy!steve edition

summary: the local handsome, womanizing cowboy is really starting to get on your nerves.

contains: reader with a vagina; reader is called “good girl”; business owner reader whaddup!; historical fiction; degradation; boot riding; praise; dirty talk; enemies to ???; extremely brief mention of a gun in a holster

word count: 2.7k

a/n: this is not historically accurate so do not go into it thinking it will be <3 i was inspired by that scene in raiders when marion and indy meet again in her bar lol. hope you enjoy!

The tattered rag in your hand squeaks against the whiskey glass in your other. You pay close attention to it, the rest of the tavern empty. It’s nearly midnight, all of your customers gone, the only company a few lit and dripping candlesticks. 

Well, until he walks in. 

You know who it is based on the click of the boots and the fact that the door had been locked. He stands behind you, leaning against the bar. 

“I told you to get rid of that key,” you huff. “That’s stolen property.”

“Y’always like to call me an outlaw, don’t ya?”

You sit your glass down and throw the rag over your shoulder as you turn to face him. Steve Harrington, wearing his typical leather vest and a white linen button down, parted at the top to give you a look at his chest. Your eyes catch on his freckles before making your way up to his face. His coffee eyes are amused, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“We’re closed,” you say, turning away from him, mostly to hide your face. He gets you worked up in every way he could. 

“Did that ever stop me before?”

You roll your eyes and grab another glass to dry. He clears his throat to get your attention. 

“I’ll take whiskey, darlin’,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Try another bar, Harrington,” you scoff. “You know my hours.”

“Woulda been here earlier, but I lost track of time.”

“You lose another herd of cattle again?”

“No.” You hear him light a match, the warm smell of smoke followed by rich, vanilla-infused tobacco. You have no idea how he can afford such cigars. “I didn’t work today.”

“Hm.” You sit a glass down. “At least one of us gets breaks.”

Steve sighs, puts his cigar out quickly on the bottom of his boot, and moves around the bar to join you behind it. He takes a glass from your hand and grabs whiskey with another. You feel a little faint when his skin touches yours.

“Hey!” you protest, watching him pop the lid off of a top-shelf bottle. “Don’t dirty a glass, jackass!”

He sort of rolls his shoulders, towering over you, and sits the glass down. Still, he keeps the whiskey in his hand - and before you can say anything, he drinks straight from it. 

“Bastard!” you scold, shoving him, all while he laughs and downs as much as he possibly can. You fight him, reaching for it, but he keeps you at bay with one strong arm. “That - is - expensive - shit - Harrington!”

“Oh, really?” he giggles, boyish. He takes one final swig before slamming it on the cedar bar. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Think I prefer the cheap kind.”

You shove him again, and again, furious with him. “Now I’ve gotta open a whole ‘nother bottle!”

“You think I’m sick or somethin’?” He doesn’t seem much bothered by your pushing. 

“Obviously,” you hiss. “Sick in the head for thinking you can come into my bar after hours without a penny to pay with just to chastise me.”

“I don’t think it spreads,” he smiles, reaching for your hands as you go to push him back towards the door. He takes your small wrists in his big hands - they wrap around them fully and he keeps you in place. 

Your demeanor quickly changes, from furious to frozen. Chastise you, he does, especially when he gets like this. So close to you, his hands caressing you, then pulling back a second later like he didn’t mean it. Steve Harrington was a cowboy and a ladies man, everything you thought you detested. But you loved these midnight visits, even if he was annoying. You liked his company. 

He seems to notice your change and bites back a broader smile. He pulls you towards him, walking backwards towards a broad leather chair. You begin to protest as he sits down, pulling you on top of him, your legs spreading around his thick thighs. His gun, locked away in his holster, is cold against your thigh. 

“Harrington,” you warn, twisting, trying to get out of his grip. 

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching up to cup your cheek. You melt immediately. “Just wanna ask you somethin’, alright?”

You swallow hard. “What, cowboy?”

“Why don’t ya like me?”

You laugh, turning your chin out of his grip. He seems a little hurt, tilting his head as he watches you. 

“You’re everythin’ I hate,” you answer. “Dirty, foul mouthed, always out in the fields. You try to fuck anythin’ that moves. You’re presumptuous and pompous -“

“Me?” he asks, genuinely startled. “I’m pompous?”

“Of course you are. Y’think you’re better than everyone, and that’s why you can come in here and grab my whiskey without askin’.”

“I did ask first. Not my fault you’re such a stone-cold church bell.”

You gasp, but he continues before you can protest. 

“Don’t know why you wanna act all tough. Y’know I’d know what tough is, don’t ya? I-“

“Oh, of course, you’re so brave out there on your horse -“

“See? Y’never let me finish. Hardly ever even give me a chance.”

“I don’t care to!”

Steve narrows his eyes. “You sure about that?” 

“Positive.”

He stares at you a while longer before letting his hands creep towards your hips. “Well,” he says slowly. “I opine that you just like playin’ with me. And bottom fact is I’m gettin’ a little tired of it, darlin’.”

Your eyes widen a little, face heating. “I’m well over bein’ tired of you comin’ in and botherin’ me.”

“So you really don’t like me?”

“No.”

“Take off those trousers for me, then.”

You reel back. “Pardon me?”

“You don’t like me? Prove it, then.”

“I - I - h- how could you even assume -“

“You’ve been grindin’ on my lap this entire goddamn time,” he points out. “But if you’re so sure y’ain’t affected, go ‘head. Show me.”

You lick your lips. You know if you don’t that he’ll always assume you were. And he might even spread the rumor. And if you do, it’ll just confirm his suspicions. Because you’re soaked. Completely. No debate. 

“Go on,” he coaxes. “Y’can go behind the bar if you need some privacy.”

Glaring, you hop off of his lap, looking down quick to see if you left a mark. You didn’t, but it’s very clear he’s hard. 

“And you’re worried about me?” you snark, nodding towards his crotch. 

“Never said I didn’t like you,” he says, adjusting in his seat as you stand breathless. “You gonna make me wait?”

You force yourself to move after a second, feet heavy as you walk behind the bar. He stays in place, watching you, arms crossed over his broad chest. You bite your tongue and pull your trousers off first, then take your cotton underwear in your hands. As you already knew, they’re wet. You stare, contemplating spilling some ale on them. 

“Bring me that whiskey while you’re at it.”

You roll your eyes and ball your underwear into your fists as you pull your pants back on. You grab a glass and the cheap whiskey and return to him, making him catch the glasses as you throw them at him. 

“And your panties?”

You throw them at him as hard as you can. Steve takes them immediately and grins wide as he inspects them. A low whistle leaves his soft, parted lips. “Yup,” he says, the fabric looking small in his big hands. “Knew it.”

“It was hot today,” you protest. “I’ve been here forever, they - they need changed -“

A shot of lightning hits down through your core as you watch him bring your underwear up to his nose and inhale. Deep. He savors it, eyes drifting shut for a long moment before they open again, and he grins. 

“I know a needy cunt when I smell one.”

Now you’re standing in place, heart beating fast in your chest. Your hands clench and unclench in uncertainty. You grind your teeth and stare at him with heated cheeks and chest. 

“So everythin’ you say you hate, you like,” he starts. He shifts, tucking your underwear in his back pocket. You don’t argue. “You like big, strong men who come in and take what they want from you. Cause it’s so hard, runnin’ this place by yourself, no one t’take care of ya. Spendin’ your nights alone. You want someone else to call the shots, huh?”

You swallow hard. 

“That it? You need a man with authority?”

“You don’t have authority,” you force out. 

Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes a little. He’s handsome in the warm glow of the candles, catching on the sun-kissed highlights in his brunette hair. “You’re no different than the livestock I train. You just need a firm hand and a gentle tone, huh? I know I can break you in time. Just gotta get you to yield first.” He suddenly moves his foot forward and taps it against the hardwood floor. “Come sit on my boot.”

The air is knocked out of your lungs. “What?”

“There’s one difference,” he observes softly. “Animals are a lot better at obeyin’ than you.”

You detest the accusation, the way he’s speaking to you, and yet your cunt aches with need. You want to rub your little clit against his boot and make him talk sweet to you. You remain still, a stare-off with him. 

“I’m not very patient,” he says, tapping his shoe. “But I’m tryin’ to be for you.”

You set a glare as you step towards him, legs shaking. 

“There ya go,” he coos as you move to your knees, “could get used to this.”

“Don’t,” you snap. 

“You think y’wont get addicted to this?” he asks. “I know I already am. Seein’ you on your knees before me - you get me hard, dear. Bet you’re good at grindin’ those hips - you done that before, right? Who’s that wealthy shop owner’s son? John?”

You glare up at him as you settle over his boot. “Don’t talk about John.”

“Isn’t me,” he says, holding his hands up. “You know everyone in town was talkin’ when you were together. Think you like people in different classes than you, huh? Did he talk sweet to you?”

You’re overwhelmed and hot. It makes you dizzy. The steel toe of his boot against your scratchy trousers doesn’t help. You nod, unable to speak much, brows furrowed in opposition. 

“Too sweet?” he presses. “That why you’re on my boot right now? Y’like gettin’ talked down to? I can do that, but I’m a romantic, if you’d believe it. Like to cuddle after, make a real connection. You gonna be good and grind?”

Setting your jaw and bearing down, you begin pressing your hips into his shoe. The cool, hard pressure makes you gasp, and Steve smiles wide above you. You hold onto his leg for support, fingertips bruising him. 

“There we go,” he praises, taking his glass and whiskey and pouring it. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You don’t answer, but your whimpers answer for you. You bite your lip and whine softly, circling your hips. Steve whistles low again and takes a sip of the caramel colored alcohol above you. “Jesus, I could get used t’this. Shuttin’ you up on my boot. You be good and I’ll reward you, honey. Want a sugar cube?”

“Shut up,” you hiss. 

“Aw, alright,” he beams. “Sugar don’t work on you, shoulda known. How ‘bout my cock? That a good enough reward?”

Despite your best attempts, a moan forces itself past your lips. You’ve dreamed of him, ever since he first busted into your bar and begged for a drink after a long day of herding. His large figure on top of you, crushing you, while his cock rams you in spots you didn’t know existed. You wish you could see more of it now - but you’re only face to face with his clothed election. 

“Huh.” He takes a drink. “Didn’t think you’d like that. You’re just full of surprises, huh? That’s somethin’ I like ‘bout you.”

You hate that his words make your cheeks catch fire. 

Steve angles his foot upwards, making the boot raise and press deliciously against your clit. You cry out, head falling back, and Steve chokes out a sigh. “God Almighty, look at you. All this from fuckin’ my boot. Could you have imagined?”

You shake your head, though you aren’t paying much attention to him. Your body shakes as you move yourself against him. Every push and pull makes you weaker, a tightness starting in your lower stomach and reaching down for your clit. You rest your head against his knee and miss him taking his cigar back out of his vest’s pocket. You smell the march and tobacco again. It smells like him. That rich scent, followed by the sweet smell of hay and maple sugar, envelopes him wherever he goes. You wish your thin bedsheets smelled like it. 

“C’mere,” he urges, reaching for your hair and tilting your head up. “Open up.”

He bounces his foot again, and your mouth drops. 

“Breathe,” he instructs, before leaning down and blowing smoke right into your mouth. You inhale, but the smoke is too much - it forces you to cough and stutter. Steve leans back and smiles, taking another drag and blowing it down towards you. “‘nother thing t’train you to take, huh?”

Overwhelmed with pleasure and the sudden urge to be better than him, or at least good for him, you nod. 

“I’ll make a list,” he sighs. He’s lazy, leaning back and watching you. He sets his glass on the oak table beside him and presses his palm against his cock. “Y’know, I really pride myself on breakin’ things in. I’ve handled some of the most aggressive mares in the state. Even when they kick and punch, even when they resist … I always make ‘em mine.”

Your teeth bite into his knee, your movements speeding up. You cry out, eyes rolling back, the tightness growing. 

“You wanna be mine?” he asks, leaning forward again. “That it? Wanna be yours. Want you to pay attention t’me. I’d do whatever y’asked. Wanna be your big, strong man. Will you let me?”

A shuddering breath. “Steve,” you whimper. It’s the first time you’ve called him that. 

“Good girl, that’s my name.” He pats your head. “Wanna be Steve’s girl? Huh?”

You betray your conscience and listen to your subconscious. “Mhm. Ah! Y-yes!”

“Then cum. C’mon, know y’can, want it. Polish my shoe, darlin’.”

You press your head hard into his knee and dig your fingers into his flesh. Deep breaths, along with your movements, make your body rise and fall. Steve bounces his shoe a little, angling it up, and with a sharp inhale and shout you cum. The room feels like it’s upside down. You’re dizzy, overwhelmed, parched as the white-hot feeling spreads from your pussy to the rest of you. It leaves you weak, and you’re about to fall back before Steve catches you, two hands on your biceps. 

“Hey, hey,” he coos, pulling you back up into his lap. Your forehead rests against his. “‘s alright, Steve’s got you. There we go. Did so good for me, peach. Y’look so pretty for me.”

“I’m. Not. A. Horse,” you pant. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles, hands moving to cup your ass. “Give me a kiss, won’t you?”

You pull away from him to press your lips as hard as you can against his. He gasps, a hand flying up to the back of your neck. You kiss him hard, a little messy, finishing it off with a harsh bite to his bottom lip before pulling away. 

“Goddamn,” he mumbles, reaching up to touch his bottom lip. “Y’need some more trainin’, I see.”

“Well,” you pant with a half hearted shrug. “Guess you’re gonna be busy.”

#steve harrington smut #stevenose posts #steve x reader #ns/fw #cowboy!steve #kinktober 23

[meowdymista]

Van der Driscoll Pt 7

Part 6 - Masterlist

Part 8

This is a bit of a filler chapter, which is stupid for the ratio of original wording to in game script ratio. Next one will be more engaging, I promise. Also sorry for the long wait; I took time off from writing last week because it was my birthday, and then England swept into a second lockdown so it’s been poo trying to prepare especially in work because I process somms for small-medium businesses but whatever. No one is getting much for Christmas this year lol

****

You find, much to your relief and Arthur’s annoyance, that Sean’s chaotic charm and energy swallows everyone’s attention over the next few weeks. He’s loud, boastful and brash: The Irish Terrier as Arthur and his adopted fathers call him.

You can’t help but find his totally unapologetic nature comforting. Whilst washing shirts, you overhear him get Molly to admit she considers him no better than a chimney sweep from the local bog - and immediately crucify her for it, calling her “snotty nosed” and a “right little madam”, much to her dismay. After the weeks of dirty looks (despite little to no actual confrontation), Sean brings a breath of fresh air. With him nearby, you know exactly where you stand and whether anyone in the vicinity is plotting against you.

“Please, Y/N,” groans Arthur into his hands one evening. “Please tell me you ain’t makin’ friends with that bastard.”

“Why?” you ask, genuinely surprised. “Isn’t he like a little brother to you?”

“Yeah, but not in a good way.” He moves his hands to give you a look of despair. “What’s wrong with Lenny? Or Tilly? Or Mary Beth?”

“Karen’s fun,” you muse, earning yourself another groan.

“Always with the loud drunkards,” he grumbles.

“Mmhm, and what was it Dutch said? When you go missing he checks the saloon, and if you’re not there he checks the jail?”

“Shurrup.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you onto his body, grinning as you protest, laughing.

“Don’t play innocent - Hosea’s been telling me stories!”

“Ahh, don’t go listening to him. He spins stories for a living, and anyway I was a kid in most of them.”

“And the stories I’ve heard from Lenny?” you smirk, still fighting despite it proving futile with you laughing so much. He growls, peppering your exposed skin with kisses as you wrestle playfully.

You cry out when a flailing limb makes contact with one of your swollen breasts. Arthur immediately releases you, watching you with concern as you try to rub out the punch without swearing.

“Y’alright?”

“Fine,” you huff. “Just sensitive is all.”

“I’m sorry - shouldn’t be playing so rough with you when you’re… in the way tha’ you are.”

“It’s fine, Arthur,” you repeat firmly, staring him down. “I’m fine. You didn’t knock my stomach, so we’re fine. Like I said, I’m just sensitive.”

He hums doubtfully.

Following a shootout with the Pinkertons and the law in the middle of Valentine, Dutch had ordered the camp out of Horseshoe Overlook and ushered you south east into the state of Lemoyne. On the other side of Dewberry Creek, Arthur and Charles had scouted a hideout chistened Clemens Point. Arthur hadn’t been the keenest to tell you that story, but you had weaseled it out of him.

Micah had recommended the dried out river bed, but when Charles and Arthur had arrived to scout it, there was an abandoned camp nearby, complete with a dead body. Whilst trying to assess the location’s risk to a group of outlaws should they move in, Arthur had moved some crates to find a woman with her two children.

“I guess I saw you,” he mumbled sadly, avoiding eye contact. “An’ the mess I might leave you in one day.”

You rubbed his shoulder patiently. “What happened?”

“I told ‘em to go ‘cause we needed the land.”

You were confused by the guilt still plaguing him and told him so. With a heavy sigh, he described how the girl translated her mother - that their father had been kidnapped and how it took Charles insisting otherwise to convince him to go look.

“So it’s really thanks to him we found this place,” he says gesturing at the open space bordered with woodland and lake.

If anything, you prefer this new destination to Horseshoe Overlook, and not just for the absence of bad memories. You love the sense of freedom swimming gives you: how it makes you weightless, how easy it is to tilt your head back and listen to the low rumble of the earth and water. You also enjoy that the road is more than a stone’s throw away here. A wanderer would have to purposely go out of their way to discover the camp, to hear the noise or see the light of the campfires. Clemen’s Point made you feel safe, even with the occasional canoe sailing by with a wave.

The new location lifted everyone’s spirits. So much so, Dutch dragged Arthur and Hosea out fishing. They returned hours later - singing and surprisingly sober - with deputy badges and a boat load of fish. Whilst the shiny badge continues to earn Arthur a lot of gib from you and everyone else in camp, Dutch insists the news is beyond fantastic.

“We are inaugurated in the local law!” he cries during one of his many speeches. “Hiding in plain sight!”

Still tired and snacking throughout your waking hours, you are relieved to find your morning sickness has passed its peak. Whilst you feel like your veins are popping out of your skin, Arthur insists your stomach is beginning to curve. You accuse him of an overzealous imagination until you try (and fail) to button the jeans from your past life as an O’Driscoll and your shirts that still fasten offer little to no breathing room.

“Think a trip to town is in order.” You jut out your bottom lip, demonstrating the distance between the buttons and their corresponding holes as your lover looks on laughing.

“I think you might be right.” You don’t resist as his fingertips tilt your chin up to plant a kiss on your lips. “Let me go see if Pearson’s got a list and we’ll head out. Think they’ll do another couple hours?”

“Don’t really have a choice,” you grumble, stealing Arthur’s worn blue shirt from under the cot. You can hear Sadie and Pearson bickering even from the edge of camp, so it doesn’t surprise you when Arthur’s tone cuts through the noise.

“-ain’t cooking work?”

Looking over, you see Arthur has taken the expostulating Mrs Adler aside. You look away quickly - there’s no reason to ruin an acceptable day by agitating her enough to start shouting at you too. Her and Pearson have been at each other’s necks since she’s pulled herself out of the worst of her depression, almost as though he has become the target of her grief.

You focus your attention on preparing the cart. A trip to town means a trip for supplies, and with so many mouths to feed, horseback wasn’t a viable option.

"How are you, Miss?"

You turn around, surprised at being addressed directly by someone other than Arthur. Seeing Kieran’s familiar pastiness relaxes you a little. As an ex-O’Driscoll himself, you trusted him the most not to stab you after Arthur and the little boy, Jack.

"Fine," you reply flatly, brushing out the tangles of the shire’s mane.

"We ain't really had much time to talk since we was in Tall Trees a few months back, have we?" You hum in response, trying not to flash any amount of flesh by moving too much. The poor boy was skittish enough. He immediately begins to help you, being the horse fan he is.

"I never even suspected a thing, Miss,” he gushes. “So I bet you anything Ol' Colm won't have neither."

"So you two were close, huh?" You barely contain the sarcasm.

He shrugs off the question awkwardly. "Which feller was you again?"

"Well I must’ve been good if you have to ask." You feed the shire a carrot, avoiding eye contact. "I was Thomas," you admit quietly. The following silence is prolonged. Doubtful.

“Thomas Donoghue?” You shrug your shoulders. “So you were friends with Paeder then?”

“Peter?” You respond coolly. “Never knew him.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue, but Arthur is marching across camp, shouting back over his shoulder to Mrs Adler. Spooked, Kieran bolts to a safe distance, doing nothing but look on as Arthur helps you up onto the back of the cart.

Acknowledging you with a sneer, the other woman takes her place on the bench up front. “So I’ve graduated from choppin’ vegetables to shopping?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth…” grumbles Arthur, reins in hand as the cart moves off. You give Kieran a small, apologetic wave farewell, but it’s difficult to contain the relief of your companions’ timing. Paeder was a private matter, and one which you had no desire to discuss out loud. You’re sure the shaky man meant no harm, but some things were better buried.

“You cooled down then, yet?” Arthur asks the widow, distracting you from your thoughts.

“I guess,” she grumbles. “And I ain’t no scullion! And I sure as hell ain’t takin’ orders from that sweating halfwit!”

You can almost hear his eyes roll. “Well I guess we all gotta do our share, princess.”

“Where’s that letter?”

“Oh, you reading his mail now?”

Sadie throws him a dirty look. “Robbing and killing’s ok, but letter reading’s where we draw the line?”

You stifle a smirk as Arthur pulls it from the inside of his coat, knowing he’s been had. “Here.”

“Dear Aunt Cathy-”

“You are somethin’ else…”

“I haven’t heard from you in some time, so I prayed to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further… bla bla bla… s’boring… Oo! Wait a sec, listen to this! Since we last corresponded, I have travelled widely, making no small name for myself.” You all laugh out loud. “Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife, but I can assure you it is not for lack of suitors.” Arthur barks out laughing again as Sadie giggles. “He ever actually talked to a woman he ain’t paid for?” she asks in disbelief.

“Look, we’re all hiding behind something.” Whilst his tone advises the limit of fun has been reached, the smile is still audible.

“And what’s this? Return to Tacitus Kilgore?”

“Oh that? That’s Dutch’s idea. All mail to be sent to the same alias. Whenever we set up somewhere new, Strauss, he heads into town, tells them to start expecting mail from a Tacitus Kilgore or whatever they changed it to… Here, gimme that back. We got work to do.”

You all sit quietly as the cart rolls into Rhodes. The locals watch you, wary of the unfamiliar faces, but you keep your head high. Strangers smell weakness. It’s better to come off aloof and avoid trouble than to present as vulnerable and be beaten down at every turn.

“Ok, here we are.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mrs Adler points a pistol at the side of the building, squeezing one eye shut as she gauges the iron sights. “I shoot the shopkeeper, while you-?”

“No! You insane?”

“Well I thought we was outlaws…?”

“Outlaws! Not idiots!" he hisses, pushing down the gun as he looks around for any witnesses. "We rob fools that rob other people! These people- they’re just tryna get by! So you head on in there, and you buy us some food to eat. And no guns.”

“Are you sure?”

“This time.” The two of you share a look again as he helps you down. “There’ll be plenty o’ time for killin’ soon enough.”

“What are you doin’?”

“I’m gonna go check the mail, nothin’ exciting.”

Sadie shrugs and saunters off. Arthur sighs and shakes his head, touching your arm. "You gonna be alright?"

"Here's hopin'."

"Any trouble, holler. Stay outta her way best you can though, alright?"

Knowing that his concern lies with your companion's open hatred for anything remotely O'Driscoll rather than your ability to defend yourself, you nod. Blowing him a cheeky kiss, he waves back at you with a grin as you enter the general store.

"-flour, oats, salt, eggs, apples if you have them..."

"Sure, not a problem,” responds the shopkeeper as he begins to gather the goods. “Big family, have you?"

"Somethin' like that." Mrs Adler barely spares you a glance as the titter of the doorbell announces your presence. "And you sell clothes?"

So Arthur had explained to her your purpose for the journey. You're flattered, if a little bewildered at this kind gesture. From the looks she’s been giving you, you’re surprised she has buried the hatchet of your past so quickly.

"We do. Not the widest range of ladies fashion, I'm afraid."

"That's alright. I'll look at everything you got."

"Of course, Mrs…?"

"Kilgore," she smirks, turning to bat her eyelids at you. You realise then that her request is completely unrelated to you. Why wouldn’t it be? You’re not the only person that has been swept into the Van der Linde gang with little more than what you were wearing on your back. From Arthur’s story, she escaped with nothing more than her wedding ring and her nightclothes, so it’s only natural that she is also in need of a new wardrobe. "What? You don't even trust me to handle the shopping by myself?"

"You're not the only one in need of new clothes, Mrs Ad- Kilgore." You force a polite smile at the sales clerk whilst Mrs Adler browses the shelves dully. "What are the biggest sizes you have in stock? Any maternity wear by chance?"

"Ain't many women round here makin' babies," he sighs, pulling out a few options. You can feel Sadie's eyes burning past you at the pile. "You're best tryin' Saint Denis or ordering outta the catalogue. There's a tailor in Blackwater I heard is pretty good for that sorta thing, but it's quite the journey-"

"Too far for me, I fear." You flick through the pages as Mrs Adler leaves to try a few things on from the pile in front of you. Writing a quick list with estimated sizing, you purchase the largest button up shirt and skirt for sale. The trousers will have to wait for another day - you know investing twenty dollars in a pair that you'll breach the waistline of in a matter of weeks is a luxury you can't especially afford right now.

Mrs Adler on the other hand spares little expense with a sturdy pair of jeans. Finally out of the cumbersome skirts, her whole character changes and suddenly you feel the same pit of dread you did when faced with a full camp of spitting Van der Lindes all those weeks ago.

Intimidated, you step outside whilst she settles the bill. You take a short wander up the main road, taking in the familiar buildings with apathy. Who would have thought you would end up here again? Now you’re not so apprehensive about your life span, you can see how rundown this dusty crumbling town is. The few shops that are open have seen better days, and the best kept building is the bank. You feel your skin crawl as you spot the large parlour houses on the horizon. Of course this place is struggling to survive - anywhere that profited from slave labour deserved to rot. Part of you hopes it’s slow perilous march to abandonment continues: it would be disappointingly merciful to see a place be lost to one good shoot out.

“I’ve birthed foals with more strength than you!” Mrs Adler’s cursing sinks your stomach as you navigate your way back to the store where a man is helping her load the cart. “Hell, my sister’s newborn had more strength than you and he came out bright blue!”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder!”

Spotting Arthur, who is strolling back himself, fills you with relief. The shopkeeper walks back to the porch, checking the list before walking back. “I think this is everything,” he says, swinging the sack of salt on the cart.

“Thanks… here, take that for yourself, okay.” She flicks a silver coin and he catches it out of the air, scowling.

“Thanks,” he spits.

“Well, give it back then! Jesus! I didn’t ask for his goddamn help..." She pushes the sack on more securely to stop it rolling off when the cart moves. “OK, get on. I’m about done here.”

“Why don’t you drive?” suggests Arthur coolly after making sure you’re sat safely amongst the supplies. “C’mon lady, get a move on.”

She scowls as she takes the reins. “I like Sadie, not lady.”

“I know. So you get everything?”

“I think so.”

“And some… new clothes, I see?”

“Don’t start,” she sighs, the heat returning to her voice. “I can wear what I damn well want. Like I told you, my husband and I shared all the work. I wasn’t some little wife with a flower in her hair baking cherry pies all day.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that. You sure look the part now. Won’t be long before you’re smoking cigars and playin’ the harmonica.”

“I’ll have you know I used to love playing the harmonica before… well… my house and everything I owned got burned to the ground.”

“I know... I’m real sorry. About what you… you know. Maybe I’ll keep my eye out for another one.”

“I don’t want no pity,” she snaps. “Just… treat me equal and know… nobody’s taking nothing from me ever again.”

Arthur hums in comradery. “Just don’t kill the camp cook…”

A horse gallops up alongside you. “Hey there! What are you folks up to?”

“Just heading home,” says Arthur casually, adding a quiet “keep it cool, Sadie”.

“You’re in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” The hairs on the back of your neck prickle at the anticipation of conflict. You realise with a sinking stomach that you’re completely unarmed. “How about you pull over right now?”

“Pull over?” he repeats incredulously. Your eyes scan the bags and boxes around you. There has to be something here that can double as a weapon of some kind.

“That’s what I said.”

“Hey!” calls Sadie coolly. “How’s about this?”

A pistol cracks and the Lemoyne Raider cries out in pain. She ushers the horses on with a Go, go, go! as Arthur stands up, drawing his revolvers and firing. You duck down as bullets fly over your head, your hands scrambling for anything that could be of use.

“What the hell was that?” cries Arthur furiously.

“They was gonna rob us!”

“A new pair of pants and you think you’re Landon Ricketts!” He curses loudly as more men run out in the road ahead.

“I’m gonna run this son of a bitch down!” she shouts, pulling the wagon over one raider and off the road.

“Well you wanted to see some action, lady, now you got your wish!” Arthur slings his longarm from his back and shoves it in your direction as he continues to fire. You can see more men coming out from between the trees and you take aim, knocking them down one by one as Arthur clips off any extras over your head.

“You alright there, Sadie?” you shout over the gunfire. Arthur is still firing behind you, but she’s out of your line of sight from where you’re crouched behind sacks of grain.

“Of course! You think I can’t handle these fools?” You don’t retaliate and you can almost hear her voice aim at Arthur. “Told you I could shoot a gun, didn’t I?”

“I don’t remember asking you to prove it,” he grunts, tossing you extra ammo just in case. The last bastard is fleeing south down the dirt track. You take aim, but he’s out of range.

“Yeah you run, you goddamn coward!” screams Sadie before taking a steadying breath. “I think we’re good here. Nice shooting. I’ll drive us back-”

“No! Pass those reins here!”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve caused enough trouble already.”

She doesn’t find grounds to argue, instead looking back at you, her face straight and unreadable. “We showed those bastards, huh?”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Arthur scowls.

“They was clearly plannin’ to bushwhack us!” she argues, facing forward again.

“You did good, but that’s a lotta mess to make near camp. Hope it don’t bring anyone sniffin’ around.”

“Are you gonna tell Dutch?” she asks mockingly.

“Maybe… if he asks. But, maybe not.”

“So who did they say they were? Lemoyne Raiders?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that. Who knows… Anyway, don’t you go ribbing Pearson about that letter.”

“How dare you? I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Riiight, you wouldn’t…”

“I have travelled widely, making no small name of myself…”

Arthur laughs. “I won’t be giving you no mail to post any time soon, that’s for sure.”

She chuckles too. “I just wanna peak in that journal of yours. The mind boggles.”

“Not a chance…”

“You didn’t get yourself killed then, Miss Adler?” calls Pearson, strolling over smugly as Arthur pulls up near the horse station.

“Not quite,” she responds truthfully.

“Well, I’d like to say I missed your refined conversations, but I’d be lying.”

She accepts the box shoved into her chest without complaint. “I… I enjoyed myself out there.”

“Yes, we err… Mrs Adler did ok!” He holds up his arms and lifts you down gently by your waist.

“At shopping?”

“Yes, at shoppin’...”

The double meaning doesn’t go unrecognised by Sadie who thanks him with genuine gratitude.

“Don’t mention it. I would ride with you again, Mrs Adler, if you will ride with me.”

“Maybe,” she laughs. “If you prove you can handle yourself.”

“Well, they say I lack finesse, but I ain’t afraid of gun smoke.”

“We got this, Arthur. You’ve already done me a big favour today.” Turning to you with a smile, Arthur accepts the repeater you proffer. It’s best to remain unarmed for now - there’s no need to risk one of your lesser fans finding an excuse to regard you as a threat. “Okay, Miss High and Mighty. And… nice pants by the way.”

“You okay there, Y/N?” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his side. “You manage to find something too?”

“Just about,” you admit. “Had to put in an order. How long do you think we’ll be around here for?”

“Until we can’t most likely. Everything alright? They didn’t catch you or nothin’, did they?”

“Of course not, Arthur.” Your weak smile is genuine and heartfelt at his concern. “I’m not above shouting when I’m shot.”

“‘Course not.” He rubs your back, leading you back to your shared tent. “You gonna try them on, or what?”

“Nah, I figure I might as well make the most of still being able to fit in this stuff, even if it’s only for a few more days.”

He laughs, pulling you into a big hug. “Fair enough.”

From under his arm, you spot the rousing attention of Herr Strauss nearby. You nudge him in warning, but it’s too late.

“Ah, Herr Morgan! How are you enjoying yourself out here?”

“Well enough, I guess,” he replies gruffly. “And you?”

“Well, it turns out the pursuit of freedom is not a cheap business. Not for us, and not for some of the locals.”

“Sharking, already?”

“I prefer to call it banking.”

“You ain’t the one handing out the beatings,” snarls Arthur.

“No, but I am the one feeding the women and children in the camp,” he retorts. “What choice do we have, Mr Morgan?”

Arthur sighs. “Ah, I don’t know. Well, come on then! Tell me who…”

You stop listening as Strauss reads off a list of names, and only tune back in to hear Arthur ask how many he expects to be able to pay.

“With enough encouragement, both of them!” he chuckles, his black eyes twinkling from behind the round spectacles.

Sighing, Arthur returns to where you’re sat on the camp bed. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’d best be gettin’ on.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You stand up to kiss him. “The gang comes first.”

He grimaces at that, but doesn’t dispute it. You give him another kiss for good luck and wave him out camp before dropping the flaps, not missing the glare of bitterness from Sadie across camp.

#red dead fic #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x o'driscoll #meowdymista

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Kill Me Hardly (Last Ch.)

Notes: Last chapter!!! This chapter is straight up Fluff, with nsfw, bc I’m a simple being :’) Those who just want a sad ending, can pretend that this chapter doesn’t exist, lol.

Warnings: mild Smut (or, milder than what I’m use to writing)

@youtubequeens: I tried my best, haha

 Light. Warmth. Softness. Beeping. Everything dawned slowly onto you at once as you stared at the wall with half-lidded eyes, regaining your focus as your fingertips felt something soft. Feeling something. You jolted awake, sitting upwards. Your legs felt heavy, everything felt warm and safe, the ghosts were gone, and you wondered if this was how newborns felt, for everything seemed to be new and yet familiar.

Like a new dawn, you felt your own heart beating as the monitor beeped in with excitement. You also felt weak and tired, your frame was sick and paler than the healthy flush that it had use to be, and a soft snoring jolted you out of your thoughts as you looked at your hands.

“T-” You tried, yet your vocal chords were unused for a year, but you still felt a strong sense of relief and peace, and your heart thrummed with searing warmth as the man who you had beginning to develop feelings for, had his head and arms nestled comfortably within your lap, your fingers threading through his hair gently.

  “…” You tried clearing your throat as you looked around your surroundings. Cards, flowers, stuffed animals littered the table next to you, no doubt from your friend and family, you and Taishiro were alone within the room, and yet, you also desperately missed your parents.

A thought struck you, how did he get in here? Where were your parents? Did they leave before he came here? It was such a miracle that you were alive, and yet, you were so confused.

“Ta-Tai-chan.” You croaked out lowly, looking down. He only stirred slightly. You huffed out a small noise of adoration. Alive. You were alive and feeling, and he came all this way….

 “T..” You shook him gently. He stirred. He groaned when you pinched his cheeks, squeezing them softly as finally, his eyelids slid open, and then widened as he stared at you, taking you in. You didn’t have a chance to really think, before he lifted himself up in such a haste, and then lunged.

 Surprise. You were surprised that he had leaned you down in which he was now hovering over you, staring at you thoroughly as one hand held himself above you, and the other clasped onto yours, rubbing a calloused thumb over your palm rather gently.

“Tai..” You tried, reaching up to caress his cheek. He leaned down, resting onto his elbows now as he surprised you with a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Shush. Ya damned woman. Makin’ me worry an’ shit.” He said softly, his own voice cracking a little. You smiled a little, he was trying so hard not to let the tears flow, and yet you were rubbing away the wetness with the gentle sweeping of your thumb.  

The next thing you knew, he was holding your face gently as he began kissing you. Your eyelids, cheek, jaw, and finally, mouth with a fervent hunger, and you couldn’t help but whine with surprise want, gripping your hands tightly in his hair, him groaning as his face slid down to the crook of your neck. You jumped, but he kissed the scarred up wound so softly, threading his hand through your own hair, feeling that you were very real.  

“Fuckin’ hell, ya scared me last night.” He said, voice muffling in your neck, sending tingles down your spine.

The both of you jumped as loud knocks echoed on the door. Taishiro reluctantly pulled away with a scowl on his face, placing himself back on the seat where he had been presumably all night as the familiar doctor walked in with a glass of water, and a closed packet with some rubbing alcohol.

“Why, hello! You must be very confused and exhausted, am I correct? I’m Doctor Fujiharu Akashi, I’ve been in charge of taking care of you. Please relax, I need to take your vitals, and explain to you what’s been happening.” The gray haired doctor said with a bright smile. Taishiro stood up so that the doctor could talk to you as he set the cup of water next to the desk, you took it and sipped on it slowly as he continued talking.  

“Your body will need time, but there’s a high chance for it to recover wonderfully. You’ll need to eat soft foods, and drink things that have electrolytes in them, such as chicken broth or Gatorade. My nurse assistant should be printing you out a list of foods in which you can or can’t have.” The doctor babbled, you listening as you winced at the needle.

“-as you understand, you are a very, very lucky person. Your heartbeat had picked up at an abnormal rate last night, and we concluded that you were close to waking up. After...um...a year.” He stalled, looking guilty as he adjusted his glasses. You didn’t blame him, for he didn’t know that you were a ghost.

“Year?” You played along, tilting your head.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Miss (Y/n). I know it’s not easy to take in, but you’re safe now. Your parents had left you in the care of your friend. They needed to go..um...well, I’ll let him explain it to you later, alright? Your voice and organs should be up and running fine in a few days. Until then, we’ll have to keep an eye on you to see how you’re coping well, alright?” Dr. Akashi finished, taking the tube with him as he bowed, leaving you and Tai alone.

You turned towards him, raising an eyebrow.

“They were confused as hell, but long story short, I told ‘em that I was a pen-pal overseas, and told them of what I knew ‘bout ya. They seemed wary, but friendly enough. Of course they couldn’t stay, long. Yer brother had court, today. They’ll be here, later.” He explained, rubbing his hand softly over yours. You squeezed gently, making a humming sound in your throat.  

You wanted to say something, to bring up the elephant in the room, but you were oddly, very happy and surprised, and didn’t want to break the spell. As if sensing your confusion or unrest, Taishiro sighed.

“Ya know, I thought a lot last night. Watchin’ ya sleep- don’t give me that look!” He huffed as you squinted at him with a judging stare.

“Oh, whatever. Anyways, I thought about ya. Me. Us. What ya might do after ya heal...and...it’ll be weird livin’ without ya, is what I’m sayin’! If...if ya wanna..kami, this is hard.” He bit his lip, a pretty red flushed to his cheeks and neck, and he sighed, looking at your own reddening cheeks.

“Look, I like ya. More than I’d thought I’d like anybody. You’re a little worm, crawlin’ into people’s heart-ow! Okay, that’s fair.” He rubbed his shoulder, squinting at you as you glared. He took in a breath as he then stared at you with a stern seriousness, his hand clasped onto yours as the other smoothed over your cheek.  

“You’ve gotten close to me. Ya’ve caught me. I..I don’t wanna be the kind of man that you or yer parents should hafta fear, or look down on. It took such a fuckin’ scare from ya for me to get my ass in gear. I’ve made up my mind, thinkin’ last night,” He gave you such a soft look, and briefly you wondered if this was the same person months ago, yet you held his endearing gaze as he continued to finish his speech.

“-that I wanna protect ya. N’ everybody who’s been through that shit. Ya, yer parents, hell, even Dabi’s girls, knowin’ that their job ain’t easy, an’ they got mouths to feed. I hafta go home, let ya be with yer parents and friends, but I’ll be here everyday, if ya want. I’m gonna get rid of all that villain shit, buy some more vanilla candles, an’ look fer jobs.” He finished, and you stared at him with such surprise and shock, you felt tears welling in your eyes.

“O-oi! Don’t start cryin’ on me! Ya sap!” He squinted, eternally screaming on what to do, and you smiled.

“Beautiful.” You mumbled out, but he heard you, his blush darkening at your own wonderstruck stare. His expression softened a bit through furrowed eyebrows as his eyes met yours. As if to say “hell with it”, he leaned in, silently asking for a kiss, and of course you breached the distance between the two of you, catching him off guard as you grabbed the front of his hoodie, bringing him down to meet your lips. You grinned, catching him off guard as he made a muffled groan.

He pulled away, huffing out a laugh.

“Damned woman. My damned woman. Ya know, I’m gonna get ya later fer all the shit you’ve pulled. Just you wait.” He promised darkly, and you shivered with an odd mix of excitement and anticipation.

“For now, though, I gotta go. Rest up, Babe. You’re gonna need it.” He gave you one last kiss, before reluctantly heading out of the door.

….………

To say that you were relieved, was an understatement. Your parents were so damned happy to see you, your mother and father enveloping you in a tight hug, but not too tight. Your body was a little frail, not as strong as it use to be, so you had to stay in the hospital until you could be discharged.

Of course, you were far from being lonely. Both of your parents and Taishiro would meet up with you regularly, them telling embarrassing stories about you, and you, gaining back your voice, would hush them in embarrassment or change the subject, quickly as your partner, yes, partner, laughed.

However, when your parents were too busy, Taishiro would be more than happy to spend his time with you, telling you how he was getting noticed quickly by the police, but in a good way. He grinned, showing off his badge, and your eyes glittered with excitement.

“That’s great! Who did you steal it, from?” Slipped out, and he rolled his eyes, pinching your cheeks a little roughly as you complained.

“Figured that I’d try my hand at somethin’ that I do know about. Fightin, criminals, fightin’ criminals, ya know. Hafta do trainin’ classes, but so far they’re impressed. Heh, they should be. Fatgum was a notorious villain, after all who was good at shovin’ down police officers.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Braggart.”

“Heh. Says the college lady who’s takin’ online classes.” He pointed out. It was true. After word got out of your recovery, your old college had promised to continue your education, since it was already paid for, and you were close to graduating, anyway. Of course you took online classes, and joined the classroom through a camera, but you healed and studied, while Taishiro stayed busy, he did offer a solution to your loneliness if he or nobody else could visit you.

 Cue a gaggle of giggling women, fawning over you as they babbled among themselves, fixing their makeup and painting your nails. At first, you were flabbergasted, but a grinning Dabi dropped in and told you that Taishiro said that you were the one helping him bring food and stuff for the girls. Although the scarred man didn’t know how, he trusted Tai, and thought that it’d be nice for the adult women to keep their savior a bit of company.

Not having much lady friends, you agreed reluctantly, but quickly took a shine to the bright-eyed ladies and their adorable children as they told stories that surprised and shocked you, and of course made you blush furiously, for they were still sex workers, and you were not use to such stories.

“Always use lube~! Even aroused, it’s normal for some people to just not get wet. So don’t hurt yourself, Babe!” One chirped.

“Oooh! Glass dildos are easy to clean, and are soooo much smoother than plastic or silicone. Any lube can go on them, and won’t wear the toy down.”

“I got one! Always pee after sex. You can and will get a urinary tract infection if you’re not careful.”

Yeah, you’ve learned a lot other than your college classes.  

When Taishiro wasn’t busy, he’d bring you his favorite snack, Takoyaki, as the two of you talked about everything and nothing. You liked these days, where it was just you and him, how he’d say that you smelled like vanilla, that’s why he has so many of those candles, and you telling him that you’re learning too much things from the girls. He’d wink at you, saying that if you wanted to, you could teach him, and then laughing at your frustrated yet flushed face.

 Two months had passed so soon. It was nearing Christmas, and you’ve gained back your own weight, skin looking healthy and you were about to be discharged. Of course you wanted to move in with Taishiro, and with your parent’s knowledge, he moved your things to his apartment. Or, so you thought.

“Wait...so...my things aren’t at your apartment?” You quirked an eyebrow. He grinned.

“Neither are mine.”

“What the fu-”

“Language, young missy.” He tutted, mocking a teacher as he wagged a finger. You laughed.

“No, but Tai, where are our things?” You pressed, and he grinned. You glared.

“I moved them.”

“Wheeeeeere?” You drawled out in a whine, and he switched out his grin for a smug smile.

“To our new home.”

“Wait, what?”

“Ya heard me! Figured that I’ve been savin’ a lot of money from my old “job”, that you an’ I could, I dunno, moveintoahouseorsomethin’.” He said it so fast, but it caught your attention.

“Taishiro...you? Got us a house?” You asked softly. He looked away sheepishly for a moment.

“Well, yeah. Should’ve asked ya, first, but, it was in the middle of the city, an’ a heh, “steal”, an’ it’s near plenty of job opportunities for yer career. If ya don’t like it, I’ll-”

You shushed him in a kiss, pulling away for a moment before beaming from ear to ear.

“You sap. It sounds perfect.”

“Shut up, I know.” He grinned, kissing you in turn.

“No, but seriously, please inform me of important decisions from now on. I don’t need more anymore surprises.”

“Will do, Sweetheart.” He hummed, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“So. Does this place have a stripper pole?”

“Tch, Cheeky woman, who do ya think I am? I was goin’ to ask your permission to install one in our bedroom.” He joked, and yet you oddly didn’t mind the idea.

“Only if your service is free.” You giggled, and he laughed.

“For you? Only.”

………….

         After being discharged, you had finally gotten to get some more fresh air, getting out of the hospital bed as you looked around your surroundings, glad to be free of the grisly spirits, even on the streets. Of course, Taishiro had taken you to your new home, the both of you standing outside and he grinned proudly.  

Although he mentioned house, he didn’t mention almost a mansion. You gave him a look.

“What?”

“Taishiro, as I am beyond grateful, isn’t this a bit, much?” You asked, solemnly. He frowned, and already you felt bad.

“Ya...don’t like it?”

“Kami, I love it, it’s beyond perfect! It just caught me off guard, a little, and I wondered if it’ll be lonely? You know, such a big house, and so many rooms…” You glanced at him, and he found himself smiling.

“Ya know? I think there’s a way that we could use up the rooms.” He drawled, and already you found that you were blushing furiously.

“Not that, you pervert! Well, maybe that, but only in like, two rooms! Anyways. Even if I’m in the police force, now, I’m still on good terms with Dabi an’ his boss. The lady’s and their kids...really need a break from livin’ in the slums….” He drawled out. You quirked an eyebrow.

“Our home isn’t going to be ran like a brothel.”

“I know that! I was sayin’…maybe we can set up a daycare? For their kids? So that they can grow up more safely. So they don’t hafta resort to gang violence, ya know? It’s not a permanent home, but it’ll be a place for each parent an’ kid to be in their own rooms.”

“As much as I like that idea, Taishiro, we need a solid plan to make this work. Okay, so each room-” You began babbling as he listened, giving you his own ideas, which you also liked. The two of your continued your conversation after taking a look inside of the house, pointing out which rooms were the two of yours, and which rooms could be spared. It was a lot to think about, but you genuinely wanted a more safer place for your lady friends whom you’ve grown fond of, and of course, for their children.

Calling Dabi, said man gave his own insight on the idea, and said that that would work, perfectly, as he could make sure that his girls and their kids were safe and more sound, knowing that they’d be in a safer neighborhood.

  All in all, the plan boiled down to, was that each parent and child had their own daycare bedroom for a limited amount of time per day. Although they couldn’t permanently live in there, because of food, rent, and you really not wanting to have a bunch of women living with you, constantly, the children could be in a safe place while their parents worked, Dabi’s other girls who didn’t have kids, looked after them, giving you and Tai plenty of space and time for each other. Although, you didn’t mind being a babysitter, as long as you weren’t overworked.

  Even though you had gotten close to the ladies, cameras were set up so nobody could bring unwanted guests. To the both of you, it sounded like a good plan.

   It didn’t happen overnight, of course, as you had finally had gotten hired at a really well paying job, the two of you stayed busy, yet made time for each other as you possibly could, while in both of your spare times, made funds here and there to remodel each room. Although working, you didn’t stress yourself, for you were still healing, a little, but you tried to help Tai in anyway you can as you decorated the rooms, laughing as you smeared orange paint onto his face, leaving him to growl playfully, kissing you senseless as he quickly returned the favor, grinning with pride as you had a poorly drawn red heart on your arm. You smiled.  

When all rooms were finished, Dabi was called, and thus a small group of women and their children came to look at the place.

 Cue a bunch of teary eyed women, hugging you as they sobbed out how grateful they were, and how their babies were now much safer away from the crappy parts of the city, even for a little bit. Taishiro smiled a bit fondly as you held onto one of their kids, leaning in and whispering in your ear.

“Hey, I want one.” He grinned darkly, and you shrugged.

“Sure.”

“What?” His brain seemed to stop, still, and you chuckled at his frozen expression.

“We both have stable jobs, and a good home. Plus some very awesome babysitters. Tit for tat.” You winked, and he grinned.

“We still haven’t-”

“Oh, and did I mention? Rubber toys can absorb bacteria-”

“Yuna! There’s children, here!”  

……………..

   It was nearing spring, you were getting more acquainted with seeing happy, hyper children, and learning more from the ladies, whether it be parental or other advice. You didn’t mind them, liking the way they’ve kept you company on your days off, helping you clean and cook as Taishiro was at work. If you were at work, he’d rather be out and about with his work buddies, saying that he felt uncomfortable being around a group of ladies when his own woman was away. It touched you, really.  

Of course your parents started visiting, more often when they could, learning that you were taking care of others, they were very proud of you and although wary that so many women lived in your home, you reassured them that you trusted your partner. They’ve brought news about your brother, saying that he was going through rehab and therapy. Although he didn’t want to bother you, nor pressure you into forgiving him, he passed the word to your parents, that he was thinking of you, and wished that he could have been a better sibling. All you could do is wish the best for him, and wait and see for yourself.  

With Tai’s and your jobs, the two of you made a very good team, splitting the bills and chores equally, as the two of you had taken time out of your rather busy schedules to go on dates, help with charities, taking care of your friends and their children, and support each other. He was still a grumpy Tsundere, but you were his cheeky smartass, so it all evened out.

…………(nsfw)

You were fully healed when the two of your’s first anniversary came around. Physically, as well as mentally, you were ready. Although dating for a year, the two of you were so busy with work, looking after the girls, going to local charities, and learning to love and cope within society, the complete act of sex wasn’t a thing between the two of you. Sure, after heavy kissing sessions, you’d cum around his fingers and tongue, and vice versa, but neither of you had the time to take to really slow the world down and appreciate each other, and that’s what you’ve wanted, and he couldn’t have agreed more.  

So the two of you planned to use your vacation days to use on Halloween, or the two of your’s anniversary. Nobody was in your home, the vanilla candles lit up, making the bedroom have enough flickering light that the two of you could still see each other.  

He kissed your scar rather more gently than the rest of you. You whined as feather-like kisses adored you, while in contrast, his hips had moved against yours, lifting your leg on top of his shoulder, he buried himself more deeply inside you as you made a keen whine, threading your fingers within his hair tightly. With his free hand, he had cupped your cheek, making it easier for him to kiss your face as your body moved under the shaking bed due to his sharp thrusting.

“I-it’s…warm.” You murmured, feeling the intense heat making you sweat, sharply contrasting the cold, dead feeling as a spirit. He must’ve known what you were talking about, as he then kissed you tenderly.

“I know, Baby. Mu-must’ve been rough, huh? H-heh.” He chuckled quietly at his own dirty joke, and you let out a breathy huff of laughter mixed in with a moan. He worked himself into you, feeling your walls grip him as he churned them, hitting your sensitive spot as your legs trembled as they tightened around his waist and shoulder blade, toes curling as you felt yourself scrambling for that high.

“Th-that’s it. Feel ya...squ-eezin’ onto me. Let yourself go, Baby.” He urged, slowing down, only to aim sharp, powerful thrusts into you as you felt tears of frustration pool. Having none of that, he kissed your eyes, forehead, and mouth as you trembled all over, squeezing him as if he was a lifeline as you bit out his name, finally cumming onto his cock as your orgasm ripped through you.

Seeing such a sight, and on the verge of his own release, he quickened his hips, paying no mind to the squeaking of the bed-frame as the headboard slammed into the wall, you whined out as your sensitivity heightened, saying his name in a mantra of sentences as he fucked you into the mattress, precum, lube, and your cum soiling the bedspread underneath.

In what had seemed to be a looping moment, he gripped your hips towards him in a final, harsh thrust as he then stilled, cussing and letting out your own name as he shot his release inside of you. The both of you panted, as he rested his forehead against yours, hips shallowly moving on their own as he pushed his cum deeper into you as you hummed gently with approval.

“You alright, Honey?” He asked, and you nodded tiredly as he gently pulled out, you whining at the loss as your opening clenched onto nothing, pearlescent fluid dripping out of you.

“Mmm. Better take those lady’s advice an’ use the bathroom. I’ll clean up and meet ya in the shower for round two.” He purred, and you flushed, yet grinning wildly.

…………..End.

:’) I just went straight ahead for domestic fluff and Tai and reader taking care of everybody while living their best lives, especially after all of that angst. This was a field fic, I’ll tell you what.            

#fatgum x reader #Fatgum #Taishiro Toyomitsu #You thought you've seen the last #Field fic of a trip #I don't know what or where I was writing #To be happy Ig #I've had a day #And just began writing #Some of it doesn't make any sense but shhh #Au #They low-key adopt everyone

[asexual-agent-2]

For the micro stories: 13

13: too loud

there’s only one thing i think of when i think about loudness in this world

they’ve only known each other a handful of weeks in this one, which is why marina doesn’t speak very well yet

also writing pearl without a sailor mouth is...difficult. probably bc i have one myself, lol

“Alright, lemme show you how this works, k?” Pearl said, as she inserted a credit into the machine. “You give it one of those, you pick the song with this,” she pointed the remote at the TV, “and you sing. That easy.”

She picked one of the microphones out of its stand and held it out to Marina, who nodded at her and took it. She blew into it, then turned it on and blew again, that time satisfied with the result.

“Any requests?” Pearl asked, picking up the other microphone.

“Re-kest?”

“Dude, what d’ya wanna sing? We got some Raft Punk, Diss-Pair - Squid Squad’s got a sorta easy metal song, y’wanna do that?”

Marina stared blankly at Pearl.

“Ok...I’ll pick first.” Pearl flicked through the selection. “Here, Metalopod’s pretty good, we’ll start there.”

The screen lit up with “MUSIC” and the song began. Pearl started tapping her foot to the killer drum beats and guitar riffs. Within twenty seconds “MUSIC” was replaced with lyrics, white then changing color to yellow.

Marina didn’t usually have a particularly terrible time understanding Pearl, but the words she was singing were nigh incomprehensible. The on-screen lyrics might have helped, but she wasn’t as familiar with Inklish text as she’d like to have been. Still, Pearl was a pretty decent singer. Marina smiled at the short squid. This “start a band” thing was going to be fantastic.

And then the chorus started.

Marina threw her microphone at the karaoke machine and shoved her fingers in her ears as Pearl belted out earth-shattering notes. The microphone in her hand popped and the TV turned to static. Marina fell to the floor in a ball as the speakers hooked up to the monitor blew out. She would have sworn the room was actually shaking from the sheer magnitude of Pearl’s voice.

The music came to an early end long before Pearl realized what she’d done. She ended her part of the chorus and went to breathe for the next part of the song, then stopped short and looked around at her work.

“Oops.”

~~~

“Ok, so that’s another karaoke bar I’m banned from. Man, I gotta get my own machine.”

Marina couldn’t take her eyes off Pearl as they walked down Conch Street, away from the wreckage she’d caused.

“Yeah, so when I said I don’t actually play a lot of venues...that’s kinda why. No one’s got good equipment.”

“The ‘quipment.” She’s blaming the equipment? Really?

“I haven’t found one place that actually has a mic that can handle me! The owners are always like ‘You’re too loud,’ or somethin’, well maybe your machines are too wimpy, ever think about that?” Pearl poutily shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and hunched across the intersection.

Marina played with her glove. “You’re good singer. Maybe try quieting…?”

“I’m not gonna just say my bars, Marina.  I get in that zone, I’m not holding back! Takes away from my realness. You come for the authentic Pearl, none of that fake stuff.”

“I see.”

“That’d be like asking you not to spin sick beats, like, that doesn’t work!”

“Ok, I get.”

“Yeah.”

SIlence fell between them until they reached the intersection where their paths diverged. They bid each other goodnight and Marina headed home on her own.

If Pearl could do that to all the equipment in the karaoke room, then all their aspirations, not to mention Marina’s turntables, were in jeopardy.

Marina closed the door to her apartment and leaned against it, slid down the wall and sighed.

She wondered just how long the list of venues Pearl was banned from actually was. Would anyone in the city book them? How were they supposed to actually get their stuff out there if they couldn’t actually record? If this was how things were going to go, maybe they should throw it all in now.

“What are you saying?” Marina asked herself out loud. Throw it in? Give up?

She didn’t give up.

When her first attempts at flooders were spinning out of control, falling off platforms and completely drenching her test squadron, did she give up? No! She went back to the drawing board! She tuned them, she fixed their rotational speed, she adjusted their ink pressure! She made them work.

She wrote music by ear on a half-broken keyboard. She helped find the most efficient way to cultivate wasabi underground. She clawed her way up here to chase that something more she didn’t know she was missing.

A cacophonic inkling should be no problem at all.

Marina got to her feet and moved a stack of music sheets to uncover a pad of blueprint paper. She rummaged around a few piles of other nonsense to find the microphone that the seller of the old turntables threw in. On her tiny kitchen table she found a nubby pencil.

Vowing to spend time cleaning the apartment...eventually, Marina got to work.

~~~

“So it’s like a fancy pop filter?” Pearl asked, turning the microphone over in her hands.

Marina blinked sleepily at her. “Yeh.”

“Sweet. Turn this sucker on, test it out!” Pearl plugged the device into an amp in her recording studio. Marina made no attempt to hide her fingers going right back in her ears. “Marina, have some faith in yourself. If this works, you’re a genius!”

“If.”

Pearl turned the microphone on and mulled over what she should sing. After a few seconds, she shrugged. “Imma just freestyle. Can I get a beat, DJ?”

Marina started drumming slowly on the table. Pearl bobbed her head to the rhythm and started.

“Yo, check it, got a brand new mic, yeah, my partner made it and it feels alright, yeah / not gonna break $#!%, not gonna get banned, look out Inkopolis, cause here the #$@* comes our band!”

The noise levels still hurt Marina’s ears, but the world wasn’t shaking - only the amp, and maybe the lights. Noise-cancelling earphones were easier to get her hands on than noise cancelling amplifiers.

Pearl shook a tentacle out of her face and looked Marina dead in the eyes. “Test one two?” she said in an indoor voice. Both their faces broke into huge grins as they realized the words were coming out of the amp and not just Pearl’s mouth.

Pearl threw her hands in the air and let out a whoop. “Told you you’re a genius!” she yelled, throwing her arm around Marina’s shoulders. “Girl, this city isn’t gonna know what hit it! Could even polish those bars, maybe fix ...Marina?”

Pearl shook Marina’s arm and she jerked back to reality. “Yeah?”

“Alright, dude, let’s let that big brain of yours rest a bit, you can use my room, I’ll keep my brothers away.” She laid the microphone on the table, pulled Marina to her feet and led her out the door and up the stairs to the main house.

“Hey, so, like, I don’t wanna ask too much of you right now, but you think you can make a headset model? Obvs not this second, but like, one of these days?”

Marina yawned. “I look what I can do.”

#snailvibes #splatoon #off the hook #pearl #marina #creative tag

[existinguy]

Uhhh alr, im usually just rebloggin so ig this time i gotta aport somethin, in this case umm probably an idea i had some time ago

Uh, my story starts with a monster cuz i love monsters the end

And well, lets say their just, well, doing what they usually and they suddenly gotta sneeze. Since they have nothing else but their kinda educated (lol how anyways idc) they cover their sneeze with their arm. But fur (ah ye forgot to specify that im a furry so i make furry monstahz xD) gets stuck on their nose so now their gonna be sneezin intill that gets out. It gets deep tho so it will take a time

Well then... anyone it doesnt really matter (just some normal person) finds da monstah, and decides that their sick. The monster also doesnt know that their fur got stuck on them so thinks the same too, and well, the normal person (gonna call them A just as ppl do, B for da monstah, yay itll be easier now) okok, A makes uh, i dunno just takes care of B, helps them when their sneezes get stuck, idk

And well, they get grow fond on each other (translated pls dont kill me if i said it wrong) until finally, after some days the fur gets out. It is until then that A notices what happened all that time and feels embarrased about not noticing before, but B still thinks A cured them so... hug :3

Ok we could finish it here BUT im an evil guy sooo if you want the good ending you can stop here, thanks for reading or idk xD

Anyways heres the rest of my idea

In a moment, again, furry. I thought of A as a furry, so when B hugged A, As fur got on Bs nose again, and well, after the goodbye, while A saw B leaving and being kinda far... B sneezed again, leaving both of them dissapointed and.... the end :v

Anyways in case you still thought of A as a human character or just not one with fur, we can take the same idea but probably with something small that A had, plus we can get another scene of well, A having problems to get their thingy out of Bs nose XD?

Bonus idea (i want to get it all out xD) B sleepin, A over them and well uhhh Achoo, B sneezes and wakes up A and plus makes them fall lol

And well uhhh ye thats almost all my brain had... well uh, thanks for reading this i guess, if you liked the idea and wanna use it its copyrighted hahahahsgshgdgwvdc

Well nah, i actually really wanna see that and im lazy to draw it (hey ye maybe i can show some of my stuff here... uhh ill think of it later) and well. Cya and... ye... bye xD

#i-dunno-how-to-mark-this-im-lazy #rawrch #parentesis-lovah #kinky snz brain ideas help okno gagsfsfafaf

[desiraypark]

The Family Man

Clyde x Sherri (Non-Linear Series)

Content: Angst; death/death mention tw; cancer tw; abandoment tw; neglect tw; broken home. Author’s Note: After a recent Logan Lucky watch party, I realized just how much Joe and Mellie being together actually creeped me (and others) out, so they’re separated lol. Bye, Joe.

The Day After Thanksgiving (and Clyde’s Birthday) - 2021 Sherri sat on Mellie’s old full-sized bed with a towel draped over her shoulder, as her firstborn suckled at her breast. The baby’s eyes fluttered--open and closed, fighting to look into mama’s loving eyes, but wanting to be engulfed in her protective warmth. Clyde peeked inside the bedroom. “Y’all alright?” he whispered. Sherri nodded and smiled. Just as Clyde opened his mouth to speak, the doorbell rang. “I’m gon’ fix you a mocktail, you want a Moscow mule type thing or somethin’ like a margarita?” Sherri chuckled. “Moscow mule sounds nice and festive, I think.” “What you doin’ here?” Jimmy said in the distance. “Oop,” Sherri said. “Must be Joe.” Clyde looked over his shoulder and walked through the hallway. “I’m back in Boone, now…” an unfamiliar voice responded.

Clyde stepped into the living room. Standing in the middle of the floor with her fists on her hips was Mellie. Jimmy stood at the door. On the other side of the screen door stood their father--gray-haired and thinner than the last time they’d seen him.

“What that gotta do wit’ us?” Jimmy asked. “Jimmy, just let him in,” Mellie said. “Naw, he ain’t about to mess up our holiday.” “Jimmy, this is my house and I said let him in!” Mellie demanded. Jimmy scoffed, pushed the door open for Tim to grab it, and then he walked into the kitchen. Tim walked in and got a look at his two youngest. “Mellie...you look beautiful, darling,” he said. He stepped over to hug her. “Thanks.” Mellie gave him light pats on the shoulders then pulled away. Tim looked at Clyde and walked over to hug him, but Clyde stepped back. “Hey…” Tim swallowed and nodded. “Hey, Son.” Jimmy flew out of the kitchen with Sylvia. He yanked her coat off the coat rack and handed it to her, then grabbed his. Then, he gently tugged her out the door. Suddenly, he stepped back in. “You wanna move your car out the way?” Jimmy asked. Sylvia placed her hand on Jimmy’s chest and used her free hand to turn his face to hers. “Honey…” She tilted her head toward the house, gesturing for him to go back in. Jimmy huffed, and they stepped back inside. ____________________

“Honey, alI hell’s about to break loose,” Sylvia whispered, tipping into the bedroom. Sherri was pacing the room with Chris against her chest, lightly rubbing and patting the baby’s back.    “What’s going on?” she asked. Sylvia left the door ajar. “Their father is here.” “Oh, damn,” Sherri whispered. Sylvia sat on the edge of the bed and watched Sherri walk back and forth with the baby. “Jimmy’s pissed, huh?” “He damn near dragged me out the house with him. I convinced him to come back in. Whatever they’re about to talk about, it’s way overdue,” Sylvia said. “I agree.” Chris began to fuss. “Ain’t that right, baby? I know,” Sherri said in a baby-talk. “You’ve had no trouble latchin’, have you?” Sylvia asked, impressed. “Not too much. Definitely surprised me.” “The quietest little one I’ve ever seen,” Sylvia said. Sherri couldn’t make out what Clyde was saying, but she could hear the low rumble in his voice. The low quiet that could rattle you to your core. That simmering anger that she’d heard dripping in his voice that time she ate up his Mama’s cake recipe. “Uh oh,” Sherri said. She took large steps toward the door. “What?” Sylvia asked, rising from the bed. “Clyde’s getting pissed, I can hear it in his voice,” Sherri answered. She walked down the hallway with the baby on her shoulders and stopped at the living room’s archway. Tim’s hair was low cut and gray. His face was clear of freckles--like Jimmy. But his ears were big. Like Clyde’s. And blue eyes...that’s where Mellie got ‘em from...

“Cuz Mama was battlin’ cancer for four years and you won’t nowhere to be found ‘til she was dead,” Clyde said. “Son, I didn’t know your mama was sick,” Tim said. He glanced up at Sherri and Sylvia. Sherri noticed the slight lift of his eyebrows when he took her in. “If I’d have known, I would have been here.” “That ain’t the point that Clyde is tryna make, Daddy,” Jimmy said. “You shouldn’t have left in the first place. Point-blank. You took your settlement money and fucked off somewhere, leavin’ us down here strugglin’. Now, all of a sudden, you wanna make nice ‘cuz now it’s your turn to die.” “Jimmy!” Sylvia shouted. “Naw, naw. I don’t wanna hear no Jimmy,” he said, jumping up from the sofa. “Come on, let’s go.” He walked to the coat rack again. “Jimmy, I don’t--” Jimmy stopped and turned to face Sylvia. “Baby, I love you and I ain’t about to snap at you, but I said let’s go.” Sylvia sighed to herself and followed Jimmy. They grabbed their coats and walked out the door. “Where are you stayin’?” Mellie asked. “With your Uncle Ray,” Tim said. “Well I figure you’d best go on to Uncle Ray’s house, now,” Clyde said. “You need to move your car, anyway.” Tim nodded and rose to his feet. He stopped and smiled at Sherri. “I suppose you’re Clyde’s wife that I’ve heard so much about,” he said. Heard so much about...Sherri knew that so much probably consisted of. “Yes, I’m Sherri.” He walked over to Sherri, eyes falling to the little bun over her shoulder. “Bye, Daddy,” Clyde said sternly. Tim froze, looked over at Clyde, and nodded. Then, he walked toward the door. Sherri looked past him and saw Jimmy standing outside his car door with his fists on his hips, staring into the house. Tim turned back around. “Son, I want to fix things. And I won’t stop tryin’,” Tim said. “Well, I think you should take your tryin’ to the good Lord, ‘cuz we the last people that’s gon’ help you into heaven,” Clyde retorted. Tim stared into his large, middle child’s eyes. Donna’s dark irises burning into his flesh. Finally, he turned back around, but he stopped again. “Oh, and...Happy Birthday,” he said to Clyde. Clyde abruptly picked up his feet and walked around Mellie and Sherri. Tim’s stare lingered and just when he opened the screen door, Clyde slammed the bedroom door, making Sherri and Mellie jump, and the baby cry. 

Sherri started to shush the baby. “Is it bad that I want to help him?” Mellie asked. Suddenly, the bedroom door squeaked open. “I don’t think it is,” Sherri answered, still patting the baby’s back and whispering a chorus of “shh’s” in their ear. Soon, she felt Clyde behind her and turned to face him. He took the towel, tossed it over his right shoulder, then reached out for the baby. Sherri placed the little one in Clyde’s right arm.

“Shh, shh,” he said, patting the baby’s back as he walked back down the hallway. “Daddy ain’t mean to scare ya.” “Grrgh,” the baby said, painting the towel with spit and milk. 

“I think all three of you need to clear your heads,” Sherri said to Mellie. “There you go,” Clyde said. Sherri heard the smile in his voice. Then, the bedroom door closed more softly.  “Yeah. In fact, I think I’m gonna go for a ride,” Mellie said, walking into her bedroom. Sherri looked out the window and saw Jimmy and Sylvia riding down the street. ____________________

Clyde was stretched horizontally across the bed with Chris curled up in the middle of his chest.

“You alright, Honeybunch?” “I don’t know,” Clyde answered. Sherri sat on the bed beside him, smiling at Chris’s smushed, sleeping face, turned in her direction. “Do you think I was too harsh?” he asked. Sherri shook her head. “I just think you were upset.” Clyde rubbed light circles against the baby’s back. “So he has cancer?” Sherri asked. “Mhm. Only got a few months.” Sherri’s heart sank. She ran her fingers through Clyde’s hair. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Clyde shrugged his left shoulder and pouted. “Don’t make much difference to me. When he was here, he was barely around. He when left, he rarely came back to see us. Never told us where he was. Got our own grandma to hide his whereabouts from us. Ain’t gon’ make me no difference when he goes in that dirt.” Sherri felt goosebumps rise on her skin. She’d never heard Clyde speak so darkly. Then, she saw his eyes start to glisten. He sniffled, looked down at the baby, and kept rubbing their little back. “You want me to leave you alone, Baby?” Sherri asked. Clyde shook his head. “Mmph-mm.” Sherri laid down beside him. Clyde slowly lifted his right arm and let it drop to his side, so Sherri could snuggle close to him. She rubbed the baby’s back and heard Clyde sniffle again. Then, she placed her arm over his abdomen, just under the baby’s feet. ____________________ TAG LIST @aloneandsleepless​​ @direnightshade​​ @finn-ray-nal-beads​​ @a-true-janian-reply​​ @thegreenmatt​​ @sister-winter73​​ @loewsy55​​​ @mariesackler​​​ @clydes-hole​​​ @sydneyssmut​​​ @kirah36​​ @lovelyyandtired​ @morby​ @tsarinastorm​ If you want to be tagged in future Clyde x Sherri posts, comment below! Also, visit my Tag List request post to see if you’d be interested in being tagged in other works!

#clyde x sherri #the near future

[louhooo]

The Patient

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It’s cold and flu season, y’all 

Word Count: 2774

Warnings: Swearing, FLUFF, nurse Bucky

Prompt: “Is that my shirt?” // “It’s the only one that will warm my cold soul.”

A/N: This is part of the “Rainy Day” universe. This is for @littledarlinhavefaithinme All Things Fall Writing Challenge!!! I’ve changed my idea for this about twenty times lol and this may or may not be based on the fact that I turn into such a baby when I have a cold. I’m v dramatic and a patient Bucky to nurse me back to health (but mainly put up with my complaining) is exactly what I would want/need.

It started out as a sniffle.

Tony was in the middle of explaining all of the modifications he’d added to the quinjet– S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t know anything yet– and Bucky had lost interest after a few minutes of Tony’s impassioned rambling. Especially once he heard you from across the room.

You sat next to Natasha, your hands tucked into the pockets on your Avenger’s issued sweatshirt, and your legs kicked up onto the empty chair on your other side. Tony was describing a new feature for the weapons on the jet, but you were more focused on the grey hair poking through on his goatee. You leaned over to Nat.

“Do you think he colors his beard?” You whispered. She leaned back.

“I know he does. I caught Pepper buying a box of black “Just For Men” as CVS one time. She was very quick at hiding the box from me.” You chuckled and settled back into your seat.

“Something you wanna share with the class, ladies?” Tony raised a brow, waiting impatiently for you and Nat to stop talking during his demonstration. You smiled–too innocently for Tony’s standards– and shook your head.

“Nope. You’re doin’ a great job, boss.” Tony sighed and rolled his eyes and picked up where he left off before he was so rudely interrupted. You felt eyes on you and almost immediately found Bucky’s from across the room. You grinned at him, his own grin mirroring yours.

You and Bucky had gone to the carnival in the town near the compound on Halloween night, but as soon as you both sat down to share a caramel apple that’d you’d been craving for weeks, you were called out on a short recon to Canada for the last few days with Nat, and only just got back an hour ago, just as Tony’s spiel presentation started. 

You missed your boyfriend. And the caramel you never got to enjoy.

As soon as Tony finished, you walked over to the other side of the room and tugged Bucky up. 

“Nice to see ya, too, Y/N!” Sam bellowed as you headed down the hall. Bucky chuckled and wrapped his fingers with yours as you dragged him out of the room.

“What’s the rush, sugar? You didn’t even give Sam a comeback.” You grinned and pulled him into the elevator with you, hitting the button to your floor. You buried your face into his chest as soon as the doors shut, inhaling his musk.

“I missed you,” you spoke, your voice muffled by his shirt. Bucky grinned and let your hand go so that he could hold you closer.

“I missed you, too.” The Bucky that woke up in Wakanda never pictured having anyone this important in his life, not like this anyways. He always had Steve, and even though Sam annoyed Bucky in ways he never imagined, he’d grown to like him (even if it took him a while). But being… open and vulnerable with a girl? He had already signed that part of his life off. 

Luckily for him, you were too stubborn and never stopped convincing him that he deserved that.

Deserved love.

Deserved you.

You sniffled again and stared at your blue-eyed man with a love drunk grin, but instead of your usual forehead kiss, his brows pinched together as his eyes roamed your face.

“You feelin’ okay?” You nodded slowly.

“Yeah…? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you keep sniffling. And your heart is beating differently; faster.”

“And I’m also staring at a super hot guy right now….” Bucky’s concern dropped for the moment so he could give you a deadpanned stare. You giggled and stepped back as the elevator dinged for your floor. You took his hand again and walked towards your apartment.

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“I am, too, Buck. I mean, have you ever seen yourself? Somebody call the fire department, ‘cause you’re smokin’!” You laughed at your joke as F.R.I.D.A.Y. scanned your thumb to open the door. You stepped in and kicked off your shoes, leaving Bucky so you could search for something to eat. He shut the door and turned on your living room light as he followed you into the kitchen. “Do you have food at your place? Nothin’ looks good in my fridge. Oh! Hey! Did you keep that caramel apple?!”

“No, I think Clint ate it.” Your shoulders dropped. “I think you caught somethin’ when you were gone. You need to go to Med Bay and get cleared.” You rolled your eyes and shut the fridge with your hip.

“Bucky, don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic? Nat and I didn’t even do that much. It was just recon. And I’m literally just there for tech; I don’t even getta do anything that exciting.”

He sighed. He would discuss your importance for the team later. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have come into contact with somethin’! Could be some airborne pathogen! What if it’s poisonous?” You sighed and gave your overly anxious boyfriend a tender grin.

“Baby… I promise you, I feel fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

By that night, you had lost the ability to breathe through your nose. When you woke up the next morning, your head was throbbing and you had a puddle of drool on your pillow from your mouth being open all night.

Bucky politely waited an hour before casually mentioning that he did tell you to get checked out. You glared at him and threw an empty box of tissues at his head. You didn’t miss.

“Here’s some soup.” You were propped up in bed, bundled under blankets with twenty used tissues scattered on top. Bucky set the tray on your lap and waited until you were fully settled before letting it sit on your lap completely. He glanced at you and brushed the hair out of your face. “How’re ya feelin’? Has the medicine kicked in yet?”

“No,” you grumbled, glaring up at Bucky. He’d take your glare seriously if he didn’t find it so cute. 

“Maybe you should take a lil’ more.”

“If you make me drink any more of that crap, I’ll scream.” 

“That ‘crap’ is what’s going to make you feel better.”

“Bull.” He huffed a laugh as he sat on the bed, throwing all the tissues into the garbage can. “You’re mocking me.” He raised a brow at you. “You can’t get sick, so you’re just rubbin’ it my face that you can touch my germs and be fine!” He chuckled and set the now full trash down on the floor beside the bed.

“Eat your soup. I’ll go get you some more water.” You grumbled and slowly took a spoonful of the hot broth and brought it to your lips. Bucky watched you take another bite before grabbing your empty water bottle and going to the kitchen. He unscrewed the lid and held it under the fridge dispenser until it filled with cold water. He put the lid back on, and grabbed an extra package of tissues, just in case. When he got back to the bedroom, you looked up at him with a woeful gaze.

“Can you sit with me? I don’t wanna be alone.” Bucky smirked warmly and set your bottle down on the nightstand and squeezed onto the bed beside you so he was propped against the pillows. You sat up and adjusted the pillows more, and pulled on the arm of his sweatshirt until he scooted closer to you.

He laid his arm behind you and chuckled. “What else do you want me to do, baby?” You sighed and leaned your head back so you were leaning against his chest.

“Don’t be mad at me, but I don’t wanna eat right now.”

“You needta eat, sweetheart.”

“I know…” you whined, “but I’m not hungry right now. I’m still full from lunch.” You groaned and reached for a tissue from the box in Bucky’s hand and held it up under your nose. “I’m dying. I never wanna go to a Halloween festival ever again.” Bucky breathed through his nose and moved the tray of food from your lap, to the end table to avoid hot liquid being spilled all over you and the bed.

“I don’t think you mean that, and I don’t think you’re dying–”

“I am. And, I do.” Stubborn. And dramatic. Just how Bucky liked you. You balled up the tissue and leaned over him to drop it into the garbage. You missed and groaned again. “I’ll pick it up later.” You tucked yourself back into his side until you were comfortable.

“Only if you’re not dead first, right?” You narrowed your eyes up at him, a cheeky grin on his face.

“You’re not cute.” A loud laugh came out of Bucky that normally would have made you happy, if your head wasn’t throbbing.

“Didn’t realize I got so ugly in just a day….” Your eyes stayed narrowed and Bucky chuckled. “C’mon. I’ll play with your hair if you lay down.” You hummed, assessing him and his proposition.

“… okay. I’ll allow it.” Bucky rolled his eyes good naturedly and you settled back into his side, your arm hooking over his abdomen. His metal digits scratched your scalp how you liked it, and he felt your breathing start to shift, growing slower and slower as you drifted to sleep.

Well… almost to sleep.

You sat up and moved your head as a harsh cough raked you. Bucky grimaced and sat up, too, his urge to protect gnawing at him to do something to make you feel better. You took a few gulps of water and your coughing subsided. You sighed and kicked your feet out from under the covers and stumbled out of bed.

“Where’re you–”

“I gotta pee.” You shuffled into the bathroom and shut the door. You glanced in the mirror and cringed. Your nose was red and crusty, your lips were chapped, and you looked like you could use a hot shower after a day of being in sick and in bed. You opened the door again, and Bucky was standing right there and jumped. “Jesus! What are you doing?”

“I was gonna help you back to bed.” You grinned and shifted your weight to lean against the door frame.

“I’m okay, Buck. I am gonna shower, though, so you can relax.”

“Do you need help?” you raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Bucky shook his head. “Not like that. You could take a bath, and I’ll help you.”

“I’m okay, babe. I can handle a shower.” Now, Bucky looked at you disbelievingly.

“You sure?” You nodded and he studied you before sighing, and accepting your reassurance. You shut the door and Bucky stayed there until he heard the shower door open and the water start. He glanced around the room and decided he could clean up. He took the cold soup and tray and set them in the kitchen, transferring the soup into a storage container for later when you were “hangry”, as you called it. 

He emptied the garbage from the bedroom into the bigger kitchen garbage can, tying it up and taking it out to the special incinerator Stark put in living quarters of the compound. Steve was walking down the hallway when Bucky stepped out.

“Hey, Buck. How’s Y/N doin’?” Steve followed Bucky as they walked down the hall.

“She’s takin’ a shower, now, so I think she’s feeling a little bit better. That, or the cold medicine is kicking in finally.” Bucky would wait until you were back to your normal self before teasing you about how theatrical you were being with anyone. Steve chuckled.

“That’s good. Nat and I went over their recon today. You, me, and Nat are headin’ to Canada in a few days. She gonna be okay by then?” Bucky slowly opened the door to the incinerator and lowered the garbage into it. He knew you’d be okay by then, and you’d tell him to “go and save the world from the bad guys,” but the idea of leaving made him anxious. Steve could sense the hesitation.

“I can see if Sam can go, too, if you don’t think she’ll be okay by then?”

“It’s just…” Bucky scratched the back of his neck trying to come up with a valid excuse. He’d already used all of his best ones. Steve gave Bucky an understanding grin. Since Bucky had bought that ring, he hated any time either he or Y/N had to leave for a mission. It wasn’t a coincidence that Bucky’s missions had been cut lately.

“I get it, Buck. I’ll ask Sam.” Bucky grinned at his oldest friend and Steve smacked his shoulder. “But, can you ask, already? I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to keep it a secret. I’m pretty sure Nat already figured it out.” Bucky rolled his eyes and sighed.

“It’s kinda concerning how bad at lying you are, Steve. You threaten our national security almost daily.”

“Shut up, or I’ll ‘slip up’ in front of your girl.” Bucky rolled his eyes again and started to walk back to your apartment.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see ya later, Stevie.” Bucky patted his friend’s shoulder and Steve murmured back his own goodbye.

Bucky got back into the apartment and noticed the shower wasn’t running anymore. He walked back to your bedroom and found you sitting in bed, your hair still wet, tucked under the covers, and in a familiar long sleeved flannel he hadn’t seen for a while now. You were scrolling through your phone, enjoying the short lived moment of being able to breathe through your nose.

“Is that my shirt?” You glanced up at Bucky and back down at what you were wearing.

“I’m still dying, and it’s the only one that will warm my cold soul.” Bucky raised a brow.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, doll.”

“Shh, I’m sick and I think the cold medicine kicked in in the shower, so I’m also slightly high.” Bucky chuckled and moved to get in bed beside you. Your phone wasn’t interesting anymore and you curled into his side. “Where’d you go?”

“Took the garbage out, and Steve was in the hall.”

“I just checked my email and Nat said they went through the footage this morning. She said you two and Steve were gonna go to Canada in a few days.” 

“Change of plans. Steve said Sam was goin’ instead.” You looked up at him, a crease drawn between your eyebrows.

“Oh…. Why, did something happen?” Bucky grinned and smoothed out your concern with his thumb.

“Nothin’ happened. They just needed Sam, instead. ‘Sides, if I left, who’d be able to take care of you and your cold soul?” You grinned and rolled your eyes. You laid your head back down, leaving a wet spot on Bucky’s chest from your hair, but he didn’t care.

“You’re the only one I wanna annoy when I’m sick.” He smirked and rubbed his hand up and down your bicep.

“You don’t annoy me, doll.” You sniffled.

“You’re sweet for lyin’ to me, Buck.” You rubbed your hand over his stomach, feeling the muscles contract under your touch.

“I’m not lyin’. You’d be able to tell if I was annoyed with you.” You hummed.

“I guess that’s true. You always give Sam a death glare whenever he starts singing to you.”

“Well, he’s not good.” You giggled a raspy laugh.

“You just don’t like what he sings.”

“It’s not appropriate. And, I know you’re gonna call me ‘old’, but music from my day wasn’t so vulgar. It was real music.” You grinned and rolled your eyes.

“You like it when I play it, though…?” Bucky was quiet for a long time. When you looked back up at him, you could tell he was trying to come up with a retort. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” Bucky glared playfully and held your head back down as you giggled and settled back on his chest.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You laughed as Bucky bit back his grin. He’d planned on asking you on Halloween while you were at the carnival, but then you got called on the mission, and his plans were foiled. He made sure to complain to Steve about stealing you away the whole time you were gone. He knew he could go to his apartment and take the ring out of his combat boots and ask you right now, snotty nose and all. 

But, this moment was good how it was.

The ring could wait for another time when Bucky wasn’t cuddled up with his girl.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes x Y/N #Bucky x Reader #Bucky x Y/N #Bucky x You #little darlin's all thing fall writing challenge #ldatfwc

[thekingmickey]

gotta do everything myself around here smh (lol). "open up" Mickey >:P

@eclipseyeger

Mickey's ears shot straight up along with the fur across his back. He hasn't even thought of his broth... his friend in many many years. Not because of any hostility or ill feelings... but because... well...

"Oswald... was my imaginary friend," He began to speak slowly, "At least- that's how I knew him." He motioned the inquiring person to follow towards a park bench. Then he folded his arms, closed his eyes, and continued.

"Gosh... I couldn't have been older than five or six maybe. Somethin' like that... whelp... my fath- the king had this idea. I'll never understand it- He figured that there wouldn't be an heir to his throne. He wanted his kids to marry into two different kingdoms, ya see, and for some... some reason he thought to separate us. So that if one kingdom fought against another... there wouldn't be any hesitation to overtake the throne. If- if one of us had- had to execute the other-"

He gritted his teeth as the memories started to flood back. Not long after Mickey became King he went back to his father’s old study. Growing up, he was never supposed to enter that room... and after the man died it was difficult to. The only way he was justifying it was because he wanted to find some family heirlooms he wanted to take with him back to Minnie's world... instead he found his father's old diary- and they were filled with the most vile things a father could ever write about his family’s future. 

Things like... how he wanted to use his sons to overthrow all of the surrounding kingdoms by force. The details of this plan that was already set in motion during most of his childhood made Mickey sick to his stomach. Not only did it confirm the young King’s fears that his father had been taken by the darkness for most of his life... but it raised questions about other aspects of his life. Questions Mickey never dared to ask... like did his mother really leave them?

He suddenly took a deep breath, realizing he was lost in thought. Of course, he couldn’t help but zone into this quiet spiral whenever this topic got brought up. It would probably help if he searched for the truth.... it would probably help with his own troubles accepting darkness as a positive force... but... he couldn’t. It was bad enough that he learned about his brother... in the worst way imaginable.

"His idea..." He mumbled slowly, "it never came to be. I'm glad it didn't. But... well, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm not one for stories like this, ya see. A-Anyway... Oswald was probably eight years old when we were separated. I was too young so when he suddenly disappeared, I guess I thought of him as an imaginary friend. I even thought he had some sort of cool power where he could transform himself into anything' he wanted. Like he could take off his tail and turn it into a pirate's hat- can you imagine?"

He chuckled at that thought, "Heh- I used to imagine he was able to do all sorts of things. He was always the coolest, smartest, most ornery fella a five year old could imagine. I used to get in so much trouble and tell the nanny that 'Ozzie made me do it.' She musta thought I was nuts."

He lingered onto those memories. The good ones. Where he and his imaginary friend would play in the garden when he should have been studying. Or sneaking into his father’s war room so that he could watch his dad be the strong hero he wanted to be when he grew up. 

But he knew that if he went through those memories, it would only make the next part of the story more difficult to tell. He wasn’t sure why he was telling this story to begin with. Maybe it was nice to have someone ask about his “imaginary friend” ... maybe he didn’t want to have his life go by without somebody else knowing the truth... but for whatever reason that was kept locked deep in the king’s chest, he continued.

“I didn’t meet him again until many many years later... not that I knew it at the time... it was shortly after my banishment. Th- that’s a whole ‘nother story altogether, so I’ll keep it short for now... let’s just say I grew wise to the old king’s ways. How his policies were harmin’ the people... and I confronted him about it... next thing I knew... I was thrown out. I was no longer considered part of the royal family and... it was no longer safe for me to stay in his kingdom. So I ran. Ran as far as I could... until I found a kingdom that accepted me. Well- they didn’t know who I was... and I didn’t want to risk it. But somehow I managed by meetin’ these two fellas who let me stay with ‘em. They later on became two of my closest pals... Goofy and Donald. They was trainin’ to be musketeers for this kingdom’s princess. And next thing I knew- I had a job workin’ with ‘im. That’s where I met...”

His breath hitched, knowing what was coming.

 “...That’s where I met a fella named Theo. A fellow recruit that was also aimin’ to be a musketeer. He always wore this scarf- it was red and tattered. Not regulation... but he always fought tooth and nail to keep the thing on at all times. That’s how I noticed him at first. I noticed how he did whatever he wanted without any worries or care. I was envious of that...”

“He was leagues above me and the other newbies, but he took us in his care immediately. He always stepped in to make sure that we were doin’ well with our training... he always dropped by every morning to have a cup of coffee before drills began... and whenever I slipped up and made mistakes that would have fired any other recruit... he always stood up for me.”

A lump formed in his throat as it became more difficult to speak. He didn’t want to cry... not now. Not after how far he has come since those days. It somehow felt like he was disrespecting the memories that way... and he was not about to do that now.

“Well... there came a time when I wanted... to tell him the truth about my past. That I felt like I was abandoning the people I was supposedly born to protect. I wanted to return home. And I wanted to- to make things right. In any way necessary...”

He grew silent. It didn’t seem like it was needed to spell out what he was intending to do at the time. His father was gutting the kingdom of its people and... here the prince was- galavanting around with friends and flirtin’ with princesses. And while he was happy to be surrounded by friends that loved him... he knew it wasn’t right for him to live a carefree life when his people were suffering. And there was only one way that Mickey could think of to save his kingdom...

“Theo was with me all the way- you can imagine that shocked me. All things considered, even speaking to him about this plan I had could have cost me my job. It could have started an all out war between the two kingdoms. It was a stupid- stupid idea-” 

It was then when the mouse couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. His next words were soft... almost monotone. Almost as if he was still trying to distance himself from the events that played back all too clearly in his head.

“And he came with me anyway. I- I’ve should have seen it then... but somehow I just... didn’t put two and two together. We... it had to have been a weekend. We rode our horses until we reached the outskirts of the kingdom. The plan was that we’d meet up with the towns folk and stay there until we had enough manpower to storm the castle. It was supposed ta be an easy plan... while Theo lead the people through the gates and distracted the royal army... I was to sneak into my father’s room.”

“But- somethin’ went wrong. It was foolish I suppose... Gosh, I- I honestly believed that the townsfolk would all be supportive of my return. It’s so silly now, but back then... it never crossed my mind that someone would warn the king in advance of my plans. And by the time I found out that we were betrayed... I was running away from some guards. Past the courtyard... and out of the corner of my eye I... I saw Theo.”

The King paused to catch his breath. His hands were shaking as the image flashed so vividly- the old oak tree... the spear... and the perpetually frozen look of absolute terror upon Theo’s face. It was something he would never forget. No matter how many times he repressed it. No matter how many times he tried to bring back memories of his dear friend’s smile... it always morphed into that same disfigured look of a life taken far too soon. 

“I tried to go to him- I- He was my friend... he wasn’t supposed to... He had to come with me- That was our plan. H- He had a girl back home. I couldn’t just...”

The mouse felt the words escaping his lips faster than he could think them. He gripped his tail- trying to ground himself... why on earth was he compelled to recall this? Hadn’t he suffered enough after nearly losing Aqua and Ansem? Why was he forcing himself to relive this? These questions pounded against his skull, but as the image of his fallen friend became move vivid- all the mouse could do was go on.

“I... fought through the guards and rushed to his side. They tried to pull me away but I somehow grabbed something from his hand and through some sort of miracle I got away... but I ran without him. There was nothing I could have done... Somehow, by some sort of luck I was able to escape the city. I... still don’t know how many of the townsfolk survived... but all I knew was that... I... ”

He grew suddenly quiet, as if all of the energy was drained out of him. It was too much. It was absolutely too much to continue this story. He knew he was cutting things off short. He knew that the inquisitor wouldn’t be happy without knowing how he eventually got back to the throne- but he didn’t care. It was too much.

But he knew he couldn’t just end it there... he had to do something that showed this person how he found out. How he found out that Theo... had a lot of reasons to look out for him.

So, without a word, he reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a small locket. It didn’t take much for the inquisitor to realize that this was the same object taken from Theo that day. Mickey handed it to them and silently pointed at a small latch that kept the locket shut.

And when the latch was pressed...

One could see a small inscription that read, “Michael Elias and Me”

And behind a small slate of dusty glass, the inquisitor could make out a faded picture of two children. The younger one was a small mouse... and the older one... was a rabbit wearing a red scarf.

#king mickey #mickey mouse #oswald #oswald the lucky rabbit #kingdom hearts #kh #kingdom hearts 3 #disney #kingdom hearts 2 #kingdom hearts drabble

[stormyweaver]

Okay so... *ahem* I feel like so far, my lil’ fics I’ve posted have had a decent balance of snz + story, which I personally like to read when I browse through stories in general. But uh... if you’re looking for balance/canon stuff/awesome wordiness, this ain’t it lol. This is pure indulgence that I drummed up one night and swore I would never show anyone. Then I decided ‘Eh, maybe someone else might get a kick out of it’ so! Without further stalling, here’s some pre-season 1 Wa/lking D/ead featuring Rick and Shane during their police academy days. 

"C'mon man, quit fightin' it!" "Shade, I swear to God I'm gonna... g-gonna..." "Gonna sneeze again? Hell, blind man could'a told ya' that," While a grinning Shane leaned against the end of the bed, Rick reclined off the side, hands shakily hovering over his nose. He'd had a cold for the past three days, and it finally made a head the day BEFORE their fucking latest physical test was scheduled. He could deal with the fatigue, aches and general malaise - he’d pushed through worse - but did he really have to sneeze every other minute?! "Ugh, n'do, I'mb-- hih!" Rheumy eyes glazed over, close to slamming shut as his nose twitched, tingles running rampant along the lining of his sinuses. He could fight it, he could, he just had to concentrate... "Swear to God, man, you look like you're about to cum," That- that did it. "hhiiIh-- ihhTSCHH! Hih'TXSHH! iiHHSHH! ih'SHH! 'TSHH!" The fit landed into his cupped palms point blank, each one spilling out until his body figured itself satisfied. Groaning, Rick grimaced at the mess left behind on his palms, leaning over to pluck a tissue from the box on his nightstand. "I'b blamig' you for that," Meanwhile, Shane merely side-eyed his friend, a light smirk on his lips."Told ya'. Bless you, anyway, like - times five? Shit, never could keep count with you," Teasing Rick had to be his favorite pastime, even vying for first with boning the hot chick from the local bar on the weekends. He was just too easy to get under the skin of, especially with how pathetically miserably he appeared. Though, Shane couldn't deny that, this particular jabbing session had an underlying purpose. After spending the last couple of days with a walking germ incubator, he'd already begun to feel a sore throat coming on day two. Now, there was a distinct heaviness lining his lungs, a sluggish lag creeping into his bones, and damn if he didn't wanna claw his own sinuses out. But like hell would he ever let Rick onto that fact. No willingly giving ammunition for being harped on, it simply wasn't allowed between them. The sound of Rick gently blowing his nose caught Shane's attention, another chuckle passing through his lips. "Can't imagine how you're breathin' through all that gunk, man," Going back to his book, Shane flinched as he felt something soft, papery and distinctly damp land atop his hand. Gagging, he quickly flicked the used tissue to the side, "Oh, fuckin' sick, asshole!" Turning around to reach up, he grappled for Rick's flannel to pull him onto the floor, but the other wasn't going without a fight. "Take's one to know one!" he shot back, shifting so he was on his belly and pushing himself back off the edge and out of Shane's grasp. Even the slight tousle had Rick coughing into his fist, but Shane didn't back down. Closing his book, he crawled atop the bed, taking the momentarily preoccupied Rick and pinning him down -- wrists in hand, knees locking his legs into place. Grunting in defiance, Rick shot daggers at his friend, not enough to really show anything besides a large irritation, though. "Dick," Shane merely shrugged, leaning in a bit to sing-song, "Take's one to know one~" with a snicker. Rick could only roll his eyes, sniffling heavily as he-- Oh, shit. He was gonna sneeze again. Though it would have been the ultimate revenge, the merciful part of Rick really didn't want to stack up the odds of his friend catching this. After all, Shane fit the mold when it came to who was a bigger asshole between them. Couldn’t go ruining that dynamic. "Shane, lem'be up," he insisted, shifting his hips between Shane's fucking thunder thighs as he wrinkled his nose tight. "Uh-uh, not 'til you say you're sorry 'bout tossing your snot rag at me..." His tongue prodded the inside of his cheek, "...aaaand you admit that I'm better at puttin' together a Remington. 'Cause you know it's the truth," Snorting, though Rick couldn't identify if it was indignant or reflexive, he began to squirm in earnest, shaking his head. "I-I'm serious, man, lebbe up, I gotta..." Rick felt his lungs begin to spasm, breath catching on the last word. Still clueless, Shane rose a brow at his friend, "What’s more important than tellin’ me I’m right? Nice try, but, nah. Jus' say it an' I'll let ya' go, brother," A sudden huff exited Rick's lungs, and this time his eyes rolled up in preparation of the sneezes just itching to barrel out of him. Shit, he had to move--! "S-Shane, I... I gotta... hiihhh!..." Oh, screw it, he wasn't gonna go through this again. Maybe it was time for a little bit of payback for all that teasing. It seemed by the time Shane had put two and two together, brows raising just as Rick tilted his head back, flared nostrils exposed and damp. "hh'ITSHH'uh! ih'TSHHH'uh! hih'ISHHU!" Whether it was shock or slowed reflexes, Shane got hit smack in the face with the first one, raising an arm to shield himself from the next pair. He groaned in tandem with Rick, who allowed his head to fall back with a thick snuffle. "Ugh, damb that felt good," and a mildly satisfied smirk. Wait, his hand was free-- YES! Ignoring his streaming nose with another sniffle, Rick took Shane's momentary stunned state and flipped him onto his back, reversing their position in under two seconds. "You fuckin'--!" Shane started, attempting to break free from Rick's grasp, but even with a cold the man still knew how to pin someone down. Nostrils flared, Shane sighed and glanced off to the side, swearing again before peering up at Rick with a grimace. "Seriously couldn'ta warned me before ya' sprayed all that shit on my face?" A scoff flew past Rick's lips. "I tried! You wouldn't listen, stubborn ass," Sighing, he glanced down between them before giving Shane an exasperated look. "What, you wanna get me back?" Well... maybe it was kinda too far. Definitely gross. Shane had asked for it, but, Rick honestly hated seeing that hurt puppy dog look on the others face. Damn struck sympathy chords. "... Alright here, you can punch me in the arm, alright? That make ya' feel any better?" Before he could get an answer, Shane had been silently fighting an internal battle of his own. While Rick tried and failed miserably to stave off his fittish sneezes, Shane had actually been doing a fair job of ignoring the tingling within his own crooked nose. But with all the rough and tumbling, and surprise from being sprayed in the face, tingling had morphed into an all out itch. His expression was already going slack, eyes lidded as his lips parted to suck in air so as to fuel the inevitable sneeze. Rick, knowing that expression all too well by now, groaned and tilted his head to the side. "Jus' make it quick, man," Shane managed to gasp out a chuckle, bunching his nose up and down as the tickle worked his sinuses. "T-tryin', man," Fuck, he had to sneeze so bad, why wasn't it coming out?! He sniffed, heavily, feeling his chest expand beneath Rick -- and then nothing. Groaning, he squirmed a bit under Rick, his left leg beginning to job from the anxiousness of waiting. "Fuck, man, i-ihhh... i-it won't come out!" He gasped in disbelief, feeling ridiculous as his expression twisted all from a stupid tickle in his nose. Oh. Oh, geez. Rick glanced back to Shane in a mixture of awkwardness and pity - he knew how much a stuck sneeze sucked ass. And as much as his friend deserved at least a part of this, he wasn't a complete jerk. "Alright, alright hold on," Letting go of his wrists, Rick leaned over and yanked another tissue from the box, trying to ignore how... weird it felt, having Shane kinda writhing underneath him. "Tried this the other night, an'... look, it's weird okay?" He sighed, fingers twisting the tissue until it reached a fine point, "But it works so, jus' shut up and lemme help ya'," Shane wasn't about to say no - he'd wanted to sneeze in the first place, now this was just getting ridiculous. "I-I'd try snortin' p-pepper at tthis point," But, he reckoned a tissue would be a lot less painful. He tried not to tense up as his friend brought the implement to his nostrils, but he couldn't help seizing up once it slid past the rim. "huuhh--uhhh-uuUUH--" Still, nothing but build up, and he let out an audible groan. Rick tried not to wince at his friend's obvious discomfort, biting down hard as he attempted to wiggle the tool deeper into his nose. "Jus' try and relax, s'what I had to do. Uh... t-think of somethin' that makes ya' sneeze. Like that one girls perfume, last month, remember? Shit, thought you'd just about sneeze out the entire club that night, firin' one after the other. Think'a that, okay?" Oh God, that... Shane could recall with almost perfect clarity that night, not too long ago. Whatever cheap, heady scent the girl had on, it did NOT agree with his sinuses. Shane had little problem sneezing then, barely able to get a word in-between, and Rick all but led him out into the night air. But, it stuck with him, all over his clothes, his hair... so tickly... and he'd been so.... so fucking sneezy... "Hhhhoooh God, R-rick...! T-t-think it--  think it's wuhh-huh! w-workin'..." Shane's head had tilted back as far as it could go, and this gave Rick better access to really work at his nose. He wiggled the tissue,  giving twists as he slid it in and out of his friends nostril. Just seeing the way his expression was falling almost made Rick's own nose twinge in sympathy. "Uhhh-UHHH---!" He'd hit the spot. Rick assaulted the area as best he could, hand clenched onto Shane's shoulder as he encouraged him. "Jus' ooone more..." With that, he flicked the spear, twisting it twice before sliding it out, slowly, from Shane's nose. And that seemed to do it. "huuhh--hHHUUUH---HHH! HH! HHHUURRRUUSHHHOOO!" Shane finally released, so powerful a sneeze that he rose and bumped his forehead against Rick's with the force of it. "Ghh--!" Rick staggered backwards, falling back onto the bed with a hiss as his fingers rose to massage his temple. "Shit," he chuckled, cracking an eye open to glance at Shane, "Damn, when I said fire, I didn't mean liter-- Oh..." Anyone could tell by the hazy desperation on Shane's expression that he wasn't yet finished. Hitching softly, he brushed the knuckle of his index finger against the tip of his nose, a shudder running down his spine before he sneezed again, openly. "hhHUURUSHHHH'UHHh! hHHAHHH'KSHHH AAHHH'SHHH'huh!'hue... Ohhh, fugck," Shane moaned, ignoring the ache in his head in favor of massaging the sides of his nose. It still felt like he could sneeze his brains out, but a little less insistent than before. He sniffled, yes, full on sniffled, feeling tears trickle from his eyes and sighed. "... So, uh... think ya' mighta' got m'be sick," he mumbled stuffily, sniffling again and scrubbing at the side of his nose with a finger.

Rick could only huff out a congested sigh of his own, gazing at his friend with a small, apologetic smile as he passed him the box of Kleenex. “Misery loves company,”

#greywrites; #oof welp #heh #*sinks into the abyss*

[izzy-b-hands]

I’m a smut-loving bitch and I know I can count on you to deliver some quality shit🥰 Prompt: Smut, 14 - “Can I at least take my shoes off before you pounce on me?”

Thank you for trusting me with the smut-I’ve always been a lil insecure about writing it, so this just makes me go !!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!! 

It’s horny on main hours for me (though I’ve tried to contain it lol) so I went...I went all in here. Just...the most smut I could think of, as intense as I could go in the moment. 

So, I’m gonna do a Sledgefu version of this and a version of Sid/Eugene too considering the conversation from just a bit ago tonight about that ship. This is the Sledgefu version; I’ll have the Sid/Eugene version up as soon as I can on a separate post, tagged so those who like that ship can find it, and for those who don’t, can blacklist (no hate, we love the ships we love and dislike the ones we dislike. I like experimenting with characters in various ships, but I know it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Thankfully we got tags and blacklist if we need ‘em!) 

Snafu couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

Was it inappropriate? Probably. Had he seen Eugene in a nice suit before, so the sight in front of him shouldn’t have captured him so much? Yes, but that didn’t change the fact that he was actively focusing on not getting a hard-on in the middle of a church. 

The whole reason he was there was for Eugene. Eugene’s parents had asked them to come to church, after they’d pushed it off for a good seven Sundays in a row, and Eugene had felt bad pushing them off again, even if neither of them were one hundred percent certain on how they felt about any sort of a god at this point in their lives. 

So he’d agreed (they were nice folks, after all, and were only asking to try and share a part of their life that was important to them) and had woken up earlier than he wanted to dress up and try to stay awake in a pew that clearly had not actually been made to have someone sit on it comfortably. 

But it was all worth it, watching Eugene glad-hand with the folks in the church, many of whom had apparently known him since he was little judging by their stories of him that they told without care, while Eugene blushed. 

He couldn’t just sit for much longer though. The sermon had been over for a good half hour, and he was at his limit for smiling and looking pretty for all the judging church ladies, and for watching Eugene in that suit that was tailored perfectly, tight in all the right spots. 

Before he could get up to grab Eugene, Eugene was over to him, a pained look on his face. 

“Can you fake being sick or somethin’? I’m dyin’ here. If I hear one more embarrassing story from when I was three years old, I’m gonna...I don’t know, but I can’t handle it. I’m ready to go home.” 

“Say no more,” Snafu replied, and took a deep breath before standing. Or attempting to, at least. After all, he had to act this out well, really convince them that Eugene needed to take him away. After all, the church friends of Eugene’s parents didn’t know they were anything more than ‘close friends.’ 

He stumbled, panted a bit, leaned on Eugene as Eugene played right along, helping him out of the pew and into the aisle. 

A few of the women shouted concern, but Eugene brushed them off. “Just the heat; I’ll make sure he gets home and gets some water so he doesn’t pass out. Always too warm in here, you know.” 

The ladies nodded their understanding, and that was that. 

He kept up the act as they reached the car, letting Eugene help him lay down in the back, where he remained until Eugene had driven them home. 

As soon as the car stopped, he was out of the backseat and opening the front door, struggling to wait for Eugene as he walked in after him with relaxed steps. 

As soon as Eugene was inside and the door was closed and locked, he grabbed him. Pulled him close, and kissed him like it was the last thing he might ever do, letting his hands roam and grope at Eugene.

“Can I at least take my shoes off before you pounce on me?” Eugene laughed as Snafu broke the kiss, only to move his lips to Eugene’s neck. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t do this in the church,” Snafu grumbled. “Watchin’ you wander around looking as good as you do in this suit, expectin’ me to sit there all nice.” 

He moved back for another kiss, this time biting at Eugene’s lower lip as Eugene pulled back, smirking when Eugene gasped and moaned. 

“We’re gonna have to move upstairs eventually,” Eugene was breathing hard, his hands toying at Snafu’s belt. Snafu could practically taste how badly he wanted to start undoing it. 

“Why wait for eventually?” Snafu asked, and didn’t wait for a reply as he dragged him upstairs with one hand, trying to pull off his suit jacket with the other. 

In the bedroom, there was no more restraint. He tossed aside his jacket, tie, shirt, everything as quickly as he could until he was naked and could feel Eugene’s eyes running up and down his body. But he held up a hand to stop Eugene from doing the same. 

“Oh no. You keep that on,” he instructed, motioning to the bed. 

“I’m not wearing my shoes on the bed,” Eugene protested. 

Snafu rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Take those off then, but everythin’ else stays put.” 

Eugene took off his shoes, a curious look on his face as he tossed them aside and lay back on the bed. 

Snafu joined him, straddling him, enjoying the delightful shade of pink that colored Eugene’s cheeks as he reached up for him to pull him in for a kiss. 

“Oh no. You gotta pay for makin’ me wait, for makin’ me watch you. Leave those hands at your side; I’ll say when you can start touchin’,” Snafu said as he rolled his hips against Eugene’s hard, still clothed cock. 

Eugene whined, and it was a beautiful sound. His hands fell back to grasp desperately at the quilt as Snafu continued to roll his hips, moving so his cock was grinding against Eugene’s. The friction of the material of the suit was something else, and all he could think about was how he wanted to ruin it by having them both come on it. 

After another few minutes of teasing, Eugene broke. “Please.” 

“Please what?” Snafu asked before letting himself moan loud, the way he knew made Eugene weak. 

“Jesus, Snaf, please-” 

Snafu interrupted him with a gasp as he moved off of Eugene’s lap to lay between his legs, finally undoing Eugene’s belt and pants, moving things just enough to free his cock and balls. “We were just in church, but look at that language. I might have to punish you for that too.” 

He let the head of Eugene’s cock just barely touch his tongue, and relished the whimper it earned him. “Tell you what. I’ll move things along, but no more of that language. In fact, I say we switch it up. You can touch, but not a sound. What do you say?” 

He took Eugene’s cock deep in his mouth, and got his answer in the form of one of Eugene’s hands in his hair, grasping gently as he sucked. He moaned around Eugene’s cock, and looked up to see just how much of a mess he was making Eugene. 

He was flushed, his free hand clapped over his mouth, but his head moving in a way that suggested he wanted to moan and sigh and make all other manner of noises in response to Snafu’s mouth on his cock. But he was being a good man, keeping quiet despite it. 

He let Eugene’s cock fall from his mouth, only because he could tell neither of them would last much longer. He moved to grab the Vaseline from the bedside table, and leaned back against the bottom rail of the bed frame. If Eugene had thought he was already getting a hell of a show, then he had no idea what he was in for. 

Eugene sat back on his arms, moving up a bit to give Snafu more room, then reaching a hand out for the container. 

“Oh, that’s adorable,” Snafu hummed. “Normally, I’d be happy to let you work me open. But not this time. No, you get to watch me do that to myself, and think about how badly you wish you were the one doin’ it.” 

Eugene moaned, half in lust and half in frustration, and Snafu shook his head. 

“Didn’t I say no noise?” he asked as he opened the container, and set to work on himself. It wasn’t quite as much fun, doing it to oneself, but what was fun was watching Eugene watching him, a hand clapped again over his mouth to silence himself. “Gonna really have to make this worse for you then, aren’t I? Maybe I can tell you how much I love when you’re the one doin’ this to me? How much I love your fingers inside of me?” 

Eugene was silent, but his eyes were pleading, and it was one of the hottest things Snafu had seen in his life. 

“Because I do. I could get off just on that, easy. Have a half a mind to ask for that for my birthday, a night of just you toyin’ with me until I can’t take it anymore,” Snafu continued, fighting back moans of his own so he could keep talking. “Think you could get me back for this? I know you want to.” 

Eugene nodded, and let his hand drop away from his mouth as he kept watching, his tongue running across his upper lip. Snafu figured if he kept this up long enough, he might actually have him drooling. 

It was tempting to try for that, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He moved to straddle Eugene again, grabbing the container of Vaseline and quickly coating Eugene’s cock before lowering himself onto it with a moan, letting the container fall off the bed as he moved. 

Eugene’s hands were tight on his hips, tight enough to bruise. But he was silent still. 

“Okay, you can talk, and touch,” Snafu smiled as he sat, but didn’t move, though he wanted to. 

“Oh my fucking god, please move, please,” Eugene was begging, the words falling from lips fast. “Merriell-” 

“That what you want?” Snafu interrupted, and cocked his head to one side. “You sure? I might be good here.” 

Eugene let out a whimper that was almost more of a sob. “Please.” 

Snafu started to move then, in a haze of pleasure as Eugene’s hands roamed, moving like he couldn’t get enough of touching him. He started slow, but couldn’t keep that pace. Earlier, maybe he could have. Now, it was almost painful. 

He leaned forward slightly as he rode Eugene, only to gasp and nearly fall out of Eugene’s lap as Eugene sat up, holding him close as he fucked him back, reduced to whines and sighs and moans that were mostly nonsense, but occasionally contained Snafu’s name. 

His cock was trapped against the material of Eugene’s suit jacket and the pristine white shirt he wore underneath it, the end of his tie just managing to hit him as well. He was definitely going to ruin it by coming on it, there was no other way about it. 

But he was desperately holding out, trying to come as close to Eugene’s orgasm as he could, but damned if Eugene hadn’t suddenly found some extra stamina, fucking him like his life depended on it as he sucked hickeys onto Snafu’s neck and kissed him breathless. 

There was one thing that Eugene occasionally liked, and that Snafu knew would send him over the edge. He leaned into Eugene’s neck, pressed a kiss to it, then bit down, not terribly hard, but enough to make Eugene gasp and groan, to make his hips snap up so hard against him as he came that he was sure there would be bruises to match the ones on his hips. 

The feeling of Eugene coming inside of him, hot and hard and pulsating was all it took to send him over too, coming hard with his cock pressed in between them. 

Eugene fell back, letting his hands fall away from Snafu’s back as he panted and moaned, his eyes shut tight. 

After a few moments, Snafu let himself move off of Eugene with a shudder and whimper. “You’re forgiven.” 

“For makin’ you wait?” Eugene laughed as his eyes slowly opened again, watching as Snafu snuggled up close to him. 

“Yeah,” Snafu replied, pressing kisses to Eugene’s face and neck. He could wait a moment or two to get up and clean them both up. For now he just wanted to be as close to Eugene as possible, with his arms around him. 

“I really gotta wear this suit more often,” Eugene sighed, and Snafu bit back a laugh as he kissed him. He certainly wouldn’t fight him on that. 

#text post #ask box things #Sledgefu #LeeH writes #I can't even defend myself here lol #I am living vicariously thru the boys tonight in terms of certain activities #so this got wonderfully nasty and smutty #xmxisxforxmaybe

[homiegeesus]

The Year of Magical Thinking, Ch. 3

Summary: Francis Sinclair believed Arthur Morgan had not finished living. In a second chance at life, Arthur discovers what it means to love himself.

At the edge of a precipice and nowhere to run, Arthur concedes defeat. In an extraordinary turn of events, he is sent through the ether to another time where his path crosses with a group not too unlike his own family. After discovering the fate of those he loved before, he races to find a way back. But what if he realizes that there is something worth staying for in this new world? Can two people separated by nearly a hundred and twenty years of living find their happily ever after?

AO3 Link (edit: link fixed)

Author’s Note: So sorry for saying that I would post yesterday when I did not. We had some terrible weather 'round here, and it took me forever to get home last night. Long chapter is long, though. I know y'all are probably like "where is your OFC"? Well, she'll be introduced in the next chapter, I promise. I should have it posted in a couple of days. Shoutout to TheTiniestTortoise ( @shallow-gravy​ ) who has valiantly offered to beta this story (this chapter was not). Fair warning: I'm seriously going to take you up on this, so be prepared lmao. In the meantime, y'all need to go read "Blackbird's Song". It's a fantastic ArthurxOC take on the RDR2 plot, seriously drop everything and read it! Also, I created a "We Heart It" collection thing where I pin images that inspire me while writing. Just a warning, though: It might spoil some elements of the story. If you don't want any idea of where I'm taking the plot, do not click here.

Thank you to @tiesthatbind1899​​ (author of Memories of the West - another must read), for the idea. You're awesome. 

Almost forgot, in this story, Blackwater is Dallas. I read in the wiki that Blackwater was likely modeled after early 20th century Dallas, so I'm running with it. Plus, it's where I live, and even though most authors can't agree on whether you should "write what you know", this is fanfiction, so hell yes I will write what I know...at least in the first few chapters lol. Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, and as always, constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated!

The Year of Magical Thinking

Chapter 3 - American Remains

Not knowing if the doctor wanted Arthur to follow, he stood for a moment and stared at the carving on the cave wall. After Steven exited the chamber, the cave was again silent allowing Arthur to observe and reflect. His fingers traced the broad lines of the design as he pondered just how the whole situation had come to pass. What an interesting sequence of events. One moment, Arthur was dying and the next he was not. Having been a hair’s breath away from death had changed him fundamentally. Suddenly being thrust into wellness had been jarring, to say the least. Itching to sketch the new carving, he reached to his side for his journal. Hand feeling empty air where his satchel would usually be, he closed his eyes and covered his face.

In a last act of brotherly affection, Arthur had given John his most important possessions: his father’s hat and his satchel along with everything in it. Suddenly, a deep homesickness fell on him like anvil. The realization that he would never see his family again caused a well of emotions to rise up and threaten to consume him whole. He didn’t belong in this place. If Arthur was a part of a dying breed back then, then how would one hundred and twenty years of so-called progress treat him? With no place to call home and not a penny to his name, how would he survive?

Feeling suddenly claustrophobic in this cool, damp place, Arthur turned and followed the path of Steven’s exit. As the natural light of the sun reached him, he felt a wave of humid heat hit his face, instantly causing tiny rivulets of sweat to breakout across his forehead. Finally exiting the cave, he stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. Even in the heat, Arthur delighted in clean, easy breathing. Tortured by diseased lungs in the past months, he had forgotten what it meant to be well.

Looking at his surroundings, he spotted Steven near a table off to the left of the clearing. Arthur began walking towards him, that is, until he spotted the younger man talking to himself. Rooted in place, he observed Steven holding what appeared to be a small black book while gesturing wildly with his arms.

Damn it, you old fool, Arthur inwardly chastised. He had driven the man to madness with his scarcely believable tale. He walked closer to make out the words coming from the young doctor. That’s when he heard the other voice bleeding from the air that surrounded them.

“Steven, my love, my future husband, my everything – if you do not make it to this dinner, I will leave you. And then, I’ll cancel you. You will be canceled!” The voice yelled, sounding as if it came from a phonograph. Arthur furrowed his brow and looked for the source.

“Nick,” Steven responded in voice that even Arthur could tell was full of condescension, “first of all, you know I love you, but you also know I hate these dinners. Secondly, I just told you that something came up at work.” He then cradled the little black book in both hands, thumbs moving wildly over the cover. “It’s incredibly important that –”

Nick interrupted, “It’s incredibly important that you be at this dinner. Steven, we’ve had this planned for two weeks. All of the partners are going to have their significant others with them. They’re expecting you there. They all fucking love you; always like ‘Steven is so charming’ or ‘God Nick, how did you bag a guy like Steven? He’s so funny and you are so – not.’”

Steven laughed, “They don’t say that.” He finally glanced up in Arthur’s direction, smile falling from his face.

“Ugh, yes they do. It’s annoying as shit. I mean, I can be funny,” the voice replied. Steven began looking from the book to Arthur and back again in quick succession.

“Babe, I gotta call you back –”

“Steven –”

“Nick,” Steven interrupted sternly, “I’ll call you right back, I promise.” Call? Arthur thought to himself. That little black book’s a telephone? Nah…

Nick sighed loud enough for both men to hear. “Just please show up tonight. It’s all I ask.”

Steven nodded as if he could be seen. Arthur thought maybe he could. They each said ‘I love you’ and Steven glanced up at him.

“Holy shit,” was all he said. 

“What?” Arthur frowned.

Steven just shook his head and held out the little book, or whatever it was. From where Arthur was standing, he could barely discern what looked like a photograph. Steven glanced quickly between the object in his hand and Arthur’s face. He seemed to realize the older man’s cluelessness.

He dropped his arm halfway and grinned, “Oh sorry, you’re probably like ‘what the hell is this?” He gestured to the device and laughed. “Jesus, well, this is a phone. A telephone.” A flipped it in his hands, and then held it out to Arthur. “Go ahead. Check it out.”

Arthur stepped closer and cautiously took the gadget. Looking at it, what he saw would take him back some five years ago to a hunting trip he, John and Hosea had embarked upon in Tall Trees, a year before John had left to God knows where. The trip had been a fruitful one, as the trio had taken down a bear with size to rival the one they had caught in the Grizzlies. It was a good memory, set before his relationship with John had descended into spite and jealousy. He stared at the photograph, the sepia tone making it seem so unreal when his memories burst with color. Arthur, John and Hosea looking as serious as three feared outlaws could, each held rifles behind a large grizzly bear.

Arthur looked up to Steven, “Where’d ya get this?”

The corners of his mouth quirked as if he went to smile but then thought better of it. “That’s a, uh, long story. But I mean –,” Steven then smiled, “it’s you.” He laughed a little manically, “That’s you in that photo.”

Arthur, not realizing the significance of this moment, just replied with a shrug of his large shoulders, “Yeah.”

Steven briefly ran a finger over his lips as he continued to smile, “Dear God. How the hell did this happen?”

“Ain’t gotta clue,” the outlaw replied simply.

Steven just shrugged. “Well, in any case, we have to figure out what we’re gonna do with you. I mean,” he laughed, “you could come home with me, but my, uh – Nick would probably freak the hell out.” A considering look passed over his face. “Hey, you said you were sick before?”

Arthur nodded, “Yeah, but I ain’t coughin’ no more.”

“Tuberculosis?” Steven supplied. The other man’s eyes narrowed fractionally.

“How’d you know?” The doctor just gave a toothy grin.

“Mr. Morgan, you’re quite famous. Like Jesse James.” At Arthur’s perplexed face, he continued, “Didn’t you, like, have your own gang, or something? You know, like Jesse James did?”

Arthur laughed, “What? No.” He shook his head, “I was in one, but I weren’t the leader. That was Dutch.” Steven’s face lit in recognition.

“Oh yeah,” he then looked off to the side. “I haven’t seen any westerns since I was a kid, so I’m only vaguely familiar with the history.” He looked back to Arthur with a smile, “My friend Ada would know. She loves them.”

“Uh-huh. Western? Like a dime novel?” The outlaw asked, head tilted in question.

Steven shook his head. “No, movies. They’re like, uh –,” obviously wondering how to explain, “you know, moving pictures.”

“Oh yeah, I know ‘bout them. Used to go to the theater on special occasions an’ such,” Arthur recalled.

“Well, they’re a little different now,” the doctor laughed. “They’re in color and have sound, so –”

Arthur tracked his thumb across his stubbled chin. “Ain’t that somethin’,” he replied a bit in awe.

Steven smiled, “Yeah well, you’ve been portrayed a couple times, I think.”

Amazed, Arthur responded, “Yer kiddin’.” The younger man just shook his head.

“Nope. The only ones I know of came out a long time ago, like the ‘40s or ‘50s. Maybe earlier.” The outlaw lightly laughed.

He looked slyly to Steven. “Were they, uh – were they handsome?” The corner of Arthur’s mouth ticked slightly up.

Steven barked out a quick laugh. “Oh yeah. They were.” He shot the other man another toothy smile. “Though, I’m beginning to think that they didn’t do you justice!”

Unfamiliar with such bald-faced compliments, Arthur bowed his head in an attempt to hide the shy smile forming on his face. Damn it all, he didn’t have his hat. He just swatted his hand and said, “Nah.”

Steven was apparently having none of that. “Trust me, Arthur. Even covered in dirt, you’re a tall drink of water on a hot day.” He let out a loud guffaw at the sight of the blush that crept up on Arthur’s face. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Arthur just shrugged and tried to conjure up what little was left of his mean outlaw persona. “Yeah, well –”

“Alright,” laughing again, Steven stepped past Arthur, clapping him on his shoulder. “I’m gonna go turn off the generator and stuff, and then we’ll figure out what to do.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What in the hell was he going to do? Nick would kill him. No doubt about it. His future husband would whip out that Latin Fire and scorch him where he stood. Steven could see the inevitable conversation play out in his head. ‘Honey, I’ve brought home an outlaw from the 19th century. He’s going to be staying with us for a while. Oh, and he has a gun, and he could shoot us in our sleep and rob our corpses.’

“Jesus,” Steven said quietly to himself as he gathered the equipment around the worksite. His morbid train of thought was then interrupted by the shrill sound of his cellphone ringing. Grabbing the device from his back pocket, he looked at the screen.

Nick, the ID screamed at him. Steven stared at it a moment before answering.

“I swear I was just about to call you,” he started. He could hear the eye roll coming through the phone.

“Uh-huh. Why did you tell Jeremy to go home earlier?”

Shit. “Well, I uh –,” completely unsure with what to say and totally unfamiliar with lying to his partner, he explained the best he could. First though, “How did you know I sent Jeremy home?”

“You sounded weird when I spoke to you last, so I texted him. Stop trying to change the subject.”

Figures. He needed to teach the kid about worksite discretion. But right now, he had to get through this conversation. “Something did come up. Nick, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Nick responded in a concerned voice, “Steven, what is it? What happened?”

“Well – you see – I, uh, I’ve met someone else, and I’ve decided that we’re going to be together.” Steven paused a second, then added, “I’m leaving you.”

“Good lord, Steven. Be serious. I’m sitting here thinking you’re about to tell me you have cancer or something.”

“Oh, no. I’m healthy as a horse. I am leaving you, though.”

“Mi amor. Please. What’s going on?” Nick was sounding legitimately concerned now.

Steven sighed, “Look, I’ll tell you everything. This evening.” He added, “Just trust me. We’ll talk about it tonight after dinner, I promise.”

Giving a light chuckle, Nick reassured, “Okay, okay. I trust you. I wouldn’t be marrying you if I didn’t.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Steven turned and looked at Arthur across the clearing. The outlaw was sitting at the picnic table, arms folded. Suddenly remembering a part of their conversation from earlier, he looked again to his phone. Selecting a contact, he dialed Lauren Linklater’s number. She answered on the third ring.

“Linklater.”

“Hey, it’s Steven. You gotta minute?”

He could hear a distinct crunching noise. “I’m at lunch. What’s up?” Always succinct and to the point. Steven appreciated that right now.

“Well, I have a question about something. Completely hypothetical,” he started.

“Okay.” She waited for him to elucidate.

“Okay, so again, completely hypothetical –”

“Steven.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

“I’ve got like ten minutes to eat before I have to go put my hands in some dude’s chest cavity –”

“Right. Yeah, sorry, so – say someone traveled through time from, I dunno, 1899 to our time. Would you be concerned about them getting deathly sick from something really simple, like a common cold? Would they be more susceptible?” Then he remembered, “Oh, and what if they had tuberculosis before they – you know, time-traveled?”

Steven figured she might be chewing her lunch, when it took a moment for her to answer.

“Is this a part of your weird cave art or something?” She asked.

“Rock carvings,” he corrected. “Well, kinda. I mean, yes. It is.” He explained, “I’m asking you because it’s a little bit outside my purview.”

“Okay, well, it’s a little bit outside of mine, too. This would be a great question for, I dunno, an epidemiologist or – heh, Doc Brown. I’m a general surgeon.”

Steve sighed, “Right. I just needed a quick opinion, so –”

“I just don’t want to give you incorrect information, especially for your job, ya know? If this is off the record, or whatever, I can try to resurrect some of the ole braincells from med school.”

He laughed, “Yes, if you could do that, I’d appreciate it.”

“Okay, so I probably wouldn’t be too concerned about this hypothetical person getting a modern day cold. Our immune systems are pretty badass, and it’s been that way for a long time. I’d be more concerned about a modern-day person going back, like, five hundred years, I guess. Still, I would maybe want to do a blood test and a cheek swab to make sure they’re not bringing small pox or something with ‘em. You say this hypothetical dude had TB?”

“Yeah, but afterwards, he didn’t have any signs of still being sick. And before, he was near death, like minutes or hours away.”

“Okay, well, they’d probably need to get checked out anyways. TB is highly treatable with antibiotics these days, so not much to worry about. If this dude wasn’t showing any signs of illness, chances are he didn’t bring it with him.” She then began to laugh.

“What?” Steven asked.

“Nothing, just – we’re talking about it like it exists. I dunno, just thought that was funny.”

“Yeah,” he breathed a laugh. He heard her begin chewing again.

“Steven.”

“What?”

He could hear the smile in her voice, “Did you find a diseased time-traveler?”

“Very funny,” Steven muttered sarcastically. “I’ll let you get back to your lunch, and your – chest cavity.”

Lauren laughed, “Okay, let me know how your project goes.”

“Will do.”

Hanging up, Steven sighed. Thinking about where in the hell he could stash a time-traveling cowboy, he walked back over to Arthur. The outlaw was hunched over the picnic table, staring intently at his hands. He looked up when Steven’s boots entered his field of vision.

“Well, we gotta head out pretty soon before traffic gets too bad.” He glanced in the direction of his car beyond the wall of pine trees.

Arthur frowned, “Traffic?”

Steven nodded, “Yup. You know, lots of vehicles, people.”

“Yeah, I know what traffic is. Jus’ wonderin’ if we’ll be goin’ through a city?” He clarified.

Motioning for Arthur to follow him, Steven elaborated, “Yeah, but not for a while. It’s pretty crazy, but it’s not just the cities that hold most people now. There are a shit ton of people in the boonies, too.” Judging by his expression, Arthur didn’t seem to like that little tidbit. Steven pointed to a couple of small crates, “Mind helping me carry these?”

Arthur moved to pick up one of the containers, “Naw, ‘course not.” Both men began walking along a path surrounded by trees leading out to the parking lot. Steven let out a loud laugh at Arthur’s face when they reached his silver Ford truck.

They sat down the crates as Arthur took a moment to absorb the vehicle in front of him.

Steven, thinking of the Bon Jovi song, tried his best to explain. “It’s like, uh, a steel horse. Ya know – “

Arthur just looked to him with a sardonic face, “I know whatta automobile is.”

Steven nodded, “Oh, right.”

“They’re just, ah – a li’l different than I remember ‘em.” Walking around the perimeter of Steven’s car, Arthur seemed to observe every little detail. Almost like an artist would a subject, he thought vaguely.

“Yeah, well.” Steven kicked a rock at his foot. “Wait ‘till you get inside.”

“Huh,” the cowboy huffed. Coming to stand beside Steven, he looked to the younger man. Placing his hands on his hips, Arthur pondered, “Just how would one go ‘bout doin’ that?”

Steven huffed out a laugh, “We’ll get to that, but first, we need to, uh – talk about your, uh, gun.”

“You ain’t takin’ my gun, Doc.”

“Steven, and it’s just –”, Steven took a step forward. Arthur’s hand went to his pistol grip, as if preparing to draw, and Steven shot his hands up in surrender. “Woah, I’m – I’m not going to take your gun, well – not for what you think. Can you just please take your hand off the gun? Please, don’t shoot me.”

Arthur acquiesced by removing his hand and briefly raising it palm forward in the air.

“Look, I’m not trying to take your gun, at least not for why you’re thinking. It’s just – times have changed. You can’t just walk around strapped like Jesse James.” Arthur quirked a dark brow. “I mean, this is Texas, but still. Cops can have itchy trigger fingers ‘round here.”

“Ain’t that all the more reason I should keep my gun?” Arthur’s deep voice drawled.

“No! Absolutely not!” Steven laughed incredulously. “I mean, that may seem logical to you, I guess, but trust me when I say you do not want to go shooting cops. ‘Law and order’ is – well, it’s just not the same as it used to be.”

Arthur looked pensive for a moment as he stared at Steven, as if to determine if the younger man was being truthful. Finally, his hands went to the buckle of his gun belt to loosen it. “You ain’t gonna make me regret this, are ya?”

Steven exhaled a nervous laugh, “What? No, no. I mean, you have more of a chance of being, I dunno, sucked up by a tornado than you have of being shot at between here and where we’re going.”

“Uh-huh, and jus’ where are we goin’?”

“Well, that’s TBD.” At Arthur’s confused expression, Steven quickly amended, “To be determined.”

“A’right,” the cowboy waved a hand in the air. “Let’s get a move on then.”

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

After placing the crates inside of the bed and Arthur’s gun belt under the backseat, the men climbed into the monstrosity of an automobile. Steven had shown Arthur how to open the door and put on a seatbelt, but it seemed easy enough. Sitting in the interior of this modern-day work horse, he luxuriated in the leather seat. He ran his fingers along the armrest, the treated leather feeling like smooth silk against his calloused hands. Looking up, his antiquated mind tried to conjure up why a person would need all these knobs and dials. What was their purpose? Steven settled into the seat beside him.

“You ready?”

“I gotta choice?”

Steven quirked a brow, “Not really.”

“Well then. There’s yer answer.”

And with that, the young doctor turned on the beast beneath them. Arthur did not expect the burst of noise that felt as if it hit him physically. Steven reached for the dials in front of them and quickly apologized.

“Oh god, sorry! I forgot I had the radio on, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly.

“Good god, man. How do you still have yer hearin’?” Arthur questioned, absolutely astonished.

“Yeah, that was loud. It keeps me going on a long drive.” He laughed, “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur just shook his head, “What in the hell was that?”

“Uh, music. Metallica, I think.”

The outlaw stared at Steven like he’d grown two heads, “Music? What the hell kinda music is that?” He shook his head. “Sounded like a thousand cats dyin’.”

Steven shrugged, “I think they’d like that comparison.”

The doctor tinkered with some levers and such around the wheel, and suddenly they were moving. Exiting the area, they pulled out onto the road. Despite the anxiety Arthur felt at the fast movement, he decided it wasn’t too terrible. That is until the speed caused his world to tilt.

Steven was chatting away about where they were going and what they would do when they got there, when Arthur began to feel utterly nauseated. Mesmerized by the white lines in the middle of the road as they moved past so quickly that they turned into one blur, his vision doubled, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. If Steven noticed, he didn’t say anything, so preoccupied as he was.

“I mean, we have a pullout couch. But our place is tiny. We’d be like sardines in a can. You had those in your time –”

“Doc.”

“– right? Of course, you did. Well, we’d be like sardines. It’d be uncomfortable. I’d ask –”

“Doc.”

 “– Lauren, but she’s a doctor. She’s always working. It’s not like –”

“Pull over.”

“– I can leave you alone. Holy shit, I know who –”

Arthur finally raised his voice, “Steven!

Confused, Steven replied, “What?”

Looking at the other man, Arthur gritted lowly, “Stop this damn contraption ‘fore I vomit all o’er this nice leather.” Finally understanding, Steven pulled to the side of the road. As Arthur went to hop down from the vehicle, something jerked him back into place. Before the outlaw could grab his knife, Steven calmly reached over and unbuckled the belt. Murmuring a quick ‘thanks’, Arthur hauled himself out of the truck and into the field. A loud horn from another passing vehicle would have scared him out of his boots, if he hadn’t been so overcome with nausea.

Steven yelled a sarcastic, “Ok, thank you!” before saying to himself, “Asshole.”

Wiping his mouth, Arthur turned and walked back to the truck. Once they were both inside, Steven looked at him.

“You okay?” He asked, concerned. Arthur just nodded. Steven continued, “I didn’t even think about you getting motion sickness. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“S’alright,” Arthur said quietly.

The doctor handed him a bright pink pill of some sort and what looked like a clear canteen.

“It’ll help with the dizziness. Plus, it might even help you get some rest. We got a couple hours drive before we reach the city.” Arthur took it without question, washing it back with the warm water as Steven pulled the truck back onto the road.

He questioned, “City?”

“Yeah. Blackwater.”

Unable to help it, Arthur felt his blood run cold. Knowing that his bounty was long gone was not enough to keep his anxiety from spiking. Arthur did not say anything. This man knew his name, did he know his sins? Would he still be so generous and willing to take him in, knowing the blackness of the outlaw’s heart?

Steven briefly glanced his way. “I have an idea about where you can stay. I have to call her, but I know she’ll be okay with it.” He looked back at Arthur. “I think you’ll like her.”

Arthur just nodded, feeling the effect of the medicine begin to take hold. Eyelids turning heavy, he shifted until his head lulled forward. Exhaustion catching up with him, he surrendered to Morpheus in a dreamless sleep.

#Red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #Arthur Morgan x oc #Arthur x oc #the year of magical thinking #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

mystery punk girl

alright fellas i gotta make sure i don’t embarrass myself this time, we got like, stakes and shit now. SO *breaks fingers* let’s make a masterpost of theories

aka i heard someone was interested in some mystery punk girl theories and decided to collect all the one’s i’ve gotten so far

tl;dr: mystery punk girl could literally be anything/anyone. we go over a few theories, notably ones that paint her as a younger sibling to the Calypso twins (Tyreen = First Sister). we also have one where she is a fraternal twin to Ava and mirrors Troy as the non-Siren-twin of a relationship. we also talk about why she hasn’t been getting a lot of cultist worship, like maybe she’s gone missing, or died. also that she may betray the twins (if! she was ever on their side to begin with! 👀) because her color scheme is one of a friend and tbh the twins seem suuuper close and she doesn’t seem to be getting any recognition from the cult.

from the numskull pin page, also where we learned she’s listed as ‘Punk Girl’

so to get to the point, the most obvious theory is that mystery masked girl is the younger (est?) sibling to the twins.

when mouthpiece talks in the beginning of the HBC demo, he calls Tyreen the ‘first sister’. I mention that in a post here (during my live post spamming of the event lol)

it’s mostly interesting because when you refer to someone as ‘the first’, usually the second part of that is what you’re referring to. 

@sugar-high-viking​ brought this to my attention as well when the pins dropped, and also made a great point that she might be either a half-sibling (different colored hair), OR, to tie into my atlas theory about the twins, a similar experiment, but not blood-related (that part is in the notes of said post, i copied it here for easier reading)

which i adore because atlas twins is my favorite theory that’s probably never going to happen. (also hi if you’re reading this, sorry for the tag! i wanted to give credit because that was brilliant)

we do have a biiiit more stuff to go over.

take the mask of mayhem (yes im still working on that analysis, i promise!! i do like a facet a day if im not working on other stuff)

the whole backdrop thing feels to me like an order of importance.

we have the God Queen at the very top and in the middle. 

on her left is the vault hunters, who of course are going to have a prominent role in the story.

on her right is Troy, her right-hand man (ala the cosplay guide) 

and below Troy we have Mystery Punk Girl. can i call her MPG? i feel like i’m allowed to call her MPG

So her and Troy are about the same level as the Vault Hunters.

We can’t really infer that Tyreen is the oldest sibling (First Sister, with Troy possibly being the Second Brother? Or, Troy is the First Brother, Tyreen is the First Sister, and MPG is the Second Sister. i’d imagine the latter is correct because the former would have to use First Sibling to be correct) but we can guess that things on top are ordered in terms of importance.

And considering we haven’t seen NPG in ANY promo material or trailers yet? yeah i imagine she’s not shown off like the twins are, which would explain her lower level. now if that’s because she’s too important for them to be flashy with her, or if because they don’t think she’s worthy, or they want to protect her, or whatever, I wouldn’t be able to say.

Furthermore, we can also guess she’s not in an Angel-type situation. It’s heavily implied Ava is the Siren successor to Maya (but not officially stated). We know she has feathers on her outfit, but as I found out a bit ago, those (likely) aren’t meant to represent the wings that Tyreen and Lilith have on the MoM. They’re part of the clothing some cultists wear (possibly to emulate her looks like they do with Troy and Tyreen).

pictures for proof:

again, none of this is proven, as Ava nor Maya have wings on the MoM, but it is interesting to note. Also, if Ava does end up being a Siren (say her tattoos take a while to grow big enough for us to see, or they appear after her powers come in, fixing the Angel w/ no tattoos on jack’s desk “plot hole” we see in tps) then there’s no way for Punk Girl to have been a Siren.

unless.

ohohohoh...

okay, we know for a fact Troy’s red tattoos aren’t there because of Lilith. 

As of right now, we have officially sourced stuff showing him with his red tattoos during the HBC (on the hologram), which we’ve proven takes place before the Sanc-III scene where Lilith gets her powers stolen.

there are plenty of theories as to why he’s got those tattoos then: because the twins were conjoined, they got the powers from a vault (the one shown on the walls of the HBC), they were experiments, they were experiments because they were conjoined twins, they’re fake Sirens, fake Sirens due to the experiments, etc, etc. i could go on for ages, but im not gonna, cause we’re not here for this.

im going to take the ‘the twins were conjoined’ theory and run with it for a secco. we had that interview where paul sage said at one point either in the development cycle OR in the timeline (the wording is not clear), the twins were conjoined twins. We’ve also seen that the spanish (i believe!) translation of the Calypso Twins yields the version that says they’re conjoined, not just normal twins. so we’re going to hope it’s the right theory.

we know there can only be 6 sirens in the universe. if tyreen was chosen but was still conjoined with her brother, it’s possible he could’ve been messed up by the magic or advanced tech or whatever it is that picks Sirens, and that’s where the red tattoos come from.

So what if MPG is the same way? twin to Ava, ended up not being the one who got the Siren power, rebelled and joined the CoV in hopes of getting her own powers, maybe even to get Tyreen to heal her since it’s possible having a twin with Siren powers can cause an affliction to the other twin. 

It’d be really interesting if the two were abandoned at a young age and it ended up being that Ava was picked up by the Order of the Impending Storm and MPG wasn’t, as Ava was a Siren (like Maya) and MPG wasn’t, so she turns to the cult for help/support/whatever and the twins take a shine to her and basically adopt her as their little sibling. 

(awww maaan i still gotta do my Maya masterpost. hmmm so much to do, so little time...)

tho, that’s 100% unfounded and me spitballing into the void. mostly cause i think she’s gonna end up looking a lot older in game than she does in the MoM. though, in defense, she is titled ‘Punk Girl’, not ‘ Punk Lady’ or ‘Punk Woman’ or whatever. so there’s that, and it seems wild they’d be introducing 2 young girls around the same age and NOT have them be related in some way. even if they’re just storyline parallels to each other (Ava having everything because she’s a Siren and MPG not)

A better theory, is that she’s the 3rd leader/sibling/figurehead of the cult. The game revolves around the number 3, it’s even acknowledged in universe.

cover art of a high-ranking cultist (the one with the rakk wings on the MoM, im assuming)

which is referenced in actual in-game art

we see it in the background of the behind closed doors intro

and i imagine there must be an in-universe reason for this very important cultist (TM) to be signalling the number three, right?

there’s certainly more than 3 Vaults. More than 3 opened at the time too. 

3 pieces to the Vault Map? but the twins got that in its entirety. no reason to look for all three parts.

once lily gets her powers removed, there are 3 Sirens in play (that we know are 100% confirmed atm) Tyreen, Maya, Amara.

yeah, i think the most reasonable answer is that the number 3 is tied to the cult in some way.

while i find it hard to believe she’s something as prominent in the cult as a third figurehead (lack of statues, posters, acknowledge at all whatsoever), i could 100% see her being a third sibling, however.

So why isn’t she being worshipped like the twins? Maybe they’re keeping her out of the light for a reason. 

Maybe she’s sick, like Troy, but Ty can’t heal her right away for some reason, or she picked Troy over her or smth (we’re told troy is the smart one, afterall, maybe Ty decided to pick the sibling she’d get the most use out of. or the one she’s closer to, being twins and all). 

I had that dumb theory that Tyreen is Demeter (Troy is Demophon) and MPG is Persephone, taken away by the Vaults/Eridians/whatever in the twins’ attempt to heal her and either it locked her away somewhere, or it killed her. (Her being sick could also explain the ventilator she’s wearing, but i have another theory about that in just a secco.) And her being missing/dead is part of the reason Tyreen and Troy are trying to get the ultimate power, they’re trying to bring her back to life/heal her. And it could explain why she isn’t being referenced at all in most worship art, maybe the twins banned it or whatever. but if she is sick, i wonder why she wasn’t just miraculously healed by the Guardians (the Watcher specifically?) like whatsherface in TPS.

She could also be something like their secret weapon, maybe she has knowledge about something we don’t yet- be it warp travel, eridium testing, Sirens, Vaults, Eridians, etc, that’s giving the twins the better edge. Eridium testing could explain the ventilator, plus we see a giant waterfall of somethin’ glowing purple and i would bet it’s slag/eridium. 

plus you know im a strong believer of my ‘the twins are using the chemical sludge of elpis to give their followers superpowers’ theory. i mean, if they actually are teleporting the moon (and NOT blowing it up), then it could almost make sense if they want their source of superjuice near their new base of operations/vault/whatever. mostly because we haven’t yet seen Ty give anyone Lily’s powers. As far as we know right now, she’s the sole holder of Lilith’s powers. at the very least, they’re mutating them with eridium/slag. but i wanna believe! so maybe MPG is their way of doing that. giving them insider knowledge of the chemical sludge on the moon, doing tests on it, subjecting the cultists to it, etc. We do see the big boy cultist smack dab in the middle of the mask with rakk wings, which are kind of a corruption of the angel wings we see the Sirens have. and since the Lost Legion Eternal basically have knockoff Siren/Guardian powers due to the chemical sludge on elpis, it would make sense.

she COULD also be our way into the cult. we know nothing about the gal, maybe she’s going to provide us a way to get insider knowledge. im sure whatever the twins post they’re fine with their cultists seeing, so we’d need someone higher up in the proverbial ladder to give us the good info. i do think it’s interesting she does not match the Twins’ colorscheme at ALL. she’s gray and black, yeah, but she’s also pink and orange (yellow?). 

compare these two

to this:

it seems off that, if we are to consider them a unit, their colors clash so hard. (seriously, red and pink? oh my god!) I could almost see it as their way of hinting that she’s not 100% conforming to the twins.

I could also kinda see her being jealous of the relationship her older siblings have, how they’re so close because they’re twins and they share this bond over the Siren tattoos/starting a cult together. I could see her betraying them at some point because she’s sick of being pushed into the background. the pink and orange is a nice color combo compared to the reds and blacks. she certainly looks designed to be a friend.

anyway, that’s all i wrote today. im kinda tied, might add onto this later as i keep wrackin’ my brain trying to think of more theories.

#borderlands #bl3 #borderlands 3 #punk girl #mystery girl #mystery punk girl #ooo i can do this all day #so i won't #you know who she is

[turtle-steverogers]

Never Quite Settled (2/2)- greaser au

sequel to this

ship: sprace, brotherly jack/race/al

warnings: bad mental places, crying

editing: nopee lol

word count: 1871

-

Spot sat back against his pillows, allowing his eyes to droop shut as he rested his head against the headboard.  Math sucked.  He didn’t understand it and it was nothing short of unfair for the teachers to assign so many problems for homework when they’d barely explained it during class.  He could go in for extra help, but his teacher, Mr. Cratsley-Gimmelfarb, was about as intimidating as his name, so that was off the table.

Spot sighed, reaching up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.  He could feel a tension headache niggling between his eyes and a distant longing for Race entered his mind.  Race was usually good at math.  If he were there, maybe he could help him understand his homework and then they could cuddle afterwards.  Or makeout.  Spot was honestly up for either.

A loud knock at his window brought Spot out of his reverie and he opened his eyes, wincing at the light in his room.  He turned his head towards his window, a small spark of hope igniting in him.  Maybe his prayers had been answered and Race had magically appeared at his house, wide smile ready to help him.

He highly doubted it, though.  Race was most likely in trouble with Jack at the moment.  Jack had seemed pretty ticked off when he’d caught them running from Bumlets and Itey that afternoon.  There was no way Race would have been allowed to leave the house.

He pulled himself off his bed, taking a moment to draw back the curtains before looking out the window.  A grin spread across his face as he realized that it was, indeed, Race outside.  But the grin quickly faded when he noticed the splotchy tears that stained his face.

He immediately opened his window, reaching out a hand to help Race inside.

“What happened, are ya hurt?  Do ya need a doctor?” Spot was fussing over Race the moment they were sat on his bed, but Race weakly pushed him away.

“Ah fuck, not you, too,” Race groaned.

Spot frowned, “Whatcha mean?”

Race scrubbed a hand down his face, “‘M jus’...” he took a breath, “‘M sick a’ everyone thinkin’ m’ incapable...or like, weak or sum’.”

“Did Jack say somethin’?” Spot pushed.

Race shrugged, “Kinda, I mean, yeah,” he fiddled with his fingers uncomfortably, “He jus’, he still treats me like the troubled kid who couldn’t handle when shit went south and I guess I didn’t help matters much by stabbin’ myself and jus’,” he clenched his fingers, defiantly biting out, “‘M not a kid.”

Spot digested his words, mulling over his own thoughts for a moment, “‘Course ya ain’t a kid, Racer.  You’se one a’ the strongest people I know-”

Race scoffed and Spot hastily shut his mouth, “What?”

“I don’t wanna hear none of that shit either,” Race said, “Makes me feel,” he let out a frustrated noise, gesturing in front of him, “uncomfortable I guess? Like, you’re overcompensatin’ by sayin’ I’m strong.  I don’t needa hear it, I jus’ wanna be treated my age….normal.”

Spot nodded, “Aight,” he paused for a moment, “Why were ya cryin’?”

Race bit his lip, discomfort radiating off of him in waves, “Jack got mad,” he mumbled, “An’ he shouted a bit an’ raised his arm like…yeah, an’ I got spooked.  S’why I came here.  Kinda.  I also jus’ wanted ta get away for a sec.”

Spot winced, picturing the situation, “You okay now?”

“Yeah,” Race waved a hand dismissively, “m’aight.”

“Listen,” Race looked at Spot expectantly, “M’not the best with this kinda thing, either, but maybe you should talk ta Jack ‘bout this?  Tell him whatcha told me?”

Race leaned sideways against Spot’s pillows, pursing his lips, “I dunno, prob’ly won’t listen.”

“Worth a shot, though,” Spot reasoned.

“Yeah, I guess,” Race mumbled.  They lapsed into silence and Race looked around awkwardly, spotting Spot’s math homework.  He rolled his shoulders, regaining his cocky composure, “Need help with this?” he asked.

Spot blinked, wiping away his own worries, “Yeah,” he said, leaning over, “I don’t get it.”

Race smiled softly, pulling the textbook towards himself, “Aight, lemme take a look.”

XXX

Jack stared at the place Race had been a moment before, the echo of the door slamming replaying in his head.  Shame bubbled in his gut and he mentally scolded himself for losing it.  He wasn’t going to hit Race.  He would never.  But he could imagine how his actions looked from Race’s perspective.

He would have been freaked out, too.

He hung his head, sighing.  This wasn’t going how he’d wanted it to, but that goddamn kid never learned.  

“You fucked up.”

Jack resisted the urge to snap at his younger brother’s words.

“I know,” He said, “I know, I- yeah.”

“Like,” Albert stood, clearing his cereal bowl to the kitchen, “you really fucked up.”

Jack finally moved from where he stood, guilt weighing down his steps, “I know, Al.  Ya ain’t helpin’ no one by statin’ the obvious.”  He sank down onto the couch, dropping his head into his hands.

He felt the cushions sink beside him, but the air remained silent and thick between him and Albert.

“I jus’,” He ran his hands through his hair, sitting back up, “I wish I understood him, I wish I could get through ta him, but he’s so goddamn stubborn and impulsive that it don’t matter what I say.  He’s always gonna end up on the short end of shit.”

Albert looked thoughtful, fingers tapping idly on the arm of the couch next to him, “I mean, could be jus’ me thinkin’ things, but maybe it’d help your case if ya didn’t treat ‘im like one of those ‘handle with care’ packages.”

Jack furrowed his eyebrows, looking for the first time at Albert, “What d’ya mean.”

Albert shrugged, looking a little out of his depth, “I mean, I know you’re scared an’ all.  I am, too.  But, he’s right.  He ain’t a kid no more an’ I know he ain’t got the best track record on the whole safety front, but he can handle himself.”

Jack allowed his words to sink in, “I don’t doubt that he can-”

“Ya kinda do,” Albert cut him off, “I jus’ think he’d be a little more open to listenin’ to you and sharin’ shit if ya didn’t freak out at everythin’.”

Jack let out a resigned sigh.  Albert was right, he did need to trust Race a little more, but it was so hard when the prospect of losing him was so present so often.  He couldn’t stand it if anything were to happen to him.  He wish he’d known about Spot before the rumble, he wish he’d had the chance to be there for him; help him somehow.  But Race needed to let him in on his troubles in order for that to happen and looking back, Jack hadn’t necessarily created the best environment for that.

“You’re right,” he admitted after a long moment, “I needa trust ‘im more an’ fuss less.”

“Bingo,” Albert snapped.

“I should find him and talk ta him” He started to stand up, but Albert reached out a hand to stop him.

“No,” Albert said firmly, “let him come ta you.”

Jack let out a shaky breath, sitting back down, “Okay.”

XXX

Race didn’t return until nearly midnight.  He tried to sneak back in through the kitchen window, but Jack was still awake on the couch, waiting for him.  Race made it as far as the stairs before Jack’s tired voice froze him in place.

“Hang on a sec,” Jack called, closing the newspaper he’d been reading and tossing it onto the ground, “C’mere, I wanna talk ta ya.”

Race rolled his eyes, dragging his feet as he walked over, “If you’re jus’ gonna chew me out for runnin’ out earlier, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Nah, m’not gonna do that,” Jack pat the couch next to him and Race reluctantly sat down, “Jus’ listen for a minute, canya do that?”

Race shrugged, “Sure,” he sounded entirely uninterested and wholly pissed.  Jack couldn’t blame him.

“So, uh,” Jack steeled himself, “I was thinkin’ bout a lotta things an’...I owe you an apology.”

Race cocked his head, surprised, “ya what?”

Jack looked at him, holding eye contact, “I’m sorry for treatin’ ya the way I did, Racer.  I know you ain’t a kid and I know you can do things for yourself I jus’ worry, aight?  And I can’t help that none, but that ain’t an excuse ta make ya feel bad, so I’m sorry,” when Race said nothing, he continued, “It’s jus’ that you an’ Al are all I got and if something were to really happen to ya, I don’t think I could live with myself.  I meant it earlier when I said two close calls are more than enough,” he held up a hand when Race opened his mouth angrily, “and I know you ain’t like talkin’ about what happened in the garage, I’m not sayin’ we ever really gotta, but ya gotta swear ta me you’ll be more careful.  I won’t push ya none anymore, but ya gotta tell me when you’re in hot water an’ I know what happened earlier was jus’ roughhousin’, but what happened at the rumble wasn’t.”

Race opened and closed his mouth several times before looking away, blinking rapidly.  Then, all at once, his face crumpled, tears forcing their way out of his eyes.

“‘M sorry,” he choked, drawing his knees up to his chest, making him look younger, “I know I freak ya out too much an’ I know I don’t pick the best fights or make the best decisions, I jus’,” he took a moment to breathe, “I’m scared I think?  Like, shit in my head gets so loud sometimes and I jus’ needa kill the energy somehow, so I sneak off with Spottie or fuck shit up with the Socs.  It don’t do much, but it distracts me from the scary stuff and...I’m scared of what happens when I’m not distracted.”

Jack’s heart seemed to shatter in his chest, but he kept his face neutral, adhering to his promise of not overreacting, “Thank ya for tellin’ me that, kid,” he opened his arms, allowing Race to lean into him, “An’ we’re gonna figure this all out, okay?  We’s family, I ain’t gonna letcha be alone with the scary stuff.”

Race nodded against his neck and pulled away, wiping at his face, “Okay.”

Jack reached out, tapping his chin, “Lookit me, kid,” Race looked up, sniffing, “I love ya, okay?  I’ve gotcha.”

Race nodded, “I love ya, too.”

Jack clapped his shoulder lightly, “Aight, it’s still a school night.  Go on upstairs and get some sleep while ya can,” he paused, watching as Race stood to climb the stairs, “An’ I hope you don’t got homework.”

Race rolled his eyes, “I don’t,” he gave a small wave, “Love ya, Jackie, goodnight.”

Jack smiled, “Goodnight.”

He waited until he heard Race’s bedroom door close, then sat back against the couch.  Things were still far from calm in their little family, but everyone was there and everyone was safe.  And that’s what mattered.

-

yeehaw 

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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#newsies #newsies fic #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #sprace #jack kelly #albert dasilva #greaser au #oof #skfdjal #sklfdjalskj #yeah

[eerythingisshaka]

#Fictober Day 4

“Will that be all?”

(Erik Stevens x Black!OC)

Word Count: 1.6k

Sweet, sweet Friday night has arrived and Rochelle was ready to enjoy it to the fullest.  Having started her new job, the comfort of knowing everything and being the one to call on for help was flushed away and replaced with mounds of company orientations, piles of reading materials to learn programs and regulations, and constantly getting lost coming back from lunch.  She counted her blessings to have moved on from where she was before; she is getting more pay, better benefits and it was closer to home, so she was prepared to take on all of the newbie awkwardness and feeling like a know-nothing to keep her spot.  

But now was the time to unwind for making it through the first week alive, and she knew just how to let loose.  Rochelle got rid of her office attire, showered and put her hair in a protective style before wrapping herself up in her comfy clothes and favorite Proud Family blanket on the couch.  Her studying made her miss out on her fall TV coming back, but luckily God made Hulu a thing.  

Queueing up her list, she took out her hot chips and and sweet tea to dive into the latest drama that had cooked up since last season.

Rochelle’s phone lights up, indicating a text message.  She looks at the screen to read a message from her friend, Ayla.

Hey!  Congrats on the new money, girl!  Drinks on you tonight, let’s hit up karaoke!

Rochelle squirmed with indecisiveness.  It had been a while since her and Ayla got out together but she JUST got comfortable.

Nah, I just set my hair anyway.  But maybe tomorrow?

A few minutes later.  Really?  If you don’t put a scarf on your hair and Erykah Ba-do the damn thing!

Rochelle cackled.  She loved it when she could send an LOL after actually lol’ing.

LOL, ok girl.  I was raised not to give into peer pressure.  I’m putting my foot down on this.  I’m so damn tired, sis.

Ugggghhhh, fine.  But I’m hollering at you tomorrow, so you better come through!

Rochelle tosses her phone on the table, burrowing under her covers once again as she finally calls it as night.

Halfway through the first episode, Rochelle’s stomach started to growl.  She hadn’t made it to the store all week either to reload the fridge so chips, peanut butter, and cereal were mostly all she had to make a meal of.  Rochelle couldn’t fight the hunger pains any longer, but was too settled to go pick anything up.  There was a great restaurant around the corner from her that served the best wings, burgers, fries, and anything else, greasy and Americana for someone to indulge in.

Unfortunately, the restaurant didn’t do online orders so Rochelle stretched her arm out from the warmth of her blanket to pick up her cell phone and call in.  The phone rang and rang and rang.  Must be a busy night, you thought.  The line suddenly opens up.

“Yeah?  After I covered  your fucking shifts for the damn Teyana Taylor concert, you gonna do me like this?!  Pssh, whatever nigga.  Hi, whatchu tryna get?” a man on the other line demands.

Rochelle was taken aback from the unprofessional speech she was hearing.  It wasn’t a snooty restaurant, but usually some old aunty picks up sounding sunny and accommodating.

“Hello?!”  he says, irritated.

“Oh, uh yeah.  Sorry, um I wanted to put in an order with you?”

He chuckles.  “Yeah, well I didn’t think you were calling to ask me how my day was.”  

Rochelle clears her throat.  He had a nice baritone to his voice, you could tell he was a brother at least.  “Well with what I just heard, maybe I should?”

She hears some shuffling on the phone.  “Is this a prank caller or somethin?”

She laughs apologetically.  “No, no!  Sorry, I am hungry so damn hungry, please don’t make me wait for the phone to ring and ring again.”

“Aw, yeah, my bad on that.  Well, it’s really Ralph’s bad.  His wife Sadie usually takes the calls but she is taken a leave right now.  He isn’t a people person though so he will literally ignore the rings until someone gets sick enough to answer.”

Rochelle sits up, turning down her TV.  “And he’s into Teyana Taylor?”  

He laughs genuinely.  “Nah, nah, that was my boy, Phillip.  He was closer to the phone, and act like it’s too much to PICK UP THE PHONE!”  Erik yells, presumably to Phillip.

“Ah ok.  Maybe you’ll earn Employe of the Month, since you’re so damn helpful.”  Rochelle says, smiling to herself, playing with the fuzz on her blanket.

All she hears is background noise before he continues.  “...you cute.  You sound cute too, look, where am I gonna be delivering?”  he asks.  She hears the phone adjust again.

“Oh, you deliver too?  Jack of all trades and shit?”  Rochelle lays back on the couch as she lists off her address, unable to sit still with all this flirting going on.

“Baby, I do it all.  Don’t let nobody tell you different.  What’s your name?”  She gives it to him.  “Niiice.  Ok, whatchu need?  We can’t have you goin hungry on a Friday night.  You get paid, you eat.”

“I heard that!  Ok, so I need the one pound lemon pepper wings, fry them hard…”

He groans on the other line.  “You one of those high maintenance customers, huh?”

Her mouth slacks open.  “Excuse me sir!  What happened to ‘the customer is always right’?”  

She hears him kiss his teeth.  “Shiiiit, these customer is always right about to get a foot up they ass, asking for the moon and shit.  I got you though, don’t trip.  What else?”

Rochelle’s stomach begins to grumble again.  “Uhh, I need a side of fries, and a couple of them honey butter biscuits.  Go head and add a side of potato salad.  And do y’all have the fudge brownies tonight?  Y’all always run out of those-”

“Damn girl!  You eatin, eatin!  I ain’t mad at you, when you hungry, you gotta satisfy that.  Yeah, we got them brownies, don’t even trip.  You need a drink?”  His voice has gotten lower and sounds like he is talking right into the receiver.

His voice tickles her eardrum as Rochelle sits up at his inflection on the word ‘satisfy’.  He sounded so damn fine, she hoped it was real.  

“Nah, that’s ok, you been really helpful.”  She starts to dig in her purse for her wallet.

“Ok, I guess you got juice and shit already.  That’s cool.  Ok, anything else, Ma?”  He says, as you hear paper rustling.

“No, I’m good.  Can’t wait!”  

“Ok, your total is $15.78.  I should be by around...15 minutes.  Think you can wait on me?”  

Rochelle giggles.  “I got no choice!  What’s your name, by the way?”

“It’s Erik.  Glad to be of service to you this evening.  Hold tight.”

As they hang up Rochelle grips her phone in her hands anxiously.  What the hell was all of that?  She has never flirted with a delivery boy, much less while taking the order before seeing him.  But his conversation was so smooth, and his voice so deep, authoritative, but compassionate.  She brushes it off, but that doesn’t stop her from putting on some boy shorts instead of her Looney Tunes pajama bottoms.

The knock at the door jarred Rochelle, making her jump from her concentration on her show.  She gets up, checking herself in the mirror before opening the door with the chain on.

Looking up, she sees her helpful delivery boy, bag in one hand, scratching his beard with the other as he peers as her through the crack in the door.

His almost instantaneous smile at the sight of her made Rochelle flutter, his dimples were even more poignant than the golds in his lower teeth, making her chest cave in.  

“I hope I didn’t keep you too long, ma’am.  Your order still hot though!”  He smirks, raising the bag up.

Rochelle closes the door, working the chain with a speed untapped before.  He didn’t look like no cook she ever seen before.  They were always the biggest flirts with the ashiest appearance, but Erik looked like the Cinderella version.  Opening the door completely, a shared exchange of onceovers says what words can’t.

“So you certainly do deliver.”  Rochelle says, putting on her grown and sexy voice.

Erik shrugs.  “Like I said, I do it all.  I got you.”

“Where my drink then?”  Rochelle looks around him fruitlessly.

Erik holds his hands to his mouth.  “Ohhh, shit!  She got jokes!”

She holds her hand out as he hands the bag to him.  “You got change for a $20?”

He shakes his head, locs hanging in his eyesight a moment.  “Nah, you can hold onto that.”

Rochelle smirked, impressed by his generosity.  “But….won’t you get in trouble for being short or something?”

Erik kisses his teeth, drawing her eyes to his emotive mouth as he talks.  “I’ll just add it as my comped meal for my shift, ain’t nothin.”

Rochelle nods, holding the bag at her side.  “So...I guess that means no tip either….”

Erik bites his lips looking down at the floor.  “Eh, this can be my goodwill for the day.  That’s tip enough.  Will that be all?”

She hoped HIS tip would be enough. Rochelle stammered looking behind her and back at Erik.  “Well, you don’t have to be hungry and broke on account of me.”

Erik’s neck jerks back, as he makes a face.  “Aye, now, I ain’t never broke, hear me!  But I could eat, you know.”

Rochelle nods.  “I got plenty.”

Erik’s eyes travel downward.  “You do...and you my last order for the day, so I just got off…”

Rochelle stepped back from the door, as everything seemed to fall into place, allowing him to come inside.

#fictober18 #black panther fanfic #erik killmonger fanfic #fanfic #shakafic