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spearmintsmut · 10 months

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My own Mudblood 3

You whores get some smut now (and a touch of fluff) as a treat x

This turned out kinda long but I loved writing it ~

You woke up later than you would have liked, frustrated that you likely missed breakfast. You had stayed up far longer than you should have, replaying Draco’s voice over and over in your head. “Good girl,” he had praised, and though you knew he was being condescending, you couldn’t help but blush thinking about it. Was he always such a jerk or was it the war that did it to him? What was it like for him, having to live by his family’s impossibly strict rules of blood purity, their allegiance to the dark lord and having to serve him at such a young age? You had only been at a regular muggle highschool at that age, going shopping on weekends with your friends. Your eyes welled up thinking of your friends you had left behind, not able to tell them where you were going or why. While you would shop, and read and watch TV at that age, though they were more innocent hobbies than others in your grade, it was nothing compared to what Draco would have had to do then. He was just a boy you thought empathetically, before quickly snapping out of it. He doesn’t deserve sympathy, You tried to tell yourself, He’s an asshole. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder if it still affected him.

You got out of bed, covering yourself with your favourite silk nightgown to go and have a shower. You stepped into the oversized shower and let the hot water warm your skin. You tried to wash away the anger of having to move into the manor, and the anger and unwanted attraction toward Draco. You washed your body, mentally ridding yourself the embarrassment of having to be tutored by him.

You finally turned off the water and as you stepped out to grab one of the many soft towels when the door swung open. Your hands flew to your body to try and cover yourself as you turned to see who was there, and of course, it was Draco. You had sworn you locked it. He stared at you with the cat-that-got-the-canary grin he wore so well, and shook his head slowly.

“You need to learn to lock doors behind you,” he laughed, not taking his eyes off your body.

“You need to learn to knock!” you yelled, face burning up. He stared at you with clear amusement and lust, not trying to hide his wandering gaze. You wrapped the towel around yourself but before you could yell anymore, he interrupted your thoughts.

“Don’t get worked up mudblood. You have your first lesson today. Be ready in your room in 10,” He ordered and left. You splashed cold water on your flushed face and tried to calm your bubbling anger before pulling a t-shirt over your head and stepping into some shorts. You figured though they were short, it wasn’t another skirt for Draco to scold you over. After running a brush through your hair and taking a deep breath, you walked back to your room across the hall.

Draco was already in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed. Now that he wasn’t in the steamy bathroom, while you were stood naked, you were able to take a better look at him. He was wearing black dress pants, a white button down and black shoes. Overdressed in his own house, you mentally scoffed, though you couldn’t help but stare. His platinum blonde hair was combed back neatly and his brow was raised, looking at you.

“What?” you snapped.

“Nothing, I just don’t know how they expect me to treat you like a sister if you’re going to keep showering with the door unlocked,” He couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face as he watched your confused face turn into a scowl. You stormed closer to him and shoved him by his chest and he just laughed. “Rough. I like it.”

“Just, fucking, Ugh leave me alone!” You were already frustrated at his teasing and you held back tears of anger and embarrassment.

“Shhh I’m sorry, don’t have a sook,” Though his words were condescending, his voice was soft and apologetic. “Get your wand out and we’ll get started,” he ordered and you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes still pricked with tears. “Fine,” you choked out and did as he said. You sat on the bed next to him, wand in hand and waited for him to start.

“Have you used it yet?” he asked, nodding to your wand. You shook your head sheepishly, begging yourself not to get too embarrassed.

“Jesus, okay,” He looked surprised. “Let me show you something,” He said and grabbed your hand, leading you to the door. “Lock the door from the inside and come out with me,” He ordered. You did as he said, stepping out into the hallway with him and closing the locked door. He pointed his wand at the doorknob, his voice low and smooth “Alohomora.”

The door unlocked and he opened it. He locked it from inside and closed it once more.

“Now you try,” He said. You pointed your wand at the door, holding it awkwardly in your hand. “No, like this,” He said from behind you. He reached around you, repositioning your hand and holding his over your own. His skin was warm and soft, and you were finally able to make out the snake on his signet ring. “His breath tickled your ear as he leaned down and whispered in your ear “Say it.” You felt the goosebumps rise on your skin and you tried to ignore the shiver in your spine.

“Alohomora,” you said, trying to sound confident in yourself. The door unlocked and you sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Thank you what?” He said, cockiness in his eyes. You stared at him confused for a moment before you replied.

“Thank you Draco,” He seemed pleased with himself and you couldn’t help but be proud of yourself too for finally casting your first spell, despite his condescension. Though you appreciated being sheltered from it after learning of the war, you still felt like a failure to have never learned the skills as a child like every other witch and wizard. You had to be thankful to your new step-family for teaching you now.

“Good girl,” There it was again, And it had the same effect on you as it did the night before. Something fluttered in your lower stomach and your breath hitched in your throat. You looked up at him with a shy smile, his praise replaying in your mind. His face was neutral, not brooding as usual but not smiling back either. It was hard to tell what he was thinking and wondering was no use. He looked down at you, eyes swimming with something as you stood with your neck craned to look up at him. He finally broke the silence and his voice filled the otherwise quiet room.

“I thought you should know how I got in to tell you about our lesson before,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling up into a wicked grin. You realised what he meant and your mouth dropped along with your stomach.

“You..You unlocked the door to see me naked?” You started to yell, eyes wide with fury. He held his hands up in fake defeat.

“Oh stop, I just needed to tell you about your lesson. You being naked was just a plus.”

You were beyond angry at the invasion of privacy, but excitement started to build in your chest at the same time. You tried to ignore it, brushing it off as anxiety, but you knew the feeling all too well. The same feeling you ignored when his hand rested on yours minutes before. You couldn’t let your step-brother know how you were feeling, so you tried to put up more of a fight.

“Don’t you ever do that again. You…you” you stuttered when he grabbed you by the cheeks, squeezing your face and angling it up to look into his eyes.

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own house, mudblood. I know what you were thinking at dinner last night,” His other hand grabbed your hip, pulling you closer to him. Your heart pounded against your chest and you wanted to pull away, but you froze in place. You were caught between feeling helpless, and liking it anyway. His fingertips pressed into your face and your hip, and his grey eyes seemed to darken as they pierced through yours. You were so lost in the feeling, you almost forgot what he said until he continued.

“I know about your dirty little secret. I know behind your hate for me, you really want to see what’s under my clothes. I also know you didn’t just agree to our little lessons to learn spells,” His face gave nothing away, except the lust that danced in his eyes. He pulled you closer so your chest was pressed against his stomach, and you drew in a sharp breath as you felt him hard against you. “That’s what you did to me with your little fantasies last night,” he spoke, barely a whisper in your ear. You could feel the heat pool between your legs that were now shaking and barely holding you up, but you tried again to resist.

“I don’t know what you’re on about. I..I didn’t do anything last night,” you said, though in the back of your mind, you had already accepted that he must have had some way to read your mind. You felt your cheeks burn but you almost liked the invasion of privacy that it was. You liked that he had that over you as much as it scared you.

“Don’t act dumb. You do have quite the imagination in that pretty little head of yours, don’t you?” Before you could answer, He grabbed your wrist, pressing your hand on his growing bulge, letting out a quiet moan as he did so. He started unbuttoning his black shirt.

“No..no you can’t,” you stuttered out, only to be met by a low chuckle.

“No? I’m just showing you what you wanted to see. Don’t try and tell me you weren’t wondering what’s under here” he raised a brow as he undid the last button.

Against your better judgement, your gaze travelled down his chest and you notice the many deep scars and marks. Then you noticed it. The dark mark that still painted the perfect porcelain skin on his arm. You stared a little longer than you probably should have before he stepped close to you again.

“You happy now hmm?” he asked and you nodded, almost in a trance.He put his other hand to your hip and lifted you up. Before you could resist, or even think clearly, You wrapped your legs around him. He laid you down on your bed and you rolled your hips up, desperate for the contact against him again but he just hovered, not giving you what you wanted.

He traced his finger up your thigh and you were torn between pushing him off you and begging for more. You had never gone this far with anyone, and to finally do so with Draco felt wrong, but you didn’t have the strength to stop. His cologne filled your head when too much want.

“This is wrong Draco get off. You’re my step-brother” you barely whispered, silently hoping he wouldn’t.

He pressed his hand over your mouth and shushed you. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t want this” He said as he leaned over to grab his wand. He cast a silencing spell on the room so their parents wouldn't hear then, before looking back down at you. He grabbed your wrists, holding them both above your head with one hand as the other came between your bodies. His finger traced your lower stomach before he unzipped your shorts and pulled them down your legs and off your body. He moaned in approval and dragged a finger over your underwear. They were already soaked through and his eyes widened as he felt it.

“Fuck, are you seriously this wet for your step brother already?” he mocked as he started to rub circles on your clit, over your panties. You tried to argue but all that came from your mouth was a whimper. You were already growing impatient and bucked your hips up for more but he stopped you with a light smack to your clit. You yelped in a mixture of pleasure and pain, which was met with a satisfied smirk.

Finally, he pulled your panties off your legs, stuffing them in his pocket. “Mine,” he said in a low voice before he leaned down kissing up your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat and watched as his blonde hair fell in a perfect mess.

He licked up your slit and you moaned from the sudden, wet contact. You felt him smile between your legs as he wrapped his mouth around your clit and sucked lightly. The part of your mind that told you to stop, that it was wrong, was long lost and ignored and your head fell back against the pillow.

He lifted his face off you and you whimpered at the loss of contact, meeting his gaze from between your thighs.

“Please,” you begged pathetically, desperate for him in a way that was new to you.

“Please what? Use your words, mudblood,”

For the first time, his name for you didn’t enrage you.

“Please don’t stop,” you begged through heavy breaths.

“Look who finally found her manners,” he grinned before his mouth found its way back to your clit. He gripped your thigh with his large hands before he pushed a finger into your soaked cunt, curling it before pulling almost all the way out again. He repeated at a steady pace before he added another finger. His rings felt cold against you, and you rolled your hips up at the new sensation.

“F-Fuck Draco,” you let out, loud enough that without the silencing spell on the room, you would have both been caught out. Though you had never been able to make yourself cum, the feeling winding up in your lower stomach told you that this time you would, and soon. Your first orgasm belonging to Draco made your head spin, but you were too far gone to stop yourself, or him. You gripped his hair, legs starting to shake uncontrollably on either side of him.

“I-I’m -“ you started to say and Draco cut you off,

“That’s it, mudblood let it out,” he said before circling your clit with his tongue. Between that, his fingers working on you and his gruff voice coaxing you closer, you felt yourself start to peak, and finally come undone. Your back arched and mouth fell into an O, leaving you a shaking, moaning mess. He slowed down, but kept his fingers in you curling, as you rode out your high, moaning his name over and over. He lifted himself up, kissing your thighs as he did so, and layed beside you in the bed.

Your chest was rising and falling as you came back to your senses slowly. Though you knew what you did was wrong, and couldn’t be undone, you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it either. He looked at you with pride written all over his normally stoic face. You hid your face against his chest in embarrassment, and to your surprise, he stroked your hair, resting his cheek on the top of your head. You had expected him to laugh at you, call you names, or to demand you return the favour but he didn’t. Finally, you spoke up, with a shaky breath.

“I- that- that was my first-“

“I think you mean thank you,” he said,cutting you off and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Next time I won’t be so nice,” he added, and despite your lack of experience, the thought excited you.

••

#stepcest draco #draco smut #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy smut #hp smut #draco fic #stepbro!draco

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saccharinescorpion · 1 year

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4 Things You Can Try Now That You’ve Read THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR

(technically 5 things)

Mabel - a podcast by Becca De La Rosa and Maybell Marten.

Anna Limón is a home help worker currently looking after the elderly Sally Martin. When Sally has a bizarre and frightening reaction to a box of letters Anna finds in her attic one day, Anna attempts to seek answers by contacting Sally’s only known living relative: Mabel Martin.

“A podcast about ghosts, family secrets, strange houses, and missed connections,” Mabel is a story that is difficult to describe, but one of the most important points is that the vast majority of it is an epistolary narrative between Anna and Mabel, just like how This Is How You Lose The Time War is an epistolary narrative between Red and Blue. It also has a very distinct writing style- dramatic, flowery, and a little bit intimidating. However, if you loved the writing style of TIHYLTTW, I personally think that Mabel is a perfect match for you.

And I’m not just saying that because Mabel is a story about two extremely overdramatic women who are somehow both frighteningly caustic yet almost adorably useless.

The Honey Month - a book by Amal El-Mohtar

I certainly hope I don’t have to tell you this, but Amal El-Mohtar is one of the authors of This Is How You Lose The Time War, and The Honey Month is a short book she wrote several years ago.

The Honey Month is almost more of an experiment than a book- in its introduction, a friend of El-Mohtar explains how she sent her several small samples of honey, leading El-Mohtar to use the gift as in a unique way. For one February, every day she used a different vial of honey as inspiration for a small piece of writing.

The Honey Month contains 28 short pieces of writing, poetry, prose, and some things in between. It’s a small book full of things with big impact, and contains the lyrical yet meaty writing I enjoyed from El-Mohtar in TIHYLTTW.

Otherside Picnic (裏世界ピクニック) - A series of novels by Iori Miyazawa (illustrated by Shirakaba)

College sophomore Sorawo Kamikoshi longs to find an escape from other people, and in trying to find it discovers the Otherside, a strangely beautiful yet unfathomably dangerous parallel world inhabited by the-once-fictional creatures she knows from net lore. She also meets Toriko Nishina, another young woman with a knowledge of firearms and a desire to find her missing mentor. Together, these two girls explore the Otherside and find themselves changing little by little, both due to their adventures, but also due to their relationship with each other.

If you know me you probably aren’t surprised at this reccomendation. Otherside Picnic is a truly odd beast- it’s sci-fi, it’s horror, it’s comedy, it’s yuri. It’s about trauma, it’s about Japanese creepypasta, it’s about useless lesbians, and it’s about how the scariest thing of all is being vulnerable with another human being. I think fans of This Is How You Lose The Time War will enjoy it- Otherside Picnic’s writing style will likely feel almost spartan compared to TIHYLTTW, but in my opinion there’s a similar level of poetry in it. There’s also a similar level of women who are “badass” yet kind of messes. You’ve heard of “Enemies to Lovers,” get ready for “Accomplices to Lovers”!

(there’s also a manga adaptation by Eita Mizuno, as well as an anime adaptation directed by Takuya Sato)

The Handmaiden (아가씨) - a movie directed by Park Chan-wook (written by Park and Chung Seo-kyung, based on the novel Fingersmith by Sarah Waters)

In Japan-occupied Korea, the pickpocket Sook-hee is recruited by a con-man to aide him in his scam of a Japanese heiress, Lady Hideko. While the con-man poses as “Count Fujiwara” and woos Hideko, Sook-hee will play the part of her maid and subtly push the heiress towards him. But as time passes, Sook-hee begins to realize there are things occuring in the mansion that are even more sinister than her and the Count’s scheme, and there is much, much more to Hideko than meets the eye.

This is a list of recommendations for “people who have finished “This Is How You Lose The Time War,” but I try to recommend The Handmaiden to as many people as I possibly can. I’ve described it in the past as the cinematic equivalent of running a marathon: with a 144 minute runtime full of gorgeous direction and set design, dark machinations, twisted yet romantic writing, often troubling themes, and so, so many plot twists, it’s a movie that nearly feels like too much of a good thing. But for fans of TIHYLTTW, I’m sure what will intrigue you most is the relationship between the two main characters, one so complicated that “Enemies to Lovers” can’t hope to capture the roiling feelings of pity, guilt, hatred, desire, annoyance, sympathy, and everything in between.

It’s also just really hot.

The Handmaiden is a movie that is best enjoyed going in knowing as little as possible. That said, it is also a story with dark and often upsetting themes that are absolutely crucial to its narrative. If you are concerned about that statement, I reccomend looking at the movies’ entry on DoesTheDogDie, which I have looked at and found to be a pretty comprehesive list of content warnings that can be examined in a way that doesn’t spoil the twists of the story.

Fingersmith - a novel by Sarah Waters

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I’m going to get around to it!! I can’t technically recommend the book that inspired The Handmaiden since I haven’t read it yet, but I have at least one friend whose opinion I trust who sings its praises, so it’s good enough for me. Besides, if the recent popularity of This Is How You Lose The Time War has showed us anything, it’s that people constantly crave stories about complicated women, so it certainly can’t hurt, right?

#this is how you lose the time war #max gladstone #the honey month #amal el mohtar #the handmaiden #fingersmith #mabel #mabel podcast #otherside picnic #tihylttw #trigun #bigolas dickolas wolfwood #yuri #gl #sapphic #wlw #lesbian

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everlastlady · 7 months

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Mammon + Servant Reader (Female)

✘Posted: 11/4/2023

✘Story Contains: Fem reader, Reader is a maid, Bubble baths, Gentle Mammon, Slight Nudity, Favoritism, & Feel good times.

✘Word Count: None, writing this on mobile y'all

✘Author's Note: Decided to do Mammon with female reader, I'll do a male reader soon. Just decided to cater to my female readers but I promise I will cater to my male readers. Remember to eat a meal or a snack, drink some water, get some fresh air, take your medicine, and remember that you are loved. If you loved this story remember to comment, click or tap that heart button, reblog with tags, and blaze if you can. Always remember to support your local writers. ♡♡♡

✘Summary: {Name} is a simple maid for the greed lord Mammon. {Name} isn't sure why Mammon always calls on her and always wants him by his side when he wanders his home. But she doesn't mind because she finds her master funny and enjoys how gentle he is with her. But what happens when {Name} gets sick? And it's time for Mammon to take care of them.

" It's okay sir, I'm sure that you will fine someone better than Fizzarolli. " She spoke softly to her boss Mammon who sat in the large green chair. As the imp news woman spoke about what happened at the show. The maid named (name), picked up the remote and pointed it at the large screen and turned it off. Once it flickered to black. She looked over at Mammon who was still fumming over what happened at the clown pageant. " I don't understand, I gave him everything! " Mammon's voice deep and demonic as he slammed his fist onto the table, sending a large crack through it. (Name) smacked her lips. She would have to get that fixed. " sometimes, you can give someone everything and they will still leave, I understand that you are frustrated sir but don't let this stop you from making money; I'm sure someone new will come along, what about the Glam Sisters? " (Name) walked over to Mammon's liquor cabinet. " Comas, after a piece of the set fell on them, they both ended up in the hospital in comas, besides they don't really fit the image of what I'm looking for. " Mammon muttered. (Name) noodded her head and set down the glass of liquor for Mammon. The greed demon looked up at (Name) and smiled. " Thanks, I know I always say this but you are my favorite maid, far better than the rest! You always do your job right and know how to keep a smile on my mug. " Mammon chuckled and took a drink. " Come drink with me, (Name) " Mammon grinned looking up at the maid. Her soft (E/C) looked at Mammon before shaking her head. " No, thank you, sir, I still have work to do; it's not good for one to be drunk on the job. You can cause a lot of mishaps that way putting others in harm and yourself. " (Name) said with a darling smile.

" See that is why you're my favorite (Name)! So smart and responsible with your duties. Maybe next time on one of your vacation days, you and me can drink together. " Mammon said. He would actually love to have a drink with (Name). And you wouldn't have to wear that plain maid outfit. Mammon wondered what (Name) would look like in different outfits. What dresses would (Name) wear or outfits that weren't dress related. Mammon never really seen (Name) outside work. He knew that she lived in the Pride ring and had an apartment. That's all he really knew about (Name's) life since she barely sooke about herself, she listened more than she speaks. " So (Name) how the payments on your apartment? Going because I've been thinking about giving you more payment, maybe you could buy yourself a nice house. " Mammon smirked. " It's going well, besides my loud and annoying neighbor. It's been good but I don't think I need a bigger payment. " (Name) said while tucking a piece of her hair behind her pointed ears. " Aww, come on; yes you do because you are responsible and work hard so tonight expect me to send you a shit ton of money. Now run around and tell the cook to prepare dinner. " Mammon waved his hand to dismiss (Name).

She smiled and bowed, walking out of Mammon's office. Mammon stood up and stared at the spot that (Name) stood in. " Lord of greed giving out money, I must be crazy... " Mammon looked away. " She better get a nice house with that money, a beautiful one at best. " Mammon sat back down. But there was no time to think about (Name) because Mammon had to find a replacement for Mammon so he would probably have to hold another clown off. His little fucked up beauty pageant, but hey if it helps him find Fizzarolli's replacement. Then he would be glad to hold one again. Especially have Fizzarolli and Asmodeus banned from it even that little imp with the gun that had showed up. When night time had finally coated the sky. Mammon sat in the dining room. The table decorated with food. (Name) stood next to Mammon holding a bottle of the greed demon's favorite wine. " (Name) how about you sit down and eat with me. " Mammon took the bottle wine and set it on the table. " And that's an order, just in case you try to come up with some excuse. " Mammon gestures towards the chair at the end of table. " Hey cook! Bring out plate for (Name)! " Mammon yelled. (Name) walked over and sat down - with a smile, the chef brought out a plate that had lemon pepper chicken, mashed potatoes covered in gravy, pasta,and vegetables that were just steamed. The night went well, Mammon made (Name) laugh with his jokes and stories. She listened to her master's rants and ideas.

Mammon enjoyed seeing (Name) laughed. The way her giggles slipped off her lips and coated his ears like honey. How her shoulders moved when she laugh, even that snort was adorable. Mammon felt hot in the face. He couldn't believe that she had made him feel this way for such a long time. But he never acted on these feelings because he was busy making money. But he always made sure that no one tried to get at (Name) which is why so many servants were fired for trying to hit on her. After dinner was done, (Name) stood up and bowed. " I'm grateful that you invited me to join you for dinner, sir, everything was delicious and I appreciated our conversation and the jokes you told. " (Name) spoke through a fit of giggles on the last part still remembering Mammon's joke about clown fish. " No problem, I also enjoyed eating with you. Way better than those dinners I have to attend with Lucifer and the other sins. " Mammon stood up smiling but he stopped noticing how (Name) wobble a bit when standing straight up. Did she drink to much wine? No that couldn't be because she had to drive home. " (Name)? " Mammon walked over to (Name) . " You okay mate? " Mammon reached out. Before she could respond she threw up on yourself and the carpet, (Name) would have fallen and hit the floor but Mammon caught her before she could pass out.

" (Name)! " He called her name and held you close not caring if he got her vomit on him. (Name's) eyes flickered opened as she coughed. " I don't feel good... " Her voice sounded dry and low. " Y-You are going home, let's go get you cleaned up. " Mammon picked up (Name), poor girl could barely speak it hurt to speak so she wouldn't fight back with Mammon who brought her into a guest bedroom. (Name) always took care of him, he will now take care of her. Mammon managed to grab a large shirt that had his logo on it. (Name) could sleep in that and get out of that disgusting maid outfit that was covered in vomit. Mammon ran (Name) a bath. He made sure the water wasn't too hot or cold. He added in some bath salts and oils. Mammon turned towards (Name) trying to figure out how to not make this sound creepy. " (Name) take off that outfit and get into the tub, we gotta get you washed up mate, this bath will help a little. " Mammon offered his hand. (Name) nodded weakly and took his hand, stepping into the bathroom. Mammon turned around as (Name) peeled away her clothing and stepped into the tub - it smelled like mint and honey. She let out a relaxing sigh. Mammon turned around and got on his knees as he began to wash her up. " You don't have to do that sir. " (Name) said in a tires voice. " Shh, yes I do, you always take care of me, so for the night just let me take care of you please. " Mammon said while washing up (Name).

She nodded her head as her boss Mammon washes her up. Avoiding her chest area and crotch area. She held onto the tub when Mammon lifted her leg to wash it. This felt nice, so she enjoyed herself. Mammon took a cup of water and poured it over (Name's) head as he washed her hair and face. He would let her handle the rest while he went to go get her towels and medicine. He could have gotten servant to do this but no, he wanted to take care of (Name), Mammon returned and helped (Name) out of the tub. She dried off and slipped into the large dark green shirt that Mammon gave her. It had his logo on it. " Sorry that I couldn't get you any undergarments. " Mammon said with a crimson blush. " It's fine, I usually sleep without them more comfortable that way. You feel less trapped. " (Name) said while taking the medicine that Mammon brought her. She crawled into the bed as Mammon placed his hand on her head. " Your fever is going down a little. " Mammon said with his hand placed on (Name's) head. " I'm going to stay by your side so scooch over. " Mammon moved over before getting into the bed with you. He laid next to you and stared at you. " You look cute in my merch. " He said. (Name's) voice was still a little dry but still did her voice to talk. " Thanks, the material feels soft. " She said while playing with the blanket.

Mammon turned his side to look at (Name) who did the same to look at Mammon. " Sir... " (Name) began to speak again. " Call me, Mammon. " Mammon said running his fingers through her hair. " Mammon thank you for taking care of me, I'm also sorry that I ruined the carpet. " She looked down. " It's fine, I can get it clean; besides I've been wanting to replace that carpet with a new one. Taking care of you is something you deserve, you always take care of me, so I decided to take care of you... I don't know your my favorite and I like you. " Mammon he hoped that saying that didn't make things awkward between (Name) and him. " I like you too. " (Name) smiled tiredness filled with their eyes. She rested her head on Mammon's chest, while he continued to play with her hair, but soon he leaned down and kissed her. (Name) pulled away quickly. " Mammon, you'll get sick! " She had worry in her voice. " I don't care, I will be fine. " Mammon went back to kissing (Name) who soon melted into the kiss. She enjoyed this moment between her and Mammon. This was no longer just a maid and her master. But just two people who love each other and care for each other. Who take care of each, who soon will have a future together.

Mammon's Clowns aka Mammon Tag List:

If you want to be added to the Mammon Tag List Let Me Know.

#helluva boss #helluva striker #helluva mammon #helluva mammon x female reader #helluva x reader #helluva x female reader #character x reader #character x you #helluva fanfiction #helluva fandom #helluva stories #helluva everlasting #everlasting writes🪻

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penguinbuttcheeks · 16 days

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Not a Woman Pt.2 - price x reader

summary: part one here you begin to slowly progress in your transformation to start presenting in a way that feels more like yourself. your captain and teammates have your back throughout the entirety of it.

pairing: platonic!price x transmasc!reader x supportive!141

cw: none

word count: 1,720

A/N: in my feels big time atm. finally came out to my parents about being trans and i’m currently not allowed to enter my parents house and my mother is not talking to me. it sucks, but my friends and partner have been so supportive and loving through it all <3

so yeah, anyway. have this i guess.

"Ye sure about this, lad?" Soap asks, giving you look of concern, eyes meeting yours in the mirror reflection - electric shaver ready and waiting in his hand. You sit in front of the bathroom sink in the 141’s private en suite, one of your spare towels draped across your shoulders.

It had been almost a week since your breakdown in Price's office, the team embracing you with open arms and assuring you throughout your entire journey that you're still part of the family - welcoming their newest brother to the team.

“It’s a buzz cut, Soap. You can’t fuck up a buzz cut.” He chuckles quietly, eyes darting down to the shaver in his hand and finally turning it on. The peaceful silence is broken through with the abrasive buzzing that emits from behind you, stomach starting to flutter excitedly.

“Should be easier than a mo.” he responds with a shrug, before flashing a mischievous smile your way and diving straight in to your hair with the buzzing device.

Staring back at your reflection was a breath of fresh hair. Gone was the long wispy strands that framed your face so femininely, instead replaced with the blunt edges of your sharp and freshly buzzed hair.

Water drips down your body, the bathroom filled with warm steam as you wipe away the droplets falling from your body with a fresh, fluffy towel. You had finally finished washing all the small prickly hairs that had stuck to your neck and chest during your amateur styling session with Soap.

You run a hand over your head, the feeling so foreign, yet so comforting.

You finally felt like you.

You grin widely at your reflection, the texture of your buzzed head feeling like a strange combination of astro turf and carpet.

Not wanting to hog the bathroom for much longer, you quickly resume drying your wet body and dressing in to your clothes. Your teammates wait eagerly in the shared 141 quarters, sitting on their respective bunks and chattering amongst themselves.

When you emerge, all heads dart your way, Soap nodding at you in approval and Gaz giving you a wide smile and a thumbs up.

“Suits you” Ghost speaks up, arms crossed over his chest. Not much emotion is given away, his casual balaclava that he wears around base hiding anything that shows on his face, but there’s the sound of a small smile gracing his lips in the way he speaks.

“What if I fuck it up? Has anyone ever died from needles?” Gaz shakes his head at you, chuckling lowly in amusement.

“You watched how the doctor administrated your first shot. Just do the same.” He’s met with nothing but a blank stare from you.

“Do you need me to do it for you?” He asks, a fond smile over his lips, dark eyes trained on your overly worried face.

You nod meekly.

And so- like the good friend he is - Gaz helps to administer your testosterone shot, laughing at you quietly as you continue to make a scene while he tries to inject the needle.

“A right sook you are. I’ve seen you take bullets, yet you can’t handle a needle?” He teases

“There’ll be a needle in your left eye if you keep that attitude up”.

From that day on, Gaz meets you in the 141 quarters, the same time every week to help you with your T-shots, completely unbothered by the task he has now taken on.

He watches as you slowly transform over the weeks. Small, but subtle differences that makes your eyes sparkle and smile wider each time your shot is administered

He’s honoured that you feel safe enough to allow him in to such an intrusive practice, never letting anything hinder his time spent with you when he lends you a helping hand.

“You need to change your voicemail” Ghost grumbles, walking in to the rec room where you and other two sergeants are currently sat, a game of uno half finished and discarded atop the coffee table in front of the couch you, Soap and Gaz are huddled together on. The three of you had gotten too distracted by an animal documentary to continue playing.

You look down at your phone, realising that you did indeed have a missed call from the Lieutenant.

“Sorry I missed your call, got too invested in this” you respond absentmindedly, eyes returning back to the television. “Why do I need to change my voicemail?” you ask quizzically.

“Doesn’t sound like you”.

You hadn’t realised just how much your voice had changed over the months as you continued your hormone treatment. Listening back to your voice prior your weekly injections, you can’t help but beam with pride.

The four of you have a good laugh, looking back through videos of your old self, admiring the changes in your appearance and the deepening of your vocal chords.

Ghost watches in amusement from the side, simply content to watch as you continue to bloom and flourish right before his very eyes.

He’d never admit it, but he was hesitant upon his initial discovery, unsure of how to proceed with your preferred identity. Seeing you now though? He laughs.

It was ridiculous that it was ever a concern to him in the first place.

“Your leave has been approved.”

Price stares at you, a twinkle of encouragement in his eyes as he breaks the news to you, biting back a grin that threatens to spread across his lips.

Almost a full year has passed, a year full of change and rigorous saving.

The time has finally come.

You were finally going to rid the most vital part of your body that would complete your transformation - the main thing holding you back from finally presenting the way you want to - from feeling truly like yourself.

There’s only so much a binder can do, the compression doing little to improve your dysphoria when your breasts were flattened and instead replaced with an overwhelming tiredness during training. Your body was over exerted - unable to cope with the intensity of the military’s strenuous training. It left you breathless and gasping for breath after each session, forcing you to revert back to sports bras.

You exhale shakily, fighting back the tears that burn behind your eyes.

Price stands up and rounds his desk, placing a firm and comforting hand on your shoulder from where he stands behind you.

“Congratulations, soldier.”

Tears fall from your eyes. Unlike the ones almost exactly a year ago in this very room, they’re paired with a bright smile, joyous laughter echoing off the walls instead of harrowing sobs and slamming fists.

Price is engulfed by your wide embrace, arms wrapping tightly around him as you cry. It takes him off guard, causing him to stumble backwards, a large arm moving to your back as he stables the two of you against your weight when you launch yourself at him.

He’s there when you check yourself in to the hospital, giving him a goofy grin in your large hospital gown. You wave him goodbye like an overexcited child as the nurses wheel you away to the surgery room.

He knows this won’t be an easy recovery for you, but all he can feel is pride and excitement for you.

You’re a tough cookie. You’ll manage just fine.

He feels his heart thud against his chest, sending you one last grin as you finally disappear in to the surgery room.

He’s no stranger to the feeling that flutters in his stomach - he had gone through the same experience with Gaz. sighing, he turns on his heel and returns to the waiting room, allowing him the solitude to ponder how he’ll go forward with these emotions.

He feels like a father, sending his son off to attend his first day of school. There’s a blooming pride in his chest, but also a tinge of worry.

Will the surgery be okay? Will you continue to flourish even after your transition is complete? What if you decide this is something you no lo get want?

He shakes his head. You’re a grown adult- capable of making your own decisions. He has step back and allow you to make those steps.

The time you spend recovering is on base, surrounded by your teammates in the comfort of your chosen home.

They fuss over you like overbearing parents would, making you roll your eyes and groan, not wanting them to see just how touched you are by their concern.

Water, food, flowers and silly little trinkets are brought back to you occasionally, the money spent being worth it to see the smile on your face as your body heals and you push through the pain of recovery for the first three weeks.

The remaining three weeks is when you truly shine. It doesn’t go unnoticed by your comrades.

As your six week recovery period comes to an end, Price takes the entire team out in celebration of your transformation process being complete.

It’s nothing fancy, a small dingy bar close to base, but it’s all you could ever ask for. The familiarity of the premise, the dim lighting and worn down furniture, surrounded by your beloved teammates. it was perfect.

The five of you drank and cheered all night, sharing stories and recounting memories throughout the past year of your transition.

Ghost is the first to leave, deciding that he needed a good night’s rest before taking on the new recruits that would be arriving come morning. Not long after, you and Price decide that you’re ready to call it a night too - Gaz and Soap deciding to stay out longer to make the most of this rare night out.

It’s a chilly night, you and John walking side by side as you make your way back to base. The two of you could have easily ordered an Uber or hailed down a cab, but the walk seemed like a good chance to let the alcohol leave your system before returning to base. To spend some time alone together.

“I’m proud of you” Price speaks up, hands in the pockets of his jacket to keep them from getting too chilly, black beanie pulled down over his ears and cheeks tinted with a light pink hue from the cold.

You glance over at him from the corner of your eyes, biting back a smile.

“I’m proud of me too.”

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: thank you to the person who requested! Hope this lives up to your expectations xx

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

𝑨 = 𝑨𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Fred is absentmindedly affectionate. His mind is always thinking; coming up with new ideas - about business, jokes, pranks, etc. And when he gets like that, he doesn’t realise what his body is doing. Fred will play with your hair, your hands, draw circles on your back (which turns into drawing the plans on your back).

He’s completely fine with PDA (not around his mum though). But he particularly likes to show affection when he’s around Ron, just to annoy him.

𝑩 = 𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 (What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?)

𝑬𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚:

Your humour. He loves that you can join in on his jokes and the fact that you find him funny is especially important to him. He always asks, “but I’m funnier than George, right?”

He also loves your courage and intelligence.

But also your chaotic nature

𝑷𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚:

Your smile. Hands down, he loves the way you smile - especially when you’re feeling a little mishcevious. There’s a special way your lips quirk upwards and he knows you’re thinking of causing a little chaos.

𝑪 = 𝑪𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒔 (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

HE. LOVES. TO. CUDDLE. Such a little baby when he doesn’t get a proper cuddle. Especially when you’re leaving, he’ll pout his lips and do the puppy dog eyes (will whimper a lil as well).

He also loves cuddling on the lounge and in bed. He’s literally such a sook. Definitely the type of boyfriend/husband to lay his head on your lap and have you stroking his hair.

𝑫 = 𝑫𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄 (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

It’s difficult to explain, but this man ... can never settle down. He may marry you, and yes he wants kids, but he also has big ideas and wants to chase whatever inspires him.

With cooking and cleaning, he’s actually really bad at it. George picks up after them both, especially when their mum is in a bad mood.

𝑬 = 𝑬𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (When something is bothering them, how do they act around you?)

Depending on the severity of the problem, Fred is pretty good at letting things go. If there’s been an argument, he doesn’t hold grudges or take things to heart. He’s very good on brushing things off. His humour will always shine through, no matter how full on the situation is.

𝑭 = 𝑭𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒆 (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I think Fred would be a bit more hesitant about committments. Marriage would be a subject that George teases him about but deep down he knows that you are the person for him. I have a feeling that marriage would end up being an issue but it would be resolved after Molly has a talk with you (because you refused to talk to Fred).

𝑮 = 𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆 (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

𝑬𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚: I’m sorry but Fred ... isn’t that gentle emotionally. His humour askews his vulnerability. And he finds it hard to open up, so he hides beind his jokes and pranks.

𝑷𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚: Of course he treats you with respect, and that means that he’s physically gentle with you. But he can be very excited, and forget that he’s incredibly taller and much heavier than you are - so he would definitely jump on you and then you’d be yelling for him to get off you because you’re being squashed.

𝑯 = 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 (Do they tell you about their childhood? Their trauma? The sides of themself that they keep hidden from the world.)

God, Fred’s trauma .... it’s hidden behind walls of pranks, neon signs and flashing lights. Fred hates talking about his feelings and in particluar, his negative emotions.

It’s almost like you get snippets of his trauma (that he doesn’t see as trauma). George will be the one to bring up particular memories and remind Fred of how horrible it was to experience that.

Basically, you get the information through George. And when you try to bring it up with Fred, he kinda shrugs it off. “No big deal, love.”

𝑰 = 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It wasn’t until George asked Fred if he’s said “I love you,” that he even thought about it. Since that moment, Fred was really awkward around you. It took weeks for him to open up about the fact that he didn’t know if he should say it or not.

“Just say what you feel, if you aren’t ready, than don’t push it,” you had told him. After that he calmed down. It took another 2 months before he ‘officially’ said it.

𝑱 = 𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Says he doesn’t get jealous, but when other people show you a certain type of attention...then he gets very jealous. Not a full on, territorial jealousy, but one where he makes the other person seem insignificant and small. He cracks jokes at their expense and you end up nudging him because he usually crosses the line.

𝑲 = 𝑲𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Fred’s kisses always leave you with a smile on your face. He likes being cheeky and playful with the way he kisses you. He might twirl you around and dip you towards the floor, and give you a little smooch. Or kiss you upside down and disappear (apparating).

𝑳 = 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 (How are they around children?)

George is much better around little children, but Fred connects more with young teens. He says it’s because ‘they can understand my jokes,’ but you think it’s because he feels like an older brother again.

𝑴 = 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 (How are mornings spent with them?)

Between Fred and George, Fred was the last person to go to bed and the first to wake up. In the mornings you’re the one who puts on the kettle and makes some toast. Fred is yawning, as he barely gets any sleep, but is still writing down theories and ideas.

𝑵 = 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 (How are nights spent with them?)

Fred has a desk covered in drawings, scribbled down ideas, post-it notes, scrolls of parchment and a patch of dried spilled ink. That’s where he is a lot of the time, surprisingly. He wants to get down all his ideas and he can get lost in his mind sometimes.

𝑶 = 𝑶𝒑𝒆𝒏 (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Very slowly, there’s some things that you’re still getting to know about him. At first he didn’t open up because he didn’t want to scare you away, but then you found yourself nearly begging for more information about him, and he just shrugged his shoulders because he never really thought about the deep stuff.

𝑷 = 𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 (How easily angered are they?)

Not easily angered at all. It takes a lot for Fred to be angry. It’s mainly if someone makes you uncomfortable or puts you in danger, that’s when he gets angry. It’s actually a really scary sight.

𝑸 = 𝑸𝒖𝒊𝒛𝒛𝒆𝒔 (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

...He doesn’t remember the little details about you. But he knows what’s important, and what you love most. He may not remember every single family member, hell, he forgets his own family members, but he always knows what kind of gifts to get you.

𝑹 = 𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Fred’s favourite moment in the relationship was when you pranked him. It took months. You enlisted the help of all your friends, to make Fred thinkyou were a twin yourself. That was your aim, to make him think you had a twin all. this. time, and he hadn’t noticed.

Even Molly got in on the prank, originally Ron suggested that you make Fred you were cheating on him but you all thought that was too dark.

𝑺 = 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Fred likes to make you feel safe. He didn’t realise how important that was to him until your relationship was official. Making sure his partner feels comfortable means a lot to him, and when you’re uncomfortable - even when he’s not there - he wants to know why, how and who made you feel that way.

And then he will absolutely embarrass the f*ck out of that person, under the guise of ‘oh it’s a joke’.

𝑻 = 𝑻𝒓𝒚 (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

You didn’t know this for a while, but George was behind the ideas for a lot of the dates, anniversaries, gifts etc. Even if George has his own partner, he absolutely adores you and wants you to be with his brother so badly. So he always makes sure that Fred knows that an anniversary is coming up etc.

With everyday tasks, he isn’t that great at them. And no please don’t be disappointed! Because it’s actually Molly’s fault. She had all those charmed items to do tasks, and she only nagged her kids rather than showed them how to do things. (I don’t hate Molly, not at all, but I can see how she could be a bad parent.)

𝑼 = 𝑼𝒈𝒍𝒚 (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

We know that Fred can take jokes too far, and at times he can be a bit insensitive. It isn’t until he sees a person’s reaction to know if what he did was ok. (Possibly a sign of autism???)

𝑽 = 𝑽𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 (How concerned are they with their looks?)

More so than George! I think Fred would definitely use a charm that Ginny taught him where the user’s hair falls perfectly. (During the golden trio’s search of the Horcruxes, I can so see Ron telling Hermione of the charm and her reaction is just throwing a book at his face).

𝑾 = 𝑾𝒉𝒚 (Reasons why they love each other)

Fred loves you because you understand him. You’re more than fine with him being in the spotlight (he loves it there) and understand that he has an innate need to create and pursue his ideas.

𝑿 = 𝑿𝒚𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆 (What’s their song)

Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino.

𝒀 = 𝒀𝒖𝒄𝒌 (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Close-minded, stoic people who can’t take a joke. He thinks people like that are a waste of space, and you have to remind him that everyone is different. And just because someone doesn’t understand his jokes doesn’t mean he’s not funny.

𝒁 = 𝒁𝒛𝒛 (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Surprisingly, it’s actually quite difficult for Fred to get to sleep. That’s one of the reasons why he’s the last person to fall asleep - some could call it insomnia. He just has a lot of thoughts

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 3 months

Text

x g l a s g o w g r i n n e r

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!OC / 2.1k words

Soap’s always been a little too comfortable playing at violence, always gone-bright when he can turn the threat of it into a promise. Joke’s on the world at large: Special Agent Bordelon’s into that shit.

Or: Soap pulls a knife on a stranger for being a creep, because he’s from the brutal street stabbing capitol of the UK and that’s just how you say “Hi, hey, hello—back the fuck off.” And a million kisses to @lunarvicar for encouraging my bullshit! LOVE YOU NAT 🫶

It is never hard to run with Soap and keep his breakneck pace—the only thing that had been difficult was adjusting to the fact that someone else could finally keep up with hers. It’s a stomach-thrilling shock to look from the corner of her eye, and find the blur of his burly shape there, winking and clicking his tongue without breaking a sweat.

Bordelon is soft for the Scot sook, god forsake the shit out of her.

He’s landed in D.C. on medical leave, a broken collarbone leaving his arm in a sling, and the first thing he’d done—after kissing his way up her neck to the spot behind her ear that made her skin sing and her palms sweat—was sling his good arm around her neck, pulling her in close, and nibbling her earlobe. “Christ, s’it always pishin’ it doon here, too?”

“Naw,” she laughed back, reaching to tangle their fingers together on her chest, his backpack slung over her shoulder, “just October, couillon.”

“Ohh, talk that dirty, fake French to me, mah cherry,” he mock-growled, which just earnt himself a pap! of the palm to his cheek. All play, no sting, and he beamed.

That night burns down to the coals—traipsing back to her apartment, showing off the ugly bruise that bleeds does from his neck to his bottom-rung rib, kissing and touching and figuring out a way to fuck that doesn’t hurt him too-too much.

(The man likes a little ache in it, here and there. Calls dichotomy in that blessed, rock-fall accent. Ratios of sweet to sour, black to white, sun and night. As if he had any more concept of balance and moderation than she.)

He lies across the bed in that silly-ass sling, watching her bitch her smart TV a blue-streak while wearing one of his threadbare navy t-shirts and nothing else. Rubs the spot at the bottom of his sternum, listening to rain slap heavy sheets against the old windows, and says, “Perdita.”

“Don’t you full name me,” she warns, shaking her head, because it is an ill-fitted address. For him, she is Hen, or Perdie, in much the same way he is her Johnny, Jean, or John-boy. A thing you love is all in how you name it, and their names are softened and held close; in the way of lovers who began as friends, once they were strangers no more.

“We’re getting married ‘fore I ship back tae Glasgow,” is how he finishes his thought, and Bordelon turns on her hips, back and forth, vaguely pointing the remote at the screen. He gives her a challenging tooth-sharp smirk. “Thought I should warn you.”

“Mhm. Yeah.” She wonders if she should count this a proposal, or call his bluff, and then she thinks—might as well nail both options to the fuckin’ wall while she’s got the knife. “We go our way onto the courthouse tomorrow. Keep it simple, ça c’est bon?”

International marriage is never that simple, though, and they’re both the wiser to it. But the sentiment is pretty, and it sparks amongst the hard-bought bonfire that lives in the depths of her chest, flames rising and licking to glorify his name. So, they call it an engagement, and Soap pulls a turn-around she doesn’t expect, turning his phone off to pull a shade of night over only the two of their heads.

He’s no family to call, apart from his 141, and even then, there’s a hesitance to his hands. Her man—her bombastic, beautiful bastard—could not stand to be a burden, no. A nightmare that is for him, himself. Even if he were to reach out with the utterly, desolately rare delivery of good news (a phenomenon grown so rare that Neptune would sooner complete circuits around the sun these days), it would make his skin crawl.

Were he to have his way, his burdens would never leave the span of his shoulders to weigh down another’s back, even something as small as what might be an inconveniently timed but otherwise benign or even welcome call.

Come the gray and misting morning, he’s handsy and all-paws, even short a limb, groping for Bordelon as the woman rolls upright on the edge of the bed, pushing her sleep-tangled hair away from her face before it irritates her to death. His hand is warm, callused, and heavy with insistence as it settles into the dip of her violin hip, trying to pull her back into the warm expanse of his hard-packed body.

“Perdie, Hen,” he grunts, tone shading toward playful complaint, “the fuck’re y’doin’ awake?”

“Startin’ off,” she croaks, shaking her head, pushing at his fingers as they crawl closer to her cunt. “Stop that—arrête ça! You’re mangy this morning, T’Jean,” she laughs, pushing more firmly at his grip. “No, get up. Got a friend, knows her way ‘round immigration policy, and she always got an envie for brunch.”

“Brunch?” he questions, flat as buried flounder, falling back into her mountains of mismatched pillows with a dreadful look on that handsome face of his. “Darlin’, am no getting my fat ass outta bed, even for brunch. Feel kinda fruity even sayin’ it.”

“Even for to get us married?” she darts back, turning to look at him, drawing her fingers in circles through the hair on his lower stomach, cooing ridiculously in her rasp-rough drawl, “Even for me.”

“Goddamn,” he groans, throwing baby-dog eyes her way. “I mean, was hopin’ you’d take it serious—cannae tell wi’ your ass—but.” He swallows, one of those corny, I’m-about-to-fuck smiles threatening the corner of his mouth, the one that makes him all coy and keen, looking down at her pale, spidery fingers drifting closer and closer through his thick, dark body hair to his fattening cock. “Wouldn’t you rather stay in bed? Cold morning like this, I could keep you warm.”

She just barely brushes her fingers over his cock before she’s snap-sliding out of bed, copperhead quick, tossing over her shoulder, “Nope! Already sent an email, she knows we on the schedule,” on her way to the shower.

Soap drops back against the bed, rubbing his stubbled face, grunting, “Bordelon, you arsehole.”

But he can’t withstand the siren call of watching her in the shower, so, ever-faithful and ever-horned up, he follows after.

D.C. is about as filthied up with the sorrows of addiction and homelessness as any other place, Bordelon supposes. Can’t tell if it’s better or worse than any of the time she spent down New Orleans or Baton Rouge way. Colder, mostly. But it’s not all the time you need to know about the homeless or the drug addicts—keepin’ eyes on them, keepin’ them in your ears, at least at the sides.

Sometimes, it’s the fella in the khakis, with a puffer jacket and prescription glasses, his behaviors making his Rolex look cheap shit.

Bordelon and Soap slide last into the car before the doors pull shut, close to standing-room early in Crystal City as lunch hour approaches. All the suits are out their offices, scrounging for edibles, droning loud and monotone on their cells. Whole car is damp and humid from the downpour, human body heat causing an intense mugginess that crawls under the clothes to irritate the skin. It’s damn near enough to make Bordelon’s head spin, neck uncomfortable with sweat the way it was all them years down deep, deep in the south.

“No, sit doon,” Soap says, flapping the good arm great and wide, trying to get her to pop a squat on the only empty seat left, shaking his head. “Dinnae try bossin’ me, talkin’ wi’ that spooky-arse agency voice. Want away from you a minute.”

He dresses up chivalry as dismissal, and she can’t help but grin, even as she dawdles on sitting.

“What? You don’t like how Tiffany sounds? I swear, she’s perfectly nice. And outstanding in her field. She’s an accomplished agent, and her superiors are recommending her for a promotion,” she says, in that self-same agency voice of which he’d complained—rich and clear, dialect: nonregional, speech pattern: nondescript.

“Oof, fuckin’ hate that, stop,” he snorts, faking a shiver, but he does complain, “Hey, what? Where you goin’?” when she actually does move to sit down, tugging her up by the collar of her shirt just a bit to pop a grinning kiss against her mouth.

She doesn’t realize, at least not right away, that the tug at her collar disrupted her shirt. Just enough to make a few buttons slip, exposing more of her right tit under her open coat. Wore a thin top today, loose, but figured the dark fabric would hide any transparency. Hated tight clothes, hated bras, and never wore one; just figured her rack had spent thirty-three years being nothing to comment on.

Well. More than half a tit exposed was enough to catch the attention of the man who cheapens his Rolex by being the one to wear it.

Soap likes strange things because he, himself, is a strange thing, and Bordelon had thought to take him the two hours north to Philly to hit the Mütter Museum to see their medical abnormalities, because once their brunch is out, they’ll have an entire day to themselves. She’s busy showing him pictures, enticing him, when the woman next to her taps her thigh.

Like an alarm hollerin’ in her head, she starts running two tracks instant-like, leaning without looking as she whispers, “Yeah, chere?”

The woman is older, in maroon scrubs—some kinda tech, smell of jelly on her says maybe ultrasound—and nonslip clogs. Can’t quite see her name badge, but that seems on purpose, covered up by her fleece.

“That man over there—he’s takin’ pictures of you,” she whispers back, straightening her jacket needlessly as a hint, “just wanted you to know. Maybe tell your man?”

“Oh, no,” Bordelon hums, smoothly pulling her shirt back into place, “I tell him, he gonna light that stupid bastard up like a candle.”

“Who’s lightin’ me up like a candle?” Soap stage-whispers, all play, and Bordelon knows exactly how the next ten seconds are gonna go, and it plays out picture perfect to her premonition. Bordelon tells him don’t worry, I got it, the Good Samaritan in maroon scrubs informs him of the creep, and the smile on Soap’s face turns into a flesh-ripper grin as all the fun burns outta his gaze like a gas fire in a hyperbaric chamber.

“Oh?”

“MacTavish,” she warns him, “wait til the stop.”

“Naw, naw, naw. I’ll play nice, Hen.” That means, sure as shit, he won’t.

The switch knife he takes out his back pocket is deadly smooth, and so is his broad step to the stranger and his budget, Amazon-bought phone case, pushing straight into his man-spread legs.

The fact there isn’t an immediate uproar, but the man’s face is blanched and staring up at him with a shitload of oh fuck on his face speaks to Soap’s own scary-ass career, and Bordelon can barely see the tip of the knife pressing into the spot just below the stranger’s ribs.

“Hey, pal, mornin’,” Soap says, bright and easy as anything, voice not droppin’ even a note, head tilted real friendly. “Do me a favor, eh? Just drop your phone next t’my boot, yeah? We’ll just get this little creeper session done and dusted.”

Can’t even hear the clunk when it slides out of the man’s limp hand, and it’s even quieter when the heel of Soap’s boot shifts over to destroy the screen, grinding it to dust.

“Good man,” he says, pulling the knife back to close it and slide it into his sling. “Next stop, you’re off. But you’re gonna leave your phone on the floor. Hope you dinnae eat shet on the way home to your ol’ lady.”

Bordelon resists the urge to slap a hand over her face, but when Soap kicks the phone back to her, she catches it under the toe of her boot, catching the expression of the tech to her side, unsurprised but impressed. Must have herself a man like Soap, waiting for her to make it home.

“Sorry ‘bout the screen, Perdie. Think you can get in there and delete his shet still?” Soap asks, tone a bottom lip pout, and Bordelon nods, tucking her fingers into the back of his belt before snaking them up under his shirt, swirling her fingertips into his back dimples.

“Hah. You know it, Johnny,” she hums, looking up at him from under her lashes. It’s a tenderness, sweet and true, taking up space between her lungs. Mad bastard. Crazy motherfucker. Loony bitch. When he looks back at her, he curls his fingers under her jaw, looking relieved. Poor thing knows hit dog hollers, and he long ago stopped yelping when he was struck. He’s looking to be told he didn’t do something bad. But she finds his pace, she always does. Of course, she did.

But that goes beggin’ the question: what’s a hellhole-heart like her supposed to do with a love like this?

Tag List: @alittleposhtoad @skinnyazn @dotcie @snail-eggs @parttimeprophet @kastlequill 💖💖

#john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap MacTavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty #soap x oc #call of duty mwii #call of duty #mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mwii #cod mw2 #oc: Bordelon #dunno what else to tag this as #my work #enjooooyyyyy 💃👯👯‍♀️👯‍♂️🕺🏻

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tulipsforyourlips · 15 days

Text

✧˖°. i found you ✧˖°. (4)

|| the sandman x dead boy detectives ||

SUMMARY: You run the dead boys detective agency along with your two best friends. And somehow two ghosts and a living girl make it work. Until you dream one night, of dream himself.

PAIRING: dream of the endless x fem!reader

WC: 3K

WARNINGS: none I can think of

PART 4✧˖°.

"So let me get this straight, ghosts cannot lie to you yet you work with two ghosts who apparently can," Matthew cawed from his place on your shoulder where you were huddled in one corner of the Dreaming library.

Earlier that day, Dream had intercepted your walk to the bakery nearby your apartment, almost giving you a jump scare, and then brought you back here with him once you'd pleaded to let your ghost friends know you were going out. Since it was a weekend and the agency remained closed, they didn't question you. Although Charles did tease you about a date. If only.

"Yep that pretty much sums it up. But it's not out of compulsion, it's that ghosts trust me, it's like they have no other option than to trust me. I don't know how it works seriously, just that it has helped a hell lot of ghosts successfully cross over and boom our business. And as far as Edwin and Charles are concerned, well my powers, if you could call it that, did happen after meeting the guys. So," you shrugged.

"Interesting," Matthew mulled over your words, "and this has been going for the past.."

"4 years.”

"And you remember nothing before that? No family, no one from your past?"

An all so ever familiar brush of sadness tingled every bone in your body. "No," you exhaled.

"I am sorry.”

"Eh I am used to it now. Besides I love my life with the boys. I did search for any signs of my family, if I had one and then just gave up after a year. The boys are my family now."

"Include me in too.”

You laughed at Matthew’s response. "Of course you are my precious little raven."

"My lady," Lucienne's voice greeted you, "he’s ready.”

While you were away, Morpheus had tried to repair the damage only for a fresh bout of earthquakes to replace the previous destruction. Now you made your way to where he stood crafting dreams or nightmares.

"Mortal," he said in greeting, his back turned to you.

"Dream.”

He moved aside and your breath got caught in your throat. Staring at you, was a half human, half monster who had a tongue of a reptile and teeth like razors. The stuff of literal nightmares.

"Make him trust you," Dream spoke.

"Are you crazy?" You looked at him as if someone had cracked his skull open and was gorging on his brains and someone might have with what he was suggesting.

"You dare-?"

Yes you fucking dared. What was he expecting you to do, commit suicide?

But he was after all an Endless, and you did not wish to invoke his wrath so you only mumbled, "I can't do this, you can't expect me to get a nightmare to trust me! It's unreal!"

"But ghosts trust you.”

"Yes because they are ghosts and he is, well a bloody nightmare.”

"Try.”

"And who's guaranteeing that I won't die trying?”

"I am.” His words were solid pebbles dropping in your guts.

You don't know what made you take the next step, maybe it was the conviction in his voice, but you stretched your arms forward and warily tried to approach the monster human. You took baby steps towards him, just a few more, you assured yourself but then the nightmare lunged straight for you. You tripped backward and the sandy ground contacted your back. But before the nightmare could contact you, Dream raised his hand and the nightmare vanished into darkness, flecks of what he once used to be gracing the ground in front of you. You got up on your feet, the image of razor teeth inches away from your face still imprinted in your mind.

"I am sorry Dream I can't do this."

"What?” A frown displayed on his face. “But I ensured no harm came to you.”

"Dream I was saved from becoming nightmare food by a mere second!"

"I would not have let any harm befall you." His eyes sook yours trying to convey the determination behind his words.

Your face softened. You wanted to believe him. You really did. But how could you trust his creations when you did not trust the creator himself.

"And I am just supposed to believe you?"

"Morta-"

"You know I have a name. If you want me to help you, the least you can do is stop perceiving me as a fly in your path and call me by my name!" you snapped.

Dream was silent.

"Get me out of here.”

You half expected him to deny your request but sand began swirling around you, and the next moment you were teleported back to the waking world. Had he so easily given up on you? Good riddance.

When you pushed the door to the apartment open, the guys were huddled together on the couch, watching television.

"Hey! how was your date?" Charles asked, his gaze fixed on the television.

"Terrible," you murmured and slammed the door to your bedroom behind you.

The king of Dreams sat on his throne, gazing at the universe contained in his ceiling, when he felt you enter the Dreaming. He always did. He entered the mountain clearing, your lone figure was sprawled on the grass in the distance beneath the starry sky. Before his brain could object, he started towards you.

You must have felt his presence because you bolted upright when he neared you, “Dream,”

His name felt so weightless on your tongue, he wanted to hear it again and again. You on the other hand didn’t know why you were so surprised to see him here, it was his realm after all.

“I told you I am not-"

“Relax Hazel, I am not here to impart any lessons to you.”

Hazel

“So why are you here?”

He opened his mouth and closed it, no answer left him. Had you just seen the Dream Lord hesitate? You patched the grass beside you, an invitation for truce. Tentatively, he sat down, his cloak spooling around him. It was an odd sight, seeing the Dream Lord on the ground beside you, instead of his ceremonious throne.

“Did you create this?” You asked.

“Partially, I had help.”

“I thought only you had the power to create dreams and nightmares.” Your time in the library had been well spent.

“It is true, but the vision can always belong to someone else. His voice was soft, words floating into the winds.

You imagined someone having the vision for this, for this phenomenal beauty you were sitting in and you thanked them.

“It’s beautiful.” Your voice came like a whisper.

Morpheus looked at you. “It is.”

You both sat in silence, gazing at the stars twinkling above you.

Dream’s voice penetrated the quiet. “Mort-Hazel, I never mean to belittle you. And believe it or not, I am grateful to you for your help. But you have to understand that-”

“Then make me understand.” You repeated your words from your first visit to the Dreaming.

Morpheus sighed before the low baritone of his voice reached you. “You know there are seven of us. There is Death, Destiny, Desire, Delirium, Despair, Destruction and I. And it is our purpose to ensure the smooth running of humankind. We have been here since the beginning of time itself and will be here when the last soul departs the Earth-” You had already read all this in the library but let him go on “-but along us siblings, there was,” he paused.

You thought it was for dramatic effect but when he didn’t continue, you called to him, “Dream?”

He inhaled sharply, “Hope.” The word left his mouth in a breathy exhale. “There was Hope, and she held together what you could call the fabric of humanity.”

“Where is she now?” You asked.

Dream looked at you for some time and answered, his voice a whisper, “dead.”

The hurt in his voice took you off guard.

“I am sorry.”

Silence engulfed the both of you again.

“Is that the reason behind the earthquakes?”

“Hope and Dream are co-dependent. Neither can exist without the other. We thought, we hoped that the future could withstand the loss of hope, but the inhabitants of the Dreaming grow weak without her pulse and the realm itself is failing.”

“And if it does, so will humanity.” Your words sunk in you.

“Because what are humans, rather any of us, without dreams and hope?” He looked at you.

“And that is why you need me, to instill trust in the dreams and nightmares so that they don’t stray from their purpose to serve humanity,” everything clicked, "Dream I had no idea-“

“It wasn’t your fault,” he stated. “But now since you know how imperative it is for the dreams and nightmares to learn to trust, the shadow of hope, will you help me,” his eyes held yours and there was a delicate plea seeping into his gravelly voice, “save the world?”

“Yes.”

You rested your head against Edwin's torso as you flipped through the mail you were holding. He was propped against the back of the wall as he went through a thick volume of ghost fungi or something. You couldn't care less. The past week had been tiring, an understatement of course. Your every organ was tired, despite sleeping for 10 hours a day. But it wasn't like you were sleeping, Morpheus and you trained every night in the Dreaming, and your grueling efforts had reaped no fruit yet. And during the days, the agency's work took a toll on you. The only respite from your exhausting and rigorous routine was the hour just before dawn, when you'd sit with Dream in your little bubble and gaze at the stars together. You'd begun looking forward to it every day, you had realised with reluctance.

"Aha! This seems interesting.” You held out a paper in your hand, grabbing the attention of both the boys.

Charles tilted his head from his position on the table to read the print on the paper. "A demon possession, brills!"

"So your believe you are possessed by a demon?" Edwin scribbled notes in his notepad.

"Yes.” The girl's voice was hoarse with crying.

"And what makes you believe that?"

"I-I wake up in strange places which I have no memory of traveling to, and there are voices inside my head-”

"Yeah, welcome to being alive duh," you snorted.

Shit you had said that aloud.

Charles gave you a rebuking look.

"Sorry," you muttered.

"The voices inside my head, they are too loud. He makes me do things I would never do," the girl continued.

"Can you..feel him right now?"

"No,” she shook her head, “he surfaces only occasionally," she sniffed.

"Hey." Charles held the girl by her shoulders. "Don't worry, you will be okay. We will get him out, we promise.”

Oh no, there was only one rule. You never ever promised a client. You look up expecting to see Edwin's dismal expression but only find a thin veil of envy coating his features. Oh boy.

You were just beginning to tease him when you caught the unmistakable unruly hair of the King of Dreams to your right in the distance.

"Uh guys, I will be right back," you told the group, "really need to pee."

God you needed to work on your excuses.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed when you neared him.

Matthew cawed on his shoulder.

"Pleased to meet you too Hazel.”

"I thought we had a deal, no training during daytime.”

"It's not I but Lucienne who seeks you. She needs your help with the library.”

"Oh?” Spending an entire day in the library of dreams? Sign me up. “Well then I could make an exception for her,” you hummed.

“Of course, it doesn’t assist any fascination of yours,” he mocked.

“Did you just attempt sarcasm? They grow up so fast.” You wiped false tears.

“Come now-”

“I need to tell the boys first, and don’t-don’t do that whirlpool thing here,” you looked around, “there are witnesses. Meet me at the-”

Before you could finish, he dissolved into nothingness. Great.

“Were you um talking to yourself?” Edwin’s voice spooked you.

You whirled around. “Yeah, just normal sane things.” You added hurriedly, “what’s with the girl?”

Edwin’s expression changed into annoyance at her mention. “Charles insists on taking her back to the apartment to-“ he drew quotation marks in the air, “-monitor her in hopes of expelling the demon out of her body.”

“Well all the best with that.”

“What do you mean? You aren’t coming back with us?”

“I just think that since she’s not a ghost and I don’t have any leverage over her, I might pursue other activities today.”

“Like the date?” Edwin frowned.

“No-Yes,” you sighed, giving up.

“Uh alright have fun. See you tonight.”

“You too.”

You were propped up in Lucienne’s chair, combing through yet another volume of the history of the universe. The sheer rarity of this knowledge baffled you. You hadn’t seen Morpheus since he had apparated the both of you in the library. Turns out, Lucienne had been rearranging vast sections of the library today and even though she didn’t exactly need your help with that, she welcomed an eager friend and her joyful company. After hours of studying her intricate filing system and aiding her in that, your tired self now sat a few feet away from where she stacked the remnant books in their allotted places. You simply were in awe of that woman. Matthew chirped from your shoulder, he had seemed to make a home there. Eyes drooping with exhaustion, you slammed the book shut. Should you ask them? It’s now or never right?

“Who was Hope?”

Lucienne froze in her movements, and Matthew stopped chirping. A feather could be heard dropped in the quiet that you had unknowingly compelled the room into.

The librarian answered after what felt like hours, “it isn’t our place to say, my lady.”

You nodded, a part of you had already known her answer.

“Hazel please Lucienne.”

”Sorry my la- Hazel.”

Jesse, you had learned was the name of the possessed girl, giggled at an extremely, extremely horrid joke of Charles.

“I don’t understand. That wasn’t funny,” Edwin said.

Man he really needed to learn to conceal his jealousy better.

“You and me both buddy,” you said more to yourself.

“It’s alright mate, it isn’t exactly Victorian humour,” Charles said in between laughs.

Charles and Jesse were clustered together on the couch, being unnecessarily touchy. Edwin was viewing them with a bitter scowl.

You nudged him in the ribs lightly, “Someone is jealous.”

“Please, like she is someone a human or ghost could get jealous over.”

Was he seriously that utterly daft?

“Eds I meant Charles,” you said it in a ‘duh that’s so obvious’ tone.

“What?” He got immediately defensive. “Charles is my best friend, and nothing more. Nor do I wish him to be,” he jutted his chin out.

“Ok liar, pants on fire,” you squinted at him.

“Hazel I don’t know how to prove that to you.”

You tittered, “prove it to yourself, love.”

Edwin sat in deliberate consideration for a while. You glanced at the time, 9:00 pm, you were so tired but the day was young even though the moon was out. A part of you just wanted to escape your destiny and blah blah, but the part that was slowly growing attached to Dream didn't let you do so.

“Hazel?” Charles’ voice pulled you back.

“Uh yeah,”

“So tell her about it.”

“About what?”

“About the case of the sea monster we solved a while back," he said with annoyance, "were you not listening to me?”

“Uh uh. No can do.” You got up, brushing imaginary flecks of dust from your pants. “Anyways lads, I am going to disintegrate myself into my beloved bed now where my beloved sleep awaits me.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my Hazel?” Charles pointed his fingers at you.

“What?” You laughed.

“Mate you have been going to bed at 9 pm for more than a week now, you, the one who put the sleep schedule of owls to shame.”

“Yeah I don’t know man I just feel super tired recently.”

“Everything's aces right?” Charles’ voice was concerned.

“You just seem a lot distant lately,” Edwin added.

“I do?” Genuine shock seeped into your tone. You needed to cover your tracks better. You fucking hated keeping things from them. Jesse looked curiously at you.

“Yep boys everything's aces, it’s just called being in your 20's right?” You tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke.

They didn’t even seem half convinced but didn’t interfere further as you entered your room and subsequently the land of Dreams.

The river babbled as it shimmered under the stars. Morpheus and you sat together after another training session. You were getting closer, both you and him were sensing it. You turned your head towards him, his dark eyes held the entire cosmos in them, and his cloak blended into the surroundings. Here in the dark, under the cover of the night, he almost felt like an extension of darkness itself. His hair was wild like always, falling on his forehead, and you had the sudden urge to glide your fingers through them and tuck them back. Embarrassing.

“Do you wish to say something, mortal?”

This time the mortal wasn’t used as a deriding remark, rather it had now become a term of endearment between you two.

“Did you love her?” The question escaped you.

Morpheus was silent. “Love who?”

“Hope,” you said, her name on your tongue a weird sensation.

He didn’t answer. But that was answer enough for you. Dream in love? The literal king of Dreams was capable of experiencing an emotion as tender as love? A pang of something hit your insides. Jealousy? No, can’t be. No way in hell you were falling for an Endless, least of all him.

Time laughed somewhere in the universe.

SERIES MASTERLIST✧˖°.

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palaeoplushies · 1 year

Text

Big Sook emerges from his tube to shame Sandy.

Sandy (elegant spotted lady) lost the wafer she was eating in the entrance to this tube. It's not actually where Big Sook (large orange lad with the tentacle face) lives, but he likes to use it as a short cut between his hidey hole and where the food normally appears. I put it there because his ridiculous face emerging from the entrance brings me joy each time.

These two are bristlenose "plecos", they're catfish in the genus Ancistrus and they don't get much bigger than "Big Sook" here, at around 13cm/5inches. They're smaller than they look in the photos! They were bred by humans to be different colours, Sandy is wild type!

#bristlenose pleco #ancistrus #catfish #fish #aquariums

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wordsbymae · 1 year

Note

"They ain't lap dogs you know, they're working dogs and you spoil em too much" but mousey is for sure his lap dog lmao

so now farmer finally has them. what now? would he propose, not like in the the other AU when he is older? or would he just start going around the town telling people about his little wife/husband/spouse? because, what is little mouse supposed to do? they just can't say no to the only person that is so nice to them, the only person that takes care and protect them (or so the farmer say). mousey must return the favour.

I literally was going to answer about an hour ago but got completely distracted by making a mood board for the farmer's two dogs cause you reminded me of them. whoops!

Anyway!

Oh for sure!!!! He doesn't need his boys to be his lap dogs when he has the prettiest thing all to himself.

There is no way on God's green earth he will ever actually propose. Don't get me wrong, he wants nothing more than to marry his little mouse and put a ring on it. But actually courting them? Actually having to be vulnerable and open himself up to rejection?

Never ever going to happen.

I can see this going really two ways, there is a third secret option but that's for later.

The first way is he just starts acting like you're married. Tells everyone in town he can't stay too long or the missus/ his partner will be getting worried. Gushes about your cooking to anyone who will listen makes it clear that he's got a sweet little thing waiting all for him back at home. Carries a Polaroid picture of you hugging Pancho, with a big wide smile and while Lefty sooks in the corner. He'll show it off whenever he has the chance, talking about you and your boys.

Those who watched you two that day at the farmers' market just nod their heads with smiles and wish him all the best. He probably starts even wearing a plain gold band. Proud to show it off.

Meanwhile, the reader is confused when the very rare times they leave the farm everyone wishes them congratulations (and asks if any kids will be coming).

Mouse brings it up to the farmer and tells them they don't want people getting the wrong idea. They're just friends. The farmer just laughs at this.

"It's a bit too late to stop them from getting the wrong idea Mouse"

He practically gaslights them, I mean what's the big problem? Who cares if a few town folks think they got hitched. They are living together. You do act like a homemaker. You can't blame anyone for thinking you two had been married for years. The only thing stopping you two from actually being seen as truly married is the lack of a ring on your finger and you not being in his bed.

And would it really be so bad? Being his?

He's been so good to you. So kind. Like how a real husband would act. He looks after you and protects you. Buys you the prettiest things and asks nothing in return.

But now he is. Now he's asking for payment. Be his little homemaker in law as well and he'll take care of you like he always has.

You can't say no. You quit your job when your cottage burned down, just as the farmer told you to.

"I'll look after you mouse. Until you get back on your feet of course"

No one is hiring in town and even if you did get a job you wouldn't be able to buy or even rent a house. There was nowhere to go. There was taking the chance on living on the streets but wouldn't it just be easier to just say yes?

He was kinda right. You've already practically been his stay-at-home sweetheart, how bad would it be if you put a ring on your finger. This is everything you've ever wanted. To be his pretty spouse, him all to yourself.

So why did it feel so wrong?

The second is mostly fem reader but he would not be against baby trapping. If for even one moment he thought you would say no to being his wife, he would resort to baby trapping. I always view this fic set in the 60s or 70s (maybe even 50s) so there would be no way you could leave him with a babe in your belly. You would have no husband and no support. So of course you don't really have a choice. You're already on thin ice living with a single man, but that was something you could cover by explaining why. But a baby? That can't be hidden, can't be explained away. So as soon as you knew, the farmer would have a priest ready and waiting.

Tag list: @floraroselaughter

#implied pregnancy #mostly gn reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere prompts #oc #oc farmer #yandere farmer #baby trapping #pregnancy #fem reader for half

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