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jacesvelaryons · 4 months

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english love affair

social media au

kpop idol!reader x tom blyth

fc: jennie kim

i love making these and have some in my drafts so feel free to send requests/face claim requests/suggestions

(ps: i had to redo this bc the first time i posted not only did it not post, it didn’t save any of my changes so i had to do it again. 😭)

Requests are OPEN for both soc med aus and blurbs for Tom and his characters

yourusername

liked by zendaya and others

@calvinklein

hunterschafer beautiful girl

liked by yourusername

↪️yourusername that’s you babes 😘

taylorswift so proud of you hon

lola.tung can’t wait to see your pretty face all on the billboards AHH

tomblyth ❤️

liked by yourusername

↪️ user23 OH?

↪️ fan98 they know each other?

↪️ user9 and she liked!

user8 insert olivia wilde nodding meme

random56 when you’re that girl!

username7 y/n world domination she’s a singer dancer rapper songwriter producer model like what can she not do

ynfans

liked by randomuser and others

y/n has now followed actor tom blyth who has recently stared in the new hunger games movie the ballad of songbirds and snakes!

he has previously liked and commented on her recent post, and she’s stated previously that she’s a fan of the trilogy and has watched this new movie multiple times!

ynfan98 this is interesting bc she barely follows ppl as it is

user76 the way she’s barely active on social media and does this she’s so old lady coded 😭

user12 DID YALL SEE TOMS THIRST TRAP

↪️ user8 HIS WHAT?!

↪️ username6 YES SKDKDK not even a few hours since she followed now he’s like this

↪️ random87 real because i’d be thirst trapping to get her attention

tomblyth

liked by yourusername and others

outtakes from my recent vogue italia shoot

user1 ok thirst trap

ynfan NOT HIM POSTING THIS RIGHT AFTER YOURNAME FOLLOWS HIM BACK

↪️ random488 HES SO REAL

↪️ user978 IM CRYING HES SO HOT

↪️ user11 AND IT WORKED SHE LIKED BACK

rachelzegler you look okay i guess 🙄

↪️ tomblyth i’ll take it

mayahawke looking good my boy

↪️ tomblyth 👍

↪️ random5 his millennial ahh reply 😭

liked by mayahawke

yourusername stunning

liked by tomblyth

↪️ user12 not him acting coy after that thirst trap when she followed him 😭

↪️ user9 he thinks he’s slick when he’s probably fangirling she’s noticing him

user12 how did they meet not my worlds colliding

↪️ random1 probably rachel introduced them yk how rach is a social butterfly

liked by rachelzegler

↪️ user9 see? rach liking just confirms it she set them up

blythnation

liked by tbfns and others

tom’s now deleted story (1.12.2024)

user097 not him deleting this naurrr

tomfans wait my friends said they saw him in london what is he doing there if he ain’t filming anything?

user64 wait the shoes he’s holding look like something yn would wear at the recent gala in london hold on 👀👀

↪️ username678 you’re so right cause coincidence i think not

↪️ random75 maybe he went as her date! it’s a big night for her and her career. how sweet!

yourusername

liked by naomi and others

A huge honour to receive the Honorary MBEs and attend the South Korea-UK State Banquet at Buckingham Palace 🎖️💂‍♀️

onyourm_ark congrats y/nnie!

↪️ yourusername thanks markles im gonna cry omg

↪️ johnnyjsuh so proud of you y/n 🎉🥳

dualipa you’re one of us now 🥰🥰

↪️ yourusername kisses kisses hugs hugs

↪️ user87 one of us like 👀interesting

↪️ person97 cause she got an english man too

oliviarodrigo congrats my love!

liked by yourusername

↪️ yourusername thank you angel ✨

↪️ random97 wait both my girls booed up by english boys they’re on the same wavelength

username188 am i dreaming or does the shoes on tom’s deleted story match her dress

↪️ ynfan I SEE IT OMG did they go together

↪️ fan65 my cousin who works at the palace apparently heard he entered through the private back entrance to attend the ball and seated where he’s not visible by the camera

↪️ user97 so cute for her to bring him as a date! must be serious tho

↪️ randomuser7 great he attended and supported her during one of the biggest nights of her career but didn’t hog the spotlight

↪️ user121 a real man wouldn’t be threatened by a woman’s success

liked by yourusername

↪️ user53 exactly yn deserves someone who knows his place and that she’s a star and not to be jealous and try to stifle her talent and creativity and personality

yourusername posted a story

#tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #tom blyth #tom blyth x you #social media aus #kpop idol reader

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romanarose · 1 month

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I Miss You, Mr. Miller

DBF!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Joel makes you WET wet.

AKA

There's a pun here about eggs somewhere.

Warnings: Masturbating, sex toys, body worship, "little bunny", joel making sure reader knows he's old man, degrading, almost getting caught.

Immersivity: Reader is fem, dresses very feminine. Drinks and celebrates Christian holidays, not is christian but like family and culturally. Major age gap. Big girthy age gap but reader is 21+. Mentions of church.

A/N: Part of the DBF!Joel Holiday fuck series but you don't gotta read the previous part. I missed Easter OOPS so now we get a flashback.

1.3k words

You liked to start off slow, take your time with yourself. Hands, gliding over your shirt, feeling your body all the way down to your thighs. You learned this from Joel.

Sure a quickie was fun, especially under the threat of being caught, but Joel preferred to take his time with you. Likewise, you started to mimic this when masturbating. Joel you could, theoretically, take the vibe to your clit, put on some Gone Wild Audio and git’er done, but why? Why not show your body the appreciation it deserved. You were beautiful. You were sexy. Joel wasn’t the only one who could enjoy it.

Joel knelt before your spread legs, hands running up and down your pretty little Easter dress. Your dad had invited Joel over for Easter dinner, and you’d stayed in your dress all day to make sure he saw you in it. Joel was certain to show his appreciation.

“Such a pretty dress… such a pretty little bunny…” His fingers tweaked your nipples as he eyed you. “M one lucky old man.”

You giggle. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

Joel hummed. He loved when you called him that. Today, he’d had to hide the bonner he was sporting after you greeted him as Mr. Miller in your cute dress, hair all done up… he couldn’t stop thinking how he’d railed you in the church bathroom after Good Friday services… dirty, dirty girl.

Your hand skimmed over your clit at the memory… you might not need any porn this time, you were so turned on, so sensitive… you whimper at the first touch. Cupping your breasts, you try to get the feeling Joel gave when he touched them, but it wasn’t the same. Joel’s hands were large, rough, sure… Still, it felt good touching such sensitive parts of your body, and you sigh. You remember how much Joel praised you on Easter, touch yourself to the echo of his voice.

“Darling, beautiful girl… just look at you, cock dumb girl begging to be fucked with her dad downstairs… surrounded by teddies and pink frilly pillows… act’n like such a good girl, but you ain’t, are yuh?”

“Joooooel” You whine under his touch. “No, I’m a good girl…”

“Nuh-uh” Joel rips open your white tights to find you bare. “Good girls wear underwear to church.” he runs two fingers up your slicked up cunt. “Good girls don’t get wet for grumpy old men.”

You plunge two fingers into your core quickly dissatisfied so you add another. That makes you moan. You begin to pump them in and out of yourself, nowhere near as thick and god, not hitting close to how deep Joel hits you, when he fucks you raw. It’s wholly unsatisfying, but you were just getting started.

Joel finger fucked you, his two middle fingers pumping you at a rapid pace. “Naughty, naughty girl, little cunt clenching on my fingers… I can feel how tight you're getting, but you can’t cum yet… you wanna behave, don’t you? Or are you just as bad as I thought you were… Jesus Christ darl’n, can’t wait to get my cock up my bunny girl's guts again, shit, ‘m gonna miss you.”

Sarah was graduating college next year, and Joel was taking her on a road trip for a few weeks to tour colleges. Tommy had joked, saying he could ‘take care of yuh’ while he’s gone but Joel smacked him upside the head.

“Joel” you whimper. “I think… fuck… I think I’m gonna pee”

Instead of getting off you, Joel grinned. “Keep hold’n, baby… Ima take care of you.”

You stuff your cunt full of four fingers, just trying to get a taste of what Joel left you with, a bit of that memory. Chanting his name, ‘Joel, Joel, Joel’ You chase that high that’s starting to build in your stomach. You remember how he fingered you, how he kissed your neck, arms, stomach, legs, every single inch of your body he loved so much.

“Joel!” You try to warn him again, but he’s not listening. Instead, he brings his face close to your dripping hole.

“Let it go, sweet bunny, let go.”

Fuck. He edged you for 20 minutes, even as your mom walked past your door gossiping on the phone about Mrs. McKenzie’s nose ring. You’d warned him, now he’d deal with the consequences. Can’t be as bad as when you’d thrown up on him after St. Patrick's Day.

But when you let go, you cum. It’s hard, liquid shooting out of your body but it didn’t feel like pee. Your legs shake, body seizing up in shock from the sheer force of your orgasm. Joel laps it up, hungrily devouring your, drinking you up like you were communion wine.

Vibrator on your clit, you remember how Joel ate you out as you came, grinding his hips against the bed, small little moans escaping his pretty little mouth, he bucked and licked and humped and sucked, growling when you stopped and eating you out until you came again, desperately biting your lip to not scream his name. Here in your apartment, in your own bed that Joel carried up here on Presidents Day, you could scream if you wanted to. And you did. Your orgasm hitting you, you keep the vibrator to the exact pressure it was at and ride out your orgasm wishing it was on Joel’s face.

Joel kissed you, his soaking wet face and beard all over yours as you lay there in shock, completely spent from the orgasm.

“What…” You pant. “Was that…”

Joel couldn’t keep his mouth off your skin very long, only barely managing to mumble that you squirted. “Such a good girl, oh my god, I was wrong, you’re just, fuuuuck, such a good fuck’n girl…”

You smile against him. “You gonna fuck me or what, Mr. Miller?”

Joel ground his crotch against yours. Wet. “Your little stunt make me cum in my pants like I’m a fuck’n teenager again, yuh lil brat.” He flicked a tit playfully.

Once every last bit of pleasure was exhausted, when you had cum your hear out to the thought of Joel fucking Miller between your legs, loudly and proudly. You sit up and smile at the phone at you pillow, still recording. You make sure to save the voice note in messenger, then cue it up to send it to Joel.

Sweet Thing: Use headphones, don’t open around Sarah ;)

*Send* You fall back on your bed, smiling.

“Joel?” Your dad called along with your name, making you startle. “I know you’re in there!”

You look to Joel in a panic, eyes wide and scared. Not scared of your dad, perse, he was good natured. Scared of disappointing him.

Your dad again. “Your boots are still at the door and it’s too muddy to go outside without em, open the damn door.”

Joel turned to you, whispering. “I’ll take the fall, it was my idea.”

You and Joel both stand, looking more proper. Joel’s black pants covered the fact he came in them, and your dress covered your ripped tights“Joel, no-” But he cut you off with a stern look.

“Ima take care of you, darl’n, understand?”

You nod. Joel unlocks the door and your dad steps in, arms crossed. “I know what you two are doing.”

Joel steps forward. “Listen man, it ain’t her fault.”

Your dad held out a hand. “Hey, I don’t care if you guys smoke weed together.”

You blink. He thought you were sneaking off together for a blunt? “Oh… you don’t?” You don’t smoke weed. Joel does, but you never found much interest.

“Nah,” He waved his hand. “Just do it behind the garage, okay? It ain’t legal here yet. The neighbors can see your window from here.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Right, right, thanks man.”

“Thanks dad, sorry.”

Your dad chuckled. “I’m the cool dad, remember!”

Your dad was absolutely not cool, but he was fun. A good dad. And you and Joel dodged a bullet, but you needed to be more careful. You run off to pretend to smoke a blunt.

SORRY IM LATE YALL LMFAOOOOO

Lum to me: Are you not doing the holiday Joel series anymore ;-;?

Me: Did I miss a holiday?

YEAH JUST EASTER I GUESS

I relayed this story to Clem and said "not my fault, I don't celebrate easter anyway, Jesus means nothing to Jews"

Clem "DIDN"T YOU CELEBRATE EASTER FOR A CHUNK OF YOUR LIFE?"

She's right! but she didn't have to say it :((((((( lmfaooooo

Anyway I did a new chapter of this AND and new Room's on fire so, y'all'er welcome XD

Check out my upcoming pride event!

hugs!

Im phasing out my taglist, so make sure to follow @romana-updates

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring

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ariundercovers · 2 months

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Bad Man (joel miller x afab!fem!reader)

Words: ~1.2k

Summary: Joel was a bad man. Neither of you gave a single fuck about it. (there's nothing here but pure filth. i am not sorry nor will i apologize. it spewed out of my brain and now here you be)

Warnings: 18+ only, rough sex, unprotected p in v, ass slapping, neck grabbing, bruising mentioned, girthy age gap, slightly toxic internal thoughts/monologue

masterlist here

You’re not sure how you got into this position, got to this place.

Well… actually, that’s a lie.

You’re pretty sure of it, if you’re being honest with yourself, and it has everything to do with Joel’s big fucking mouth and his stupid, flirty personality. It has even more to do with his perfect, stupid, glorious tongue and his frustratingly fat cock.

The speckled gray hair and the crow’s feet at his eyes were just the icing on top of the cake for you, really. A well-worn man with just as worn hands, willing to use them to deliver all of the pain and pleasure you could possibly ask for. He fucks, and he fucks well. He fucks like someone who’s lived an entire life, knows exactly what he wants, and takes it. Every time.

It’s all that you can think about, all that you can manage to do as he spears his hips into you from behind, nearly knocking the wind out of your chest with every thrust.

Joel was a bad man. A very, very bad man.

And you fucking loved him for it.

Every grunt you hear from behind you spurs you on a little further, makes your core get a little bit wetter, until you feel beads of sweat start to drip from his body and onto your back. You cry out for him as the fingers of one hand dig bruisingly into your hip, and the palm of the other takes turns slapping at each of your asscheeks until you’re sure they’re a bright, stinging red with the heat you can feel radiating off of them already.

There’s nothing in your mind, nothing in your body, but Joel. Joel everywhere.

He stops his smacks, but not his thrusts, and grips you tightly at the nape of your neck, shoving your face down into the couch beneath you. He holds you there, barely enough room to get a breath in between your cheek and the cushion, but the new angle makes you absolutely see stars. You cry out for him, fingers digging into the couch as you try to find purchase anywhere you can manage.

You feel like your insides are on fire - and so are your asscheeks - everything is, really, because Joel is all over you and inside of you and everywhere and everything and it was so fucking perfect you could cum just from the thought of it all.

You were sure this was what heaven must feel like. Did you make him feel just as good? He hisses behind you and you feel another rush of slick to your core as you think about it.

This, right here, was heaven. You knew it. You didn’t need to die to get there, and hell, you surely knew Joel wouldn’t be coming with you, anyway. So this would be enough. You’d let Joel bring a little piece of heaven to you, just like this, anytime he wanted to. You’d never say no to him.

And the thing is, you were right. Joel was a bad man. A very, very bad man. And he knew it. He just didn’t care.

With Ellie leaving and Tommy off to start his own family, what else did he have left? Who cares if he started fucking the little stable girl, young and perky and pliant and willing… all for him, any night of the week?

Could you really blame him for not giving a rat’s ass about what anyone else thought?

Maria would have his head if she knew, probably chastise him for being a dirty old man, call him a pervert or a cradle robber or something even worse.

You were legal, though. At least legal to the standards of 2003… legality ain’t much of a thing, these days.

He grunts heavily above you, staring down at you like you’re some kind of magic, materialized beneath his hands. Your fucking skin is just so fucking soft… Not hard and war-torn like his. And your hands… Oh the way your soft, gentle hands make him feel when they’re wrapped around his cock. Don’t even get him started on your fucking perky, perfectly pouty lips. He might as well have a heart attack and go to heaven each time you wrap your lips around his length.

So, fuck it. He wants this. Damn near feels like, after all this time, maybe, just maybe, he even deserves it. Deserves a warm cunt to sink himself into at the end of the day, a perky set of tits to play with, a smiling face that calls out for him not in stress or frustration but in pleasure.

Yeah. He wants it. He really, really fucking wants it. And he’s gonna take it - and keep taking it - over and over again until you’ve had your fill of him or until he drops dead in the process. He’s gonna take you every way he possibly can.

With the most mental clarity he’s had since that moment in the hospital with Ellie, Joel’s hips stutter for a moment as his breath catches in his throat. It’s just a second - barely a blip - but you notice. Of course you fucking notice. You start to turn your head back to him as if to ask him about it, but he just keeps fucking you relentlessly into the couch, never giving you a moment to even breathe, let alone ask a question.

He keeps your face pressed down into the cushions beneath you, and one of his broad arms wraps around your waist, a single calloused finger rubbing softly at your swollen nub. It takes very few moments of his touch at your clit to send you spiraling into oblivion, your back arching violently away from him as he continues to pound into you, both hands resting at each hip. His fingertips dip into your hip bones as he pulls you up and down on his cock, bouncing you off of his thighs with each thrust. He doesn’t give you a moment to think, let alone come down from the high of your orgasm, until he can feel the familiar tightening in his balls, slamming into you once - twice - three more times before he’s pulling out of you just in time to splatter his hot cum all over your well-abused ass.

The pearly white beads of his cum nearly sparkle across the reddened skin of your ass cheeks and he groans in satisfaction as he catches his breath, loving the look of you painted with his seed. His.

His.

The possessive, needy demon comes out in him as he slaps his hand down against your reddened ass one more time and smears his cum all the way across your backside.

“You’re fucking mine, little girl. You understand me?”

You mewl, eyes shutting tightly as you press your ass back into the touch of his hands. He’ll be gentle with you later when you’re alone upstairs, buried under the sheets, where it’s safe and he’s sure no one’s watching. His shell will crack and you’ll get a little glimpse into his miserable broken insides, but not now. Not yet.

Now, he’s all sharp edges and teeth, rough and raw and oh-so Joel.

He slaps your ass again, smearing his cum across your back before raking his nails sharply down your spine.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

~ ~ ~

A/N: if you liked it, PLEASE leave a comment and/or a reblog! your interactions are literally the fuel to my fire! Love you all! xoxoxo

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #joel tlou #pedro pascal #pedro #pedro pascal fanfiction #no beta we die like men #writing

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toxicanonymity · 7 months

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he's only human

1.1k, raider!joel x f!reader, OC Carter x himself

kinktober-ish special? mild voyeurism w/ a seasonal flare 🎃 Raider Master | About Raider Carter SUMMARY: PWP with inner conflict. Joel POV as he goes down on you, then Joel's right-hand man Carter hears/sees a glimpse of you and Joel for the nth time and has intrusive thots when he jacks off. A/N: Overlaps with the end of ✨ hunger, starts with Joel POV and shifts to Carter POV. This one goes out to @romanarose, charter member of the Carter fan club - feels like so long ago lmao. @toxicfics for notifications. WARNINGS: oral f receiving (from Joel), brief p in V (Joel), mild voyeurism then jacking off (Carter), mild angst - intrusive thots.

Joel’s had his head between your legs before, but not like this. Not intentionally, not because he craved it. Not for his pleasure or yours. Not with his hand wrapped around his cock. God damn, it’s paradise, he’s like a starved animal. You taste like home. He’s dreamed about it– in a cozy log cabin, he had you laid out on a sheepskin rug by a fireplace and just devoured you without a care in the world. Then he woke up and remembered not to be that happy. Now that he’s let himself have this, he can’t physically get enough.

He opens his mouth wide, tonguing you hard, mapping and claiming every crevasse of you, thirstily taking every drop of you he can find, nosing your clit, kissing it, sucking, thumbing it as his tongue gathers slick from your entrance again and he palms your breast. There’s nothing else in the world right now. His world is between your thighs.

“Joel,” you whimper. His cock twitches dangerously close to climax and he stops moving his hand.

“I want it,” you beg. God damn, it’s the prettiest sound.

Joel pries his mouth off your cunt and catches his breath.

—Carter—-

Carter comes up the hill and sees the fire roaring with two big pots of water. The dog growls quietly at him, but quickly goes back to working on — is that a duck head? Carter walks up to the fire and peeks into the pots—hot damn, a duck in each. As he approaches the trailer door, he’s probably a little quieter than he needs to be. He hears you and Joel both moaning. Joel’s moans are muffled, and yours are unrestrained. Carter’s cock twitches when he realizes what Joel’s doing. Blood rises to his cheeks and he swallows, but doesn’t walk away just yet.

“Ain’t done,” Joel growls and Carter’s heart jumps, thinking Joel’s addressing him. It wouldn’t be the first time Joel kept going with Carter right there. Certainly not the first time in earshot. But the first time doing this. Carter could look if he wanted to right now, but he doesn’t, not even when you completely unravel as you moan Joel’s name. He can picture you writhing in bliss, even if he doesn’t want to.

Shit. Carter adjusts himself. He should go. As he turns to leave, it’s a quick, involuntary glance he takes. A split second but it sears the backs of his eyelids.�� Your spine is arched, nipples jutting toward the ceiling as Joel pushes his length into you. Carter’s heart races and he doesn’t linger. As he begins to walk away, Joel sighs, “ohhh, fuck.”

Carter’s quickly gotten hard, too hard. This is too much, it’s not gonna go away. He shouldn’t let himself get like this, too easy to turn on. He hasn’t relieved himself in too long. The old magazines are so faded and wrinkled by now, they just remind him of the outbreak. He thinks about how all the models are probably dead, the men and the women. His mind sometimes drifts to you, he can’t help it.

Alright, he’s got to do this quick. The woods, the edge of the woods. Like he’s just taking a leak. Carter palms his hard cock over his pants on his way to the forest. This damn dog better not snitch on him after Carter kept his mouth shut earlier.

When he reaches the woods, he urgently undoes his pants, takes his cock out of his boxers, and spits in his hand. He sighs when he wraps his hand around it. He tries with all his might to pry his thoughts away from what he saw, but he keeps coming back to different scenes of you and Joel. He really can’t really help it, it’s the only sexual content he’s seen in years that doesn’t depress him, and Joel isn’t shy about it at all. He knows Carter would never do anything. If Joel knew some of Carter’s thoughts, though. . .

He tries to think about an ex-girlfriend, but he thinks of you in Joel’s lap. He thinks about the last girl who sucked him off, but he feels ashamed, he shouldn’t have let her, she was desperate. He thinks about you in Joel's lap again. Carter thinks about you in his own lap—no, fuck no, he squints his eyes shut and shakes his head trying to force the thought away. He thinks about Halle Berry in James Bond, she wasJoel's favorite Bond girl too. Carter thinks about you writhing under Joel right now–NO!

He thinks about the goddamn preview of Jessica Biel in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2003, with her low rise jeans and tank top that never got to grace the big screen--he's tried to construct this movie from scratch in his mind on long treks. He thinks about Jessica Biel cresting the hill begging him for help, nipples poking through that tank top, raising his rifle, looking for Leatherface, Jessica Biel's jeans riding so low, but somehow still hugging her body. Then he thinks about your body, and Joel grabbing your ass, and god damn it, he tries to think about nothing at all.

He focuses on his cock. He spits on it again. His eyes follow the veins as his hand glides along his light tan shaft. He’s blessed, he knows it. He moves his hand faster, cups his balls with the other hand. He pumps his stiff shaft, closing his fist over the pink head. It's a nice dick. Maybe he’ll have someone to give it to one day. He thumbs the precum at his tip.

He thinks about you sitting on Joel’s cock in the van that day you ran, only a foot away, the way the sex smelled, he pictures Jessica Biel cresting the hill again for a split second then remembers Joel is splitting you open on the table right now, just right over there, he can still see it, he can hear it, and you’re probably falling apart right about now–oh shit–no, fuck, uughhhhhhghhh—his cock begins to pulse. He angles it onto the leaves in front of him. “Ahhhhhh,” he sighs as quietly as he can as he empties himself. He feels a rush of guilt.

He can so vividly picture the barrel of Joel’s gun right between his eyes right now. More vividly than what he just saw in real life. Carter would never, ever do anything. Honest to God, he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t. It’s just that he’s only human, and you’re there, and sometimes it feels like Joel can’t go even a few minutes without touching you in places that shouldn’t cross Carter’s mind–your thighs, your ass. Joel makes sure everyone sees you’re his, and sometimes that just. .. .does something.

You are Joel’s. Carter loves you and Joel together even if you make Joel a little crazy, even if it’s caused more friendly fire than Carter ever thought he’d clean up. You make Joel a little crazy, but you also make him a little better. You’re Joel’s, that’s how it should be. But you’re also a pretty girl, who makes pretty sounds, and that’s hard to ignore sometimes.

-------

Thank you so much for reading! I was writing the next part of raider with a brief turn in Carter POV and my fingers slipped.

#raider!joel #raider!Joel miller #Joel Miller x reader #joel miller smut #raider!carter #kinktober #toxicanonymity ☠️#joel miller x female reader #someone jacks off #boyd holbrook #boyd holbrook smut

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honestsycrets · 8 months

Note

HELLO, HELLO! Okay, so this drabble prompt/idea is kinda sorta in the vein of Querido (I only think about Old Western Miguel now I cannot help it pls forgive me head empty only man and hörse), so pls skip if you're not inspired or in the mood for more in this genre!

Still, I offer you this: Sheriff Miguel.

He's someone all the women have their eyes on, and he'd have his eyes on them, too, if he were younger. But he has a baby girl to worry about, a runaway wife to forget, and a town to keep an eye on, especially when a woman from the big city pays the little down a visit.

He meets her when he loses Gabriella in the market's crowd, only to find her tugging on a fine dress belonging to a fine woman.

(P.S. reading your writing has inspired me to get back into writing my own reader insert stuff 💖 really love your work, keep it up!!)

bumblebee | sheriff!miguel x dressmaker!reader

❛ pairing | sheriff-singleparent!miguel o'hara x dressmaker!reader

❛ type | extended drabble, not-explicit, wc: 2600ish

❛ summary | miguel loses his daughter-- and finds a part of himself he thought was long past dead.

❛ tags | self-edited, querido au, f!reader, sheriff!miguel, dressmaker!reader, implied parental abandonment, some mention of thievery, widowed!reader, mostly fluff, some mention of death, spanish not translated.

❛ sy's notes | i intended this to be a drabble but... it's quite a bit longer. anon, i hope you end up writing to your heart's content.

Miguel ain’t the kinda man women really need. He’s the kinda man they think they want. A big man with a big name, sure, but he��s saddled with what their fathers colloquially call baggage. A little three-year-old girl with ambitions of rolling on out of this little town by rolling on out of his fingertips.

“Oye, Gwen,” he catches the arm of his deputy. She’s out on the town just as he was, making rounds about the grassy plain where the market was booming. With too few stalls, the marketgoers visit full wooden wagons chock-full of goods. This year, there were new boxes of small circular chocolates. Once every year, his quiet little town became a bustling fuck fest with foreigners running a muck of it all. As sheriff, he just had to deal with it.

“What’s it, sheriff?” she asks. “Something wrong?”

“You seen my littlin anywhere? Swore she was right here.”

This is his penance for fooling around with the hearts of pretty women: chasing him his own little girl and minding the crowd. His long, slicked-back hair was all kinds of out of place, whirling over his wrinkled forehead. He shoves a strand of grey hair back in place out of his dark eyes and scans his little town. She could’ve slipped into any creaky old building that wasn't locked up or hitched a ride on a wagon she didn’t belong on. Or, alternatively…

“Miguel! Rio saw her by the sweets.” Former Sherriff Morales tells him, standing by his son’s stall of sweet roasted corn. Ordinarily, he’d give it a begrudging visit. Miguel whirls around on his muddy leather boots, throwing him a nod of thanks with Gwen short on his tail.

“Sounds promisin’,” she says. “Could be searchin’ for Lyla or Peter.”

“Thank you for the help, Sheriff,” he grumbled, shoving his way past a sea of cream, brown, and black dresses. Gwen could spider her way through the groups of people with her comparatively slender frame. As a consequence of Miguel’s hulking frame, he’s markedly slower in his search.

“Ain’t here either,” Gwen hops back to his side. “You sure she wandered off?”

"She had to."

The alternative was… well, he didn't want to think about it. Out of his periphery, he caught the glimmer of polished metal. He spots his daughter’s peachy dress, bundled up with a fat white bow complete with a bell. He put the thing on thinking that, ideally, his little girl would jingle up some hell of noise if she got lost. Some good that bell did.

“You lost mi amor?”

Lost. The word stands out to him first, all dressed up in a sugar cube of a voice. His Gabriella tugs on a stranger’s long gown, eyes pricked with tears streaming down her cheeks. Of all the people-- she couldn’t just pick on someone she knew? Head to Rio’s hostel, find Deputy Gwen stalking around, or even Hobie’s bum ass strumming a tune on the old stage. No, she’s with a strange woman.

“Now don’t you cry,” you dab away the stray tears with an embroidered handkerchief. “I’ll find you home.”

You’re not from here because you’re all done up like a buttercup in spring when the women here only broke out color for church. Corset sucking in the finest assets, a buttercream bustle underneath that buttercup yellow skirt. Hair up in a waterfall of curls and covered by a small slouched hat of flowers. You held a parasol for the evening sun, keeping it off your tanned skin.

“There,” Miguel set his hands on his hips, catching his head in a shake. Gwen leans over on the ball of her feet and stares straight down the barrel of a path.

“My my,” she says. “Ain’t she a looker. Why are you-- You look good, Miguel.”

She’s caught on his frantic fiddling. The way Miguel straightens his tie into his waistcoat and checks the chain that drapes along his side. He checks the time on his cracked pocketwatch and spins it between his fingers. Gwen leans up to flick a stray strand of hair away from his face.

“Think so?”

“Entirely presentable.”

"¿De veras?" Miguel clears his throat, “Best be on my way to get her.” Miguel loops his fingers on his fine leather belt and waltzes right on up to your stall of hand-sewn dresses.

For once in his life, he feels underdressed. A man sets some coins in your hand, plucking up a small communion dress for his daughter. With ruffles, lace, and the occasional ribbon. He’s not sure how much luck you’d have selling more than scraps of ribbon in this little town. You set the coins aside, turning your attention back to his daughter who-- somehow, got a brand new ribbon bundled in her ponytail between his fiddling and the walk over.

“Buenas tardes,” he clears his throat, whipping out his metal badge. “I’m Sherriff O’Hara.”

“Encantada, Sheriff O’Hara. You’re looking as pretty as a penny this fine afternoon. Can’t be wanting any of my dresses. My name is… well, how can I help you?”

“Papa,” Gabriella coos as if this whole mess wasn’t on her tiny little shoulders. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, not yet.

“Yes, mami, Sheriff O’Hara. Do you know old Sheriff O’Hara?” Miguel suppresses his delight as you lift her up onto your hip. Most days, he didn’t notice his own melancholy. Coming home to his little girl soothed all that like a good helping of booze after a bad wound. “She likes you.”

You sure talk pretty. He clears his throat, pulling on the sloppy tie that feels a whole lot hotter all of a sudden. He shouldn't be acting like this. Has it really been that long since he’s been with a girl? He couldn't go to the saloon and pick any one of those lovesick girls. The town wouldn’t continually elect a loose man. Miguel’s eyes catch the flickering gold of a bumblebee locket on your chest. He traces the curve of its wings, wrapping around a crusted gem.

“‘Course she does, she’s my girl. I lost Gabi up in the crowd flow.”

“You lost her? You can’t tell me you’re the kinda man that does it all. Where is your wife?”

Where is your wife? The question tormented him. He could do it all. Managing the sloppy, slow thieves and putting down the occasional drunken brawl. At the end of the night, he came home to his empty home and saw his little girl. Miguel’s gaze danced along the puffy clouds in the sky. The fluffy clouds drift the same as usual, the same old slow draw, unknowledgeable about the change in his life. He suppresses the distant melancholy in his voice in surfacing old memories.

“Ain’t got a wife. She ran off on me with some wolf. Usually, I got a sitter for my girl but, she came down with a fever.”

“A wolf?” you repeat after him, “Why, you mean a gentleman?”

A gentleman, he scoffs under his breath.

“If you wanna call him that. He was an outlaw.”

“I’m mighty sorry, Sheriff.” You looked at the little girl in your arms. Gabriella’s small fingers fiddle with the glimmering gold pendant on your chest. He throws her a look-- behave. She’s not paying attention one bit. You set your parasol down, freeing the necklace and setting it in her tiny fist. “I’m a whole widow myself. Lost my man in the war and never got the chance to have one’a my own.”

“You don’t say. You on the market?”

“On the market like cattle?” you teased. If he’s not mistaken, that shy smile of yours was all his. Maybe you like him. It's a signal that he could keep going.

“Coño, no. You’re too fine for that,” the words are buttery smooth, but upon discovering how the words may come off, he realizes he might be sliding into a trap on the back of those words. Your lips are slightly agape, half in shock. “Pretty. You’re too pretty.”

“Oh, Sheriff, don’t worry your head,” you adjust Gabriella on your hip, swaying in place like it was natural. “I ain’t one to take offense to pretty words. Suppose you want your niña back?”

There went his chance.

"That'd be best," he slides his hands underneath Gabriella’s tiny arms to pick her up. The pendant she held clattered free from her grip, nestled in the deep grass. You were about to pick it up when a scrawny thing of a man swiped it from the grass. For an instant, Miguel thought it might be Pavi, who loved to be helpful in the most annoying ways. Catching doors even when it's men, dropping his scarf on mud for girls, a charming and shy kid. It isn’t, though, it’s that weasel he seems to be throwing in the pin every damn week, bolting off in a full-on run.

“Ay, not my locket!” you gasped, plucking your skirts over your boots.

“Maldito niño--” Miguel stops you, sliding Gabriella back into your arms. Not that she was complaining, tiny hands slapping together in a rendition of applause as Miguel darted after him, his booming steps beating the ground. “Get back here, kid!”

“Dios, you sure have a busy papa. I'm sure he’ll back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.” You looked between the little girl nestled comfortably in your arms and the parting sea of the crowd. Gwen zooms past, eliciting another round of jovial laughter from Gabriella O’Hara. She does love a good game.

It ain’t that Miguel wants to leave his girl with any old fool that waltzed on into his town. But he knows his community, knows they’d not leave him out to dry, and knows that taking his daughter on a town-wide chase with a skinny little weasel around town is not the move. Especially not if he has a gun, which he did, because of course he did. Now, the man has a jail cell and Miguel has a crook in his neck from where the buffoon fell through the crooked second floor of the post office.

He works the sore muscle the whole way back to your wagon. It’s high time for eating. His stomach was raging after the scent of someone’s pulled pork, the roasted sweetness of corn. If we wanted to be presentable then, he sure wasn’t now. Dust was a second skin on his pants and aged boots. He walks past the platform where Hobie plays a tune with his banda. Most vendors were wrapping right on up for some proper debauchery.

He finds you there, swaying to the beat of the music with Gabriella hanging in your arms. Her tiny hands were around an ear of elote already. Guess she extorted a snack out of you.

“One gold locket,” Miguel heaves out the words as he digs in his pocket, whirling the golden chain into your small hand. You flip it over once, then twice, examining it for any defects. “Better to keep that tucked away out here. Puts a target on your back right quick.”

“Muchísimas gracias, sheriff. You're a sweetheart,” you reach out, grazing his scratchy cheek with your supple lips. Gabriella is flatly squished between his sweaty chest and yours. She’s fallen asleep flat against your chest. “You don’t know how much this necklace means to me.”

There are whispers from the women he’s turned down. The viejitas who have been trying to set him up for a full-on year now, those who told him he needed to find a girl as soon as possible to marry. He didn’t want to. Not unless it made sense.

“Yes, well, you could tell me,” Miguel finally picks his daughter from your arms. She’s out like a light. “If you want.”

“It was my mami's, once upon a time. She gave it to me on my wedding day," you explain. "It's all I got left of her. I wonder what she'd think of me these days, travelin' town to town like I got secrets."

"You ever think of settlin' down again?" He turns his gaze past Hobie’s banda, to the yellowing sky. The sun is setting out over the horizon, casting warm orange and soft pink into the air. The road is full of wagons. The clip-clop of horses running their way to the next town, some checked in to the hostel.

"A veces," you explain. "If it feels right, I think I will."

"Yeah?" He settles on the bed of your wagon. The dresses were packaged and kept in locked chests, kept away from the bed of the wagon where your blanket was. Most of the foreigners have left, but you. He doesn’t have to guess to know that it was his fault. “You off to Rio’s hostel?”

“‘fraid I’m out of town,” you smiled at him. “She ain’t got any rooms. Next city over might.”

“Stay with me,” he says. “The night. Bit too late to get robbed on the road with all them pretty dresses you make. Wouldn’t be right to be sheriff and let a young thing out there without company. Some'a them outlaws take wives that way, y'know.”

“Oh, Sheriff O’Hara, ain’t no one care about widows on the road,” your hand finds your chest. It’s said with a laugh, as though someone, somewhere, made you feel less than. It wasn’t going to be Miguel.

"Ain't a widow if you're carried off." He reclines, watching the figures of couples dancing to whatever the hell Hobie was playing on his guitar. His eyes track over Hobie’s gloved fingers that prance across the strings, waiting for you to walk back on that stupid comment. You do, snapping out a fan in the waist of your heavy dress to fan yourself.

“You really sure? I don’t mean to be a burden. I’m sure you got better to do than take care of company.”

“You took care of my girl. Least I could do. Long as you go to church in the morning.”

“Oh, now he’s askin’ me to church. When’s the wedding, Sherriff?”

“Miguel. Soon as you want it,” he returns, half a smile pulling at a normally closed-off face. Miguel turns to set his Gabi down on your blanket, throwing you a look for permission. You nod, watching her roll on the wool thing, setting her hands under her cheek until she gets into a position that isn’t as bad as laying on her back. He tucks her hair back over the shell of her ear, exhaling a breath. Somewhere between his ex-wife’s flight from the town and today, she began to look more and more like him. He’s thankful for that. He doesn’t need more memories of her. Only needed to get through each day, and make the next better than the one before.

“She’s tuckered out,” you lean down, just by his face. “All that escapin’ papa work.”

“Si,” Miguel hums as he massages his sore shoulder. “Tell me about it. I’m getting too old for this.”

He lifts his head from his daughter’s tiny body, reminded of all the times someone told him to get married. If not the women chasing him around his jail at all hours of the day, then the women at church who, at the moment, were gossiping away. He could hear the prattle already: sheriff likes rich girls. The type to have a golden locket and French silk. The luxury of hopping from town to town like some no-good woman. He’d wager, your husband ain’t had the money to take care of you but for these light luxuries. Traveling town to town wasn't no small feat.

Tch. He’d deal with it tomorrow when he took you to church. Scandalous as that was.

“Fancy a dance?” he offered up his hand.

You remove your gloves, skin is soft and supple against his, only marred by the pricks of a needle. Your gloved fingers grazed his scarred palm, tracing the long strike that marred his open palm. There’s a thought there, just behind the reach of your playful eyes. He couldn’t quite reach it.

“I’d love to, Miguel.”

Something tells him he has time to.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miggy x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara drabble #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman 2099 x reader

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sunofpandora · 20 days

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Indigenous Men.

This is a rant but but me simp for a minute yall please.

Now, as a child who grew up in an indigenous household, I’ve had my share of exposure to fictional indigenous men.

(That’s maybe why I write fanfic about tall, blue, indigenous men but idk it’s just a theory.)

I was little when I first watched avatar but lemme tell yall one thing.

I was not looking at Mr. Sully. No sir.

You know who I was looking at?

C’mon now Mr. Thick slick and handsome don’t act like you don’t see me 🫶🏽🤭

I was down so BAD for this man. I used to draw him with my little box of crayons when I was a kid and pretend we got married.

He’s a warrior.

He’s strong.

Hes so fucking hot guys you can’t even fight me on this one.

It always kinda made me mad as a kid when a character choose someone else over the clear, green flagged indigenous male character.

Now, Neytiri is NOT an example of this. She never loved Tsu’tey romantically, and Jake was a better choice for her of course.

But you know what movie pissed me off the MOST when it came to this trope?

No, scratch that, the og of this trope??

Now I could spend hours talking about this movie and how incredibly fucked up it is. But we’re not gonna go there rn.

(That movie cover actually brings back so many memories for me. We had VHS when I was a kid and we used to draw with whiteboard markers on the vhs box movie covers and make fun of John smith.)

I watched this movie for one sole purpose when I was little.

And no. It wasn’t for John Smith’s tea drinking pudding ass.

IT WAS FOR HIM

I used to get so peeved at ‘Pocahontas’ (her name was Matoaka.)

This was the man of 8 year old me’s DREAMS and we’re going after Mr. Ken the Colonizer!?

Like c’mere baby boy if she don’t want you I’ll take you 🤷🏽‍♀️😔

And Mrs. Neytiri, Mrs. Fictional adaption of Matoaka that I no longer associate with the real person,

Trust me, I get it, I really do. I too have a white (half white, he’s mixed but he’s got an Italian accent, straight hair and slightly tanned skin.)

I too have a snow bunny man on my roster. He do be feeding be pasta and lobster.

If it ain’t snowing I might not be going.

But indigenous men will always have my heart 👆🏽😭

In conclusion

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #neteyam x reader #Kocoum was so fine #neteyam #avatar the way of water #jake avatar #avatar fanfiction #neytiri #lo’ak x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam x you #I need more Tsu’tey x reader #tsu’tey avatar #tsu’tey te rangloa ateyitan

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icannotpickanamewtf · 9 months

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ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ɴᴇʀᴠᴇs (PT. 2)

EVAN PETERS AHS x READER

SUMMARY: 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖫𝖠 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖠 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅, 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗒𝗉𝗌𝖾, 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐…𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾.

Chapter Focus: Kai Anderson x Reader

🚨WARNINGS: 𝖠𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖧𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝖲𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒, 𝖮𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖬𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖢𝗎𝗅𝗍, 𝖱𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖲𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖾𝗍𝖼…

You officially decide that Michigan is a complete bust.

As soon as the plane landed and you’d made your way out of baggage claim, you were hit by a blasting cold.

Is it possible for someone to shit out a block of ice?

You had to pile on coat after coat, your grey fleece detective jacket rested on top of your layers.

The service was awful, the people acted like NPC’s, and overall, your first impression was a 3/10.

You held your suitcase and bags in one hand as you rung up your phone to call for an Uber, your motel was right outside Brookfield Heights but far enough so you wouldn’t run into any possible suspects while you were off-duty.

After making a pit stop at an overpriced airport cafe for some mid-afternoon coffee, you hurriedly rushed to the front exit once you got a message from your Uber Driver that they’d arrived.

The car was a silver chevy and was low to the ground, it had just barely enough room for your three bags in the trunk, but you were grateful nonetheless.

An older man sat in the drivers seat and his grey hairs were slicked back to expose his wrinkled forehead. He seemed pretty jolly the whole ride to your motel, until you mentioned Brookfield Heights.

“It ain’t the town for a vacation, that’s for sure.” Was all you managed to get after your numerous questions, clearly the news about Kai had followed all of Michigan and haunted the witnessing residents.

The drive was mostly quiet after besides the Christian-pop that subtly played over the rusty car speaker, you resided to staring out the window.

‘Welcome to Brookfield Heights!’ decorated the bright green sign outside of the ghost town. Trees flew past the window as you tried your best to absorb your surroundings.

The more you knew the better.

You’d already spent weeks holed up in your office studying the towns layout, from each fire-hydrant to large corporations and events.

Fall had come in full swing, leaves were brown and the grass shook from the chilly breeze.

The barren farmland and empty fields soon turned into old buildings and little country-side stores. If you weren’t investigating a cultist, you’d have thought it was a cute little town.

The driver, whom you noticed you forgot to ask for his name, pulled over when your run down motel entered your sight.

The older gentleman unlocked the doors and said his farewell to you as you left the Honda Civic. It felt weird to have both feet on the ground after traveling for so long, but it did absolute wonders to finally have some fresh air.

The Honda Civic closed the doors from behind you and the Christian-pop faded in the distance as the car rolled out of the motel parking lot, leaving you to face your soon-to-be home for the next few months.

The motel’s sign was barely hanging on for dear life, the walls had chipped yellow-ish paint, and the doors were falling off their hinges. It was practically invisible amongst all the regal and historical hotels that littered Brookfield. It was perfect.

You grabbed your small suitcase by the handle and made your way to the check in, a little hut outside of the motel. Your luggage bounced from the rickety cement and overgrown weeds, but your grip kept it from flopping over.

The door to the check in creaked from the force of your palm, screaming in age as you stepped inside the small room.

The floor was a dark mahogany, a vending machine ran brightly to your left with miscellaneous snacks, and dust covered the few chairs that lined up on the wall to your right. But the main attraction, was the older woman standing behind the reception desk in front of you.

She had red curly hair, down to her shoulders, and her eyes sagged with exhaustion. Her skin could be compared to a sickly green but the bright red lipstick she adorned made you think that it was a thick application of make up.

Oh, and the resting bitch face. Yep, you were definitely going to enjoy this woman’s presence.

“Uh–Hello, I’m here to check in for a room?” You had made your way up to the counter, standing awkwardly in front of the woman who continued to apply the same bright red color of her lips to her fingernails. This made you half-ponder when was the last time you painted your own nails.

The woman’s crooked name tag read “Louise” as she blatantly ignored your attempt at interacting. Louise barely even looked up to meet your eyes as she slowly turned to grab what you assumed as your room key from behind her.

Louise spoke with a know-it-all tone, a snide grin lit up her features, “There. No parties. No dealing before seven A.M. and no fucking past eight.”

Part of wondered why she announced the last rule like it was a pointed remark at you, but the other half of you knew exactly what she was trying to get at.

Fortunately for her, you hated confrontation in these situations.

You were also jet-lagged as all hell.

So you just kept your mouth shut and dragged your deranged detective ass out the check in door and to the stairs that led to your room.

The key read “17B” indicating it was on the second floor and almost all the way on the other side. The wooden stairs wobbled under your feet and you almost thought they would completely give out, but you carried your suit case all the way up the two-flights of stairs.

When you made it to your room, you haphazardly threw your clothes into one of the drawers (locking the door and moving the chain above it) and practically collapsed onto the old bed. It was fairly small for a motel room, and the same yellow paint donned the walls but with a 80’s pattern of lines and crescents.

You laid with your back on the mattress, feeling all the lumps and creaky springs underneath.

It was quiet in the room.

It’s not that you weren’t used to quiet.

But this time, you were completely alone. Your leather shoes felt heavy on your feet, and you could sense that a migraine was well on its way to your skull.

You were so fucking tired.

But you had a cultist to expose, lives were at stake, you couldn’t just sit here and rest.

A dark corner of your mind infested with guilt shunned you for thinking that you could possibly deserve the comfort of a bed. Or the comfort of a job.

Or the fact your alive–

“Fuck this.” You stood quickly and shrugged off your large trench coat, opting to brace the cold and sit down in the shaky chair in front of the wooden desk the laid in front of the bed. You flung open your laptop and spread out your papers.

A room temperature energy drink that you packed found its way in your hands as you typed away.

You didn’t sleep at all that night.

———————

Morning came slowly, and with it a fresh pair of deep circles engraved themselves under your eyes.

But with morning, came more opportunities to explore.

You freshened up, applied some dry-shampoo and washed your face, before heading out to explore Brookfield.

You had to get a sense of your surroundings in person, online maps and insane amounts of internet research could barely compare to being able to experience the real thing.

Your trench coat sagged on your shoulders, but without it, the fall-chill would’ve given you a cold so you tiredly walked your way into town. Your bag with your laptop, recording device, and USB drive sat heavily on your shoulder.

You easily mixed into the crowd of locals, sneakily taking time to take pictures with your phone of the posters of Kai Anderson that popped up every now and then.

All of which had “FEAR” written in at least one sentence, you’d think he’d be more subtle but it was almost like he was trying to get more negative attention than positive.

Hm. Weird.

After about an hour of just walking around and exploring Brookfield Heights, your lack of sleep caught up to you. So you decided it was time to get a nice something to eat and a whole lot of espresso.

Thankfully, there was a tiny cafe near the Butchery that was owned by the victim of a majority of Kai Andersons harassment, Ally Mayfair-Richards.

You glanced back at the restaurant before making your way into the little cafe, the warm scent of coffee and scones filled your nose at your entrance. The cold chill turned warm and you were finally able to take off your coat.

It was quaint but reminded you of a cabin in the woods with their wooden accents and architecture on the inside. It was a nice comparison to the modernized celeb hubs in LA.

There were few people inside, all were seated and kept to themselves. You quietly stepped up to the counter, deciding to order a large black coffee with four shots of espresso, and a blueberry muffin to nibble on while you worked.

The teenager behind the counter smiled at you before preparing your order, there were only two people working but they seemed eager.

Did they feel the impact of what was happening around them? Were they in his cult? What would happen the the kids if Kai Anderson succeeded?

Would it be your fault–

Again, your thoughts were cut off as the teenager handed you your drink and treat. Allowing the person behind you to place their own order after you paid.

Wait, person behind you?

You didn’t even notice the man that had made his way to the line, becoming the sixth customer inside the shop.

When you backed away from the counter, you were able to soak in his appearance.

Kai. Fucking. Anderson.

You pretended to find a seat and load up your laptop, but sweat pooled at the back of your neck.

What if he caught you? What if he busted you?

You had to act normal. Like it was a regular day in Brookfield Heights, and you were just a local getting some coffee.

You sipped anxiously at your caffeinated monster of black coffee as you subtly analyzed his appearance.

The cultist wore a black beanie, letting his oily blue hair dangle freely. His sweater was black, his shirt was black, his pants were black, and he wore black combat boots.

Was he trying to scream out that he was some kind of villain?

What was this guys fucking problem?

You knew he was on adderall and taking an inhumanly sized dose, but god, so much for inconspicuous killer.

But eventually you realized that if you didn’t have all the information you collected on this little town, you would’ve just thought it was a regular guy with eccentric style.

He ordered a large cinnamon latte, extra espresso with no whipped cream and low-fat milk. He poured one creamer and no sugar.

He carried his own papers and phone in one hand, while collecting his drink in the other. Kai Anderson walked over to the table right next to yours and sat down, scrolling aimlessly while taking notes? You couldn’t get a clear shot of what he was writing.

So, you were literally sitting in the same space as a serial killer and cultist. Life was great!

You managed to get away with a few more glances before exiting out of your tabs, all of which had extreme dirt on Kai, and opened a decoy word document that looked like boring tax papers.

You pretended to work on fucking taxes for twenty minutes without interacting with him at all, until Kai stood up from his chair (the only way you could tell was from the chair sliding against the floor) and sat in front of you.

You barely looked up from your laptop until he fully made himself comfortable in front of you, propping his arms on the table and staring directly at you.

Sometimes you wondered if fate had it out for you.

“Hey.” Kai cleared his throat, which indicated that you should probably stop ignoring the elephant in the room and look up at him.

In doing so, you got a clear glance at his face. Little bits of stubble decorated his cheeks, and his eyes were wide as they looked at you.

“Oh, Hi?” The silence was much better than talking, but this guy would probably slit your throat if you didn’t respond.

You tilted your head a little in faux innocence as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Kai seemed to fall for your act completely, “Are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck–

TO BE CONTINUED.

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lemony-and-zesty · 4 months

Text

Omg not another drabble for hitman!JD :]

This one’s for you especially @elijah-doodle ;)) Since you wanted to know and all :)

Silly side note cause I thought it was funny but this is titled “The one that got away” in my drafts 😭😭

———————

The small apartment John Dory found himself living in was pretty peaceful, all things considered. Especially this early in the morning. JD was fast asleep in that slab of concrete he called a bed, finally having managed to pass out a couple hours ago.

There was a sudden, loud knock on the door.

“Hey! Git up! Boss wants ta see ya.”

John Dory groans, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“C’mon kid, he ain’t gonna wait long.”

He crawled out of bed, rubbing a hand down his face before huffing out an, “Alright, alright. Gimme a minute.”

The voice at the door seemed appeased at this, and JD could hear his footsteps fading.

Stupid.

He took his time getting ready, it really was too early for this.

After sliding on his coat and goggles, he yanked the door open. He wasn’t surprised to see the other troll hadn’t gone far.

He gave JD a sharp nod, “Good. C’mon kid.”

JD held his tongue at that.

He let the other man lead him, despite knowing the way like the back of his hand. Best not to start a fight over something stupid.

They left the apartment building off into a back alley.

JD shoved his hands into his pockets and let his mind stray for a bit. As per usual, he found himself thinking about his brothers. He can’t help but wonder what they’d be up to now. Shit, how old would they be again?

He starts trying to add it up in his head, counting it out with his fingers.

It’s been, what? 10, no 15 years? Maybe? He couldn’t be sure until he got a glimpse at a calendar.

His mind continued to wander for a bit before he’s suddenly jolted out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder.

Reacting quickly, he spins around and sweeps the assailant’s legs. They tumble to the ground with a, “Aw SHIT-“

JD unsheathes the spikes on his glove’s knuckle, preparing to strike the person before coming to a dead stop.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“-HELL kid, the fck’r ya doin!”

JD stumbles back, his hands going to his coat. He brushes at it, not just trying to play it off but also to soothe his shaking hands, “Sorry. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

The man who’d been walking him glared up at him - partly out of shock, partly out of fury. After a moment he shakes his head, “Whatever kid.”

JD snarls at that, “For the love of- Stop. calling. me-“

The door behind JD slams open, “Ah! Johnny! You’re right on time.”

A stocky pale yellow troll with golden, slicked back hair dressed in a gray pinstripe suit sets his hands on JD’s shoulders turning him around and lightly shoving him into the room he’d just burst out of, “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

He kicks the door shut behind them, not sparing the man another glance.

He leads JD to his desk, his grip tightening on his shoulders before releasing him altogether.

“B-Boss I can explain-“

He holds a hand up to silence him as he rounds the desk and takes a seat, “No need. It’s not my business what you get up to outside of work. As long as you don’t kill any of my employees, I couldn’t care less.”

JD gulps, once again rubbing his hands against his coat.

“Now, what is my business is, well, my business. So,” He reaches into a drawer, pulling out a slip of paper - his next hit, JD assumes - and sliding it across the desk for him to look at, “Let’s talk business.”

John Dory freezes the instant his eyes see the paper. No, not paper. The poster. It was a poster for a concert for an up and coming solo artist.

No. No no no no no.

Staring back up at him were the eyes of a troll he hadn’t seen in 15 or so years.

No. Anything but this. Please.

Staring up at him was none other than Floyd. His baby brother.

#zesty posts #hitman!john dory #john dory #trolls band together #trolls oc

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l0starl · 6 months

Text

𝐁𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 iii

-𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙨 𝙄’𝙢 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙣𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

‼️𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 3 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲‼️

this the last part anyways ��

PART 1 , and part 2 is linked in part 1

this took so long because I ran out of ideas IM SORRY-

I used Spanishdict so correct me if some stuff are wrong

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 to lovers?????

sᴏɴɢ: ʙʏ ᴍʏ sɪᴅᴇ (ғᴇᴀᴛ. ᴋᴀᴀsʜ ᴘᴀɪɢᴇ)

ʏᴇs ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ 🌚

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Cursing i guess 😶, mention of guns

The smoke filled the room as you saw the neon purple lights illuminating the room…

Prowler?

You feel your hands being untied from the chair, another prowler comes in, guessing the original one..

After the prowler unties you, he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack and proceeds to leave, you would argue, but you don’t have the energy for that right now..

“Why you always gotta drag someone in your shenanigans” you heard the original prowler speak

“I ain’t drag em, they’ll be fine” prowler responded as she carried you like a sack of potatoes.

You could barely speak so you stayed silent and watched them argue, it was honestly so irritating, their argument was stopped abruptly from another explosion was heard nearby inside the building.

“There they are! Get them!!” One of the men yelled as they started to fire their guns

Bullets echoed through the room, your ears start to ring.

“Damn it we gotta go!” The prowler shouts

Bullets flew through the room, they quickly made a run for it.

“STOP THEM” the man yelled as shots continued to fire.

They run down the hall, sprinting for the stairs, gunshots echo throughout the building.

After they outrun the guards they make it to the rooftop, it seems your at the old alchemax building, the roof looks a bit run down but overall it looks stable

“Where the hell are we goin-“ you spoke but the prowler cut you off.

”Cállate, “shut up” we’re taking you home” the prowler spoke

“Alright damn! Don’t gotta cut me off” you muttered

“no eres hábil” “you’re not slick” he snickered.

You scoffed in response, but something about the prowler’s voice seemed familiar, you couldn’t quite figure it out. But whatever it was, you’ll figure it out eventually.

Soon after they dropped you home, this is a night to remember since you literally got kidnapped….but at least your home now and safe!……..right?

The next day at school the news spread like wildfire, left and right kids were asking “How was it like” “Did ya get to see the prowler’s face” Honestly these questions were getting irritating.

You spent most of the day avoiding people, but one person always managed to find you..

Miles

“Heard the prowler saved ya” Miles mocked

“Not now miles! I don’t need your bullshit” you retorted

“Don’t get so pissed off” he sneered

You scoffed completely ignoring him, though….

How did the prowler know where you were?

You went to class avoiding anyone who asked questions about it. It was pretty annoying but you just had to learn to deal with it for now.

You quickly sat down, not bothering to look in miles direction, but he always found a way to annoy you.

you were losing your mind, miles hasn’t stopped, neither had his determination. He seemed so eager to piss you off and all you do is stare coldly as you try to ignore him every time.

“How do I have all my classes with this guy” You grumbled to yourself in frustration as you stare at the clock, watching and waiting for class to end

Tick - Tok - Tick - Tock…..

each minute goes by slower and slower, you weren’t paying attention to class at all, that is until the teacher called on you…

“Pay attention!” The teacher scolded

You grumbled but cooperated at least, 30 minutes later class ended. You were walking to your next class, since miles literally has the same schedule as you, he took pride in annoying you as much as possible, sure you guys could make up, but why would you? All for a stupid sketchbook, maybe you’ll think about it.

“Geez miles you could always be nice enough to give me a break” you groaned as miles walked behind you

“Nah, you’ll be fine ma” he smirked

You rolled your eyes, as you walked into Spanish class right alongside miles.

“tú ambos eres tarde “you both are late” “ The teacher scolded, as she gestured you to both sit down.

You both took a seat, the room was awkwardly quiet, it’s not the first time it’s been like this. Ever since the start of the school year, it’s always been so quiet, what makes it worse is that the a/c barely works!!

“You good ma?” Miles glanced in your direction

“yeah I’m good, just hot in here” you groaned

He chuckled in response, for the rest of the class period you layed your head down on your desk as you slept for the remainder of the session. Thank god this was the last period for today, you were planning to just stay in bed, but then you remembered that moment with the prowler…

How does he know where you live?

Maybe it’s just a coincidence?

Does he know I saw?

What about yesterday, how did he know where I was?

did he know it was gonna happen?

Questions spiraled in your head constantly, it’s not like he would answer them himself, but one question stood out from the rest, something that jus might be right in our faces…

Why does he remind me someone?

After the bell rang you left the class immediately, not wanting to handle miles shenanigans, but he probably has a feeling what your silence has been about…

You ran to your bus stop just in time before the bus leaves, you sat near the window seat and sighed of relief, lately, the crime in the city has been skyrocketing, the sinister six cartel have been more active at night, and the prowler hasn’t been able to keep up much, but at least he still tries..

The city is becoming more dangerous every single day, more people are going missing, or found dead somewhere….

You look out the window examining your surroundings, some of the city hasn’t been affected by it, but good things don’t ever last that long….

The bus came to a stop, you walked the rest of the way home with thoughts swirling through your mind…

Later that night their was a knock at your window, which doesn’t make sense since your on the second floor? You look out your window and there he was

“Prowler?!?! What the hell are you doing-“ you spoke

he covered your mouth with a irritated look, as he came inside he spoke with a distorted voice, maybe from the mask?

“I need to speak to you about something important” he responded

Few hours earlier with miles

“MILES! You actually wanna tell them that?” Uncle Aaron spoke annoyed

“Yeah, it won’t be much of a problem, what’s the worse that can happen hm?” Miles responded

“Alright man, but if something happens it’s all on you, I won’t be able to help you at all” Uncle Aaron retorted in a serious tone

He nodded as he suited up and headed towards the building near your house…

Now the present

“Then tell me what you gotta say!” You responded impatiently

He chuckled as he removed his mask, his braids fall over his shoulders

“Hey ma, surprised to see me?” Miles had a smug grin on his face

You were taken aback by this sudden news, that’s why the prowlers voice sounded so familiar! You would have never guessed it was miles…

“So your the prowler huh? And why do you have the need to tell me?” She responded confused

“Yk, I just felt like it, plus I take great pride in annoying you, plus I get to drop by and annoy you even more” he snickered as he ruffled your hair.

You groaned smacking his hand away

“Is this about the sketchbook?! If it is can we put that behind us now?” You replied

“Hm, maybe, but only if you apologize” he responded

“For what?! You should’ve just done the project in the first pla-“ you retorted

“Apologize, we wouldn’t have a problem in the first place if ya didn’t snatch it” he responded amused but slightly annoyed

“Fine I apologize, can we finally put this behind us now?” You said with a irritated voice

“Yep, I guess you can say we’re friends now” He smirked

“No, just acquaintances“ you cut him off

“Friends it is” he says, completely ignoring your answer

You both ended up sharing mutual interests, you both grew to become best friends…..

Maybe even more…..

#miles 42 #prowler miles #miles g morales x reader #42!miles x reader #42!miles morales x reader #atsv fanfiction #earth 42 miles x reader #prowler miles x reader #miles g morales #miles g #42!miles #miles gonzalo morales #atsv x you #atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #black!y/n #black!fem!reader

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twola · 1 year

Text

Seven Deadly Sins - III

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)

Greed: a selfish and excessive desire for more of something than is needed.

➵ AO3 Link

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The champagne burned on the way down. He would never get used to that. He would also never get used to this stupid outfit, trussed up like some prized hen, hair slicked back with pomade and clean-shaven. The lack of weight on his hips where his gun belt should have rested was perturbing.

Fireworks, of all things, burst above him as high-society men and women marveled at the display.

But Arthur is concentrating more on the white-clad servant talking to the Mayor. Dutch also listens over his shoulder.

“Did he just say something about Cornwall?”

Arthur nods at Dutch, whose magnanimous face hardens briefly.

“Find out what. And take her with you,” Dutch tilts his head over to where you stand, watching the fireworks with a few other women, “She’s good at distractions, should you need one.”

Arthur waves off, placing his now empty flute on a tray of a passing butler, ducking away from Dutch, keeping an eye on the white-jacketed servant who was slowly making his way back to the house.

He makes his way toward the group of ladies, where you look positively bored along the outside of the circle, having just downed the champagne in your flute, twirling the glass between your fingers.

Arthur makes eye contact with you as he walks by, and you immediately straighten your posture, placing down the flute on a table behind you and excusing yourself from the other women. You move between onlookers to catch up with Arthur’s quick gait, and as you catch up to him, he grabs your hand, leading you toward the side of the grand mansion.

“What we doin’?” You whisper, and suddenly Arthur stops, grabbing your waist and pulling you against him as he spies over his shoulder up the trellised walkway.

He motions toward the servant from before, who is stepping up the stairs towards a side door of the stately mansion.

“That feller there - he’s the mayor’s man - he was talkin’ bout some dealings with Cornwall and documents. Dutch wants us to look into it.”

The man steps inside the house, and Arthur takes your hand to hurry after him.

“Hol- hold on, not so fast.” You retort with a harsh breath, “I ain’t used to wearing heels like these.”

Indeed, much like how he is dressed to impress feckless men in a tuxedo, clean-shaven and hair slicked back, you were obviously brought along as a piece of eye candy. Your long hair was pulled into an elaborate updo by Mary Beth earlier in the night. Hosea had insisted on bringing you into Saint Denis for a dress, a crimson gown that left your shoulders bare and your décolletage adorned with a fancy necklace stolen from some old woman’s coach outside of town. You frown, gathering the voluminous skirts that flavored from your waist, the silky crimson sheath of your gown laying over white petticoats.

You’ve been trying to keep your white opera-length gloves clean all night, which was more than obnoxious enough for you.

You wince, rolling your ankle slightly, and Arthur offers you his arm, which you take as you curse these fancy heels that Mary Beth insisted you wear tonight to the bottom of Flat Iron Lake. That’s where you’re sure they will end up, chucked from the coach on the way back to Shady Belle.

Arthur leads you into the side door of the house, hiding behind a doorframe, you listen to the white-frocked servant yell at a scullery maid before he moves toward the stairs up to the second floor.

Arthur nods down at you, and taking your hand, you quietly follow up to the staircase and bound up the first few stairs. Turning the corner, Arthur quickly pulls you against him, and you gasp as he maneuvers you into the corner of the stairwell, glaring down at you in an obvious attempt to silence you.

He leans down toward your ear, “Stay here.”

You nod, letting go of his coat as he turns to quietly ascend the stairs to the top of the landing, his hand staying raised toward you, beckoning you to stay. You hear movement on the floor above you, fast steps moving further away. Arthur waves down for you to join him, and you tiptoe up the stairs and duck into the first room where Arthur stepped into, slowly and quietly closing and latching the door behind you.

It is a large and ornate study, filled with art and books, a writing desk and couch decorated finely and lit with electric sconces. You groan lightly, looking around, thinking to yourself that the amount of finery in this room alone was more than you’ve seen in your life. Probably more than you could steal in your life.

You move closer to the bookshelves, eye on a glint of gold on the shelf. Begging to be touched.

“You heard what Dutch said. Keep your hands to yourself, little thief.” Arthur drawls as he leafs through papers on the ornate writing desk. He has an amused tone as he glances up at you before resuming his search through the documents on the table.

You snort under your breath, rolling your eyes at him. He saw you reach for the gilded letter opener on the shelf, of all the ridiculous things to cover in gold.

“Here we go.” Arthur pulls a document from the desk drawer that he jimmied open. He tucks it into his vest and closes the drawer.

“C’mon, let’s get back downstairs.”

You don’t move. Arthur scowls impatiently as a wicked smile starts to cross your features, your dark lips stained with rouge and eyes darkened with powder. Looking all the bit of a courtesan in some Parisian salon. The low dip of your neckline highlights your cleavage, normally hidden underneath workshirts and jackets.

“Mmm, let Dutch simmer some more. Down there’s his type of game.” You whisper, stepping closer to Arthur, who continues to scowl.

“We don’t have ti-”

Arthur’s voice halts immediately as his eyes widen, and your impish smile grows.

“Yes, we do.”

He lets out a deep breath, stuttering, as his eyes shoot downward. Your white-gloved hand palms his rapidly hardening cock in his trousers.

It takes him a few moments to pull himself together, far too long, in his opinion, but your fingers wrapping around his cock, even through layers of fabric, completely wipes clean the slate of thoughts in his mind.

Arthur blinks, groaning softly as he looks up to the ceiling for a second before looking back down. You're huddled against him, the fabric of your dress rustling against his suit, staring up at him with a satisfied smile, one hand pressed against the hard muscle of his chest, the other fervently stroking his cock.

You lean your head against his shoulder as he shudders, closing his eyes tightly.

“Oh, you’re so good , Arthur.” You whine softly, and he cannot stop a groan from escaping his throat, as one of his hands curls around your hip to take purchase on your rear, squeezing tightly. The other leans back against the built-in bookshelf, holding on for dear life, as if his legs were going to give out beneath him.

“ Jesus -” Arthur spits out, and cannot help put to thrust his hips forward, pressing hard and catching your hand between your bodies, “ Fuck , woman.”

You giggle, pushing back at him and your other hand traces down his chest, down his stomach, to his hips, and pulls at the buttons of his trousers. He squeezes your rear again, as your hand leaves his cock and joins your other one in opening his trousers. Damn this fancy suit and high-society trappings.

Arthur pants, breath coming out in loud huffs as you finally open his black pants, hiking up his starched white shirt to his stomach with one hand as the other encircles his cock.

Christ , he thinks he's seeing stars as you begin to pump your hand, stroking him with increasing pressure with your little fingers wrapped around his length. His hand moves from the bookshelf behind him to cup one of your breasts, squeezing lightly and eliciting a moan from your colored lips.

Despite your talented hand around his cock, Arthur finally seems to get his bearings, rubbing against the fabric of your dress, pulled tight and fitted around your bosom, and circling his other hand on your rear as he regains his footing, leaning over and taking your lips with his.

“Ah-ah.” You tut, allowing him to kiss you for only a moment before you swat his hand from your bosom, “Stop being greedy. This is my show.”

“ Shit .”

He cannot help but to swear as you start to sink downward, to your knees in front of him. The fabric of your maroon dress rustles as you slowly slide to the floor, keeping your eyes on his the entire time.

You take the length of his steel-hard cock in one of your gloves hands, the other pressed against his hip, and the small amount of skin visible from where his open pants hang.

Arthur groans aloud, his mouth hanging open as you stare up at him, your lips pursing for a moment before you take the blunt head of his cock into your mouth. You suck, softly at first, and one of Arthur’s hands flies to your head, and you narrow your eyes in warning, not to destroy the elaborate coiffure your long hair was styled into. The outlaw immediately retracts his hand, chided.

Your other hand floats to his other hip as you push your head forward, taking him further into your mouth. Arthur lets out a deep breath through his nose, eyes trained on your lips as inch by inch of him disappears into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

Your eyes flutter closed, breathing in through your nose, and push your head closer to his hips. He sucks in an audible breath, exhaling with a needy whine that you had no idea the man was capable of making. Arthur’s hand moves to gently cup your jaw, the slightest pull forward. You push past the discomfort, taking his entire length, your nose pressing against his pubic bone, dusting the chestnut curls at the base of his cock.

“ God almighty”, he grits out, watching you start to bob back and forth, his cock glistening with your saliva.

He cannot help but to thrust his hips forward slightly, groaning aloud as the head of his cock comes into contact with the back of your throat.

You continue for several moments, wrenching more sweet stuttering sounds from him before squeezing his hips. You pull back and Arthur’s eyes nearly cross when he can make out the faintest ring of lip rouge around the base of his cock.

You retreat, and for a fleeting moment, Arthur watches a thin string of saliva stretch between your wet lips and the glistening head of his cock, groaning as it breaks. You’re climbing back up him, hands at his hips, his waist, his chest, anchoring yourself to him as you stand from your knees.

“C’mere-” you grab one of his hands and pull him away from the bookshelf, and he follows, one hand holding his opened pants up, as you lead him to the fancy couch in the middle of the room. You push him down, and both he and you know that you can only move him with his permission - your small frame against his own.

Arthur grunts as he sits on the couch, spreading his legs as you stand in front of him. His hand automatically moves to his erection, stroking it handily as you lean over, pressing your lips to his.

A soft laugh escapes you as you lean over him to nip at his bottom lip, and he notices your hand starting to hike up the voluminous skirts covering your legs. Higher, higher, above where your black stockings end below your knees, to the swathe of your pale thighs, and the lacy trim of your bloomers.

With a grin, you straighten up, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your bloomers and pulling them, sliding them down your thighs to your knees, where they fall in a puddle on the floor at your feet. Arthur’s left-hand reaches toward your newly bared skin, toward the soft thatch of hair at the jointure of your thighs.

You swat his hand away, and he scowls.

“I told you, Mister Morgan. Stop bein’ so greedy.”

“Woman, I swear,” Arthur grits his teeth as he strokes his cock there on the couch, “if you don’t get o’er here-”

You cut him off by climbing onto his lap, holding your skirts up with one hand while the other finds purchase on the wooden trim of the back of the couch, behind Arthur’s shoulder. Bracketing his legs between your thighs, you lower yourself down, skin pressing to his, as your skirts fall to cover both of your lower bodies. You roll your hips, letting his cock slip between your folds, finding wet warmth there as you slide it between your legs.

Arthur growls, jutting his hips upward, seeking more pressure, heat, and wetness on his cock. His jaw hangs open as he pants, his hands firmly on the globes of your rear as you grind down on him. A needy, breathy moan escapes him, and you smile and coo in response.

“You want somethin’ there, Arthur?”

He has no idea where your sheer audacity came from. Maybe you’ve always been a spitfire and the times you’ve coupled he just overpowered you. Maybe you’re getting comfortable with this arrangement. Either way, he’s into it.

“I told you before, we don’t have time for you to be drawin’ this out…”

“Alright, alright…” you laugh, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you shift your hips upward, reach under your skirts with your gloved hand, and line his length up before slowly sinking down onto it.

That needy, breathless sound he made before bubbles to the surface again and spills from somewhere deep in his chest as you take him in, inch by inch within your tight warmth, and he’s forced to wonder how he could ever be parted from this ecstasy for long. How he wasn’t inside you constantly. How this is only the third time in months that he’s been enveloped in your hips.

What the hell has he been thinking? Wasting time as he has been…

Arthur is brought back to the world within this gilded room as you bottom out, a high, gasping sigh reaches his ears and he cannot help but to grasp tighter at your rear and push his hips upward, trying to push himself deeper into your cunt, if at all possible. After a moment, you roll your hips, gripping the trim of the couch with both hands, and slide your cunt so he is almost out of your body, only to resheath himself as you push back down.

“ Fuck , Arthur.”

“Keep goin’, keep goin’ girl.” He pants as you repeat the motion. And repeat it again. And again.

You shove your mouth against his, and he opens his with a throaty moan, his tongue pushing inside your mouth as you continue gyrating in his lap.

He coaxes a wail from you as he meets your thrusts, hands moving up to your hips and helping slam you back down onto him.

Thank god you had the wherewithal to close the door, as the heavy panting and groaning from the two of you fills the air, along with the rustling of your dress over his suit.

You’re panting, whining , throwing your head back as you stutter over him. Arthur’s hands are true on your hips, keeping them in rhythm as he meets them with short upward thrusts.

“Tha’s it, c’mon-” he pants as you keen, your eyes screwed shut as you feverishly grind down on him.

He would be damned if he found his end before you did. Even with you sucking him off like a whore on your knees, it was everything to keep him from spilling down your throat before. But as you get closer, closer to that point of no return, he realizes he needs to send you over that edge. For his own pleasure.

Your hips roll and your head is thrown back and you sigh in ecstasy as you tighten around him, he leans forward, hands on your lower back, pushing you down on him as you ride out your orgasm.

Arthur’s hands move your hips slowly over his, a smug grin spreading across his face. Finally, for the first time since you ran your little fingers down his cock, does he feel like he’s gained back some semblance of control.

He leans forward and nips at the shell of your ear before his hot breath upon it makes you shiver, “C’mon, we ain’t done yet.”

You whine, oversensitive, burying your head into the crook of his neck. He juts his hips upward in a half-hearted thrust, and the noise escaping your mouth verges on desperate.

“Up, wanna fuck you on the rich man’s desk,” Arthur grunts haughtily, and you pull back with a laugh, a sly smile on your face as you regain your bearings. You pull off of him, both of you gasping softly at the loss of him in your core. Standing up from his lap, his hands remain on your hips as your legs shake from your release. A mirthful chuckle bubbles from his chest as he stands up as well, one hand back to his pants to keep them up. Arthur moves his hand from your hip and playfully swats at your rear, urging you back to the writing desk that he had been rifling through at the beginning of this escapade.

Your skirts rustle, and you bend over quickly to grab your bloomers from the floor and tuck them into your bosom, between your breasts. Your heels click against the lacquered floor as you walk toward the desk, and you begin to turn around to face your outlaw until his hands find you again. He pushes you until your hips bump against the table, and your hands fly to the desk’s surface to stop yourself from falling forward.

“Arthur-!” You gasp in surprise, but further complaint is cut off as the man presses himself against you, forcing you to bend over, his arms encircling your shoulders and his breath against your neck as both of you bend over the table. He rolls his hips shortly against you, and his hardness hasn’t abided at all.

You’re guided down to your elbows, and one of Arthur’s large hands starts gathering the bottom of your skirts, crumpling them in lustful fists, the maroon gown and hidden white petticoat drawing upward.

The back of your legs are slowly bared to him, black stockings ending above your knee, and the paleness of your thighs as he flips the fabric up. He grunts as he draws your skirt clean over your hips, allowing it to collect at your waist, fanning out over the desk you’re sprawled out on.

His hands are greedy, moving to squeeze at your pert rear, and you shiver as one of his rough hands works downward, a finger trailing down your goosebumped skin to the folds of your cunt, obscenely wet from when you rode him on the couch.

“A-Arthur, don’t-”

“Don’t what ?” He replies harshly in your ear, laying on top of you again and taking that finger to press shallowly inside your swollen opening.

“T-tease me.” You grit out, unable to do much more than push your hips backward slightly onto his hand, but cruelly, he pulls his hand back from your core, and you whine in frustration as he places it back on your hip.

“Whatchu want, darlin’? Y’want my cock again?” Arthur grunts, and you feel the blunt, hot head of his cock press against your skin. You buck against him weakly.

“ Please. ”

He acquiesces to your plea.

Arthur slides his hard cock in between your folds and snaps his hips forward to bury himself within your cunt. He cannot help the groan that spills from him and is egged on by the high gasp you give as you place your cheek down on the desk as he begins to rock his hips back and forth.

His hands, rough and calloused and warm, encircle your hips as he drives into you, the wet noises of your bodies coming together would be embarrassing if either of you had any semblance of dignity.

Of course, you didn’t. Arthur has you bent over a writing desk in the mayor’s office, fucking you as if his life depended on it, your skirts hiked over your rear, and his pants falling to his knees.

He yanks on the stupid white bow tie constricting his neck, letting it fall open as he grunts. He leans over you again, moving one of the hands on your hips down, down, pushing skirts aside and reaching for the nub just above where he pierces you. He quickly finds it, and you keen .

“There we go.”

“St-stop… A-Arthur, it’s too much.” You cry, your legs shaking against his as he slams his hips hard against yours. His hand underneath your skirts circles your clit and you feel like you could die from the pleasure.

“Nuh-uh. Need another one from ya.” He grunts in your ear as you whine. His other hand moves from your hip to your lower back as he continues to grind his hips into your rear, the desk shaking with the movement.

Arthur covers your mouth as you scream, your cunt clenching so hard around his cock that he slams himself forward once and wrenches himself from you, throwing his head back in ecstasy. He grasps his cockhead in his hand, coming in sticky globs over his fingers, trying to save both your dress and his suit from the mess.

As the two of you pant, he gently places his large hand on your hips as he stands up, rubbing softly. He gently extricates himself from you, pulling your skirts to cover you as you lay panting on the table, utterly wrecked. He pulls a handkerchief from his suit pocket, wiping his spend from his hand. He stuffs his softening cock back into his pants as he pulls them up and retucks his dress shirt in, trying to look more dinner party and less debauchery.

“Enough for you, Arthur?” You chuckle between heavy breaths. You push yourself to your elbows before looking back at him with the mischievous glint in your eyes from before.

He works at retying the bow tie at his neck.

You swipe the ornate letter opener from before and tuck it into your voluminous skirts. He doesn’t see you grab it.

“I dunno. You did say I’m a greedy man.”

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2edit #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption #rdr2 smut #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #ao3 #seven deadly sins #twolafic

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twsted-idiot · 1 month

Text

Rae Transcript :3!!!

(Ft him being a faggot for Johnny) (his ability is Mimic. He can mimic voices of victims (current or past) to lure others towards him, or one of the other family members. Although the ability itself does no damage)

Feeding Grandpa

-“Everyone else says it was a hell of a lot easier with you up ‘nd able so..”

-“We don’t got all day, eat up.” -“Eat up so we can catch these assholes.” -(sigh) “we’re gettin it under control”

-“It’d be a whole lot easier if you could actually fuckin help.”

Victim Found (in hiding spot)

-“What’re you hidin’ for?”

-“It’s kinda rude to go around peoples property ‘n hide from em y’know.”

-“Get yer ass out here”

-“Picked a shit hidin’ spot, sugar.”

-“Found ya” (laughs)

-“Y’all should really find better hidin’ spots”

Victim Hit

-“Quit runnin’, you ain’t gon’ make it much further”

-“Awh, that hurt?” (Laughs)

-“Hold still! I’ll get it over quick, promise.”

-“All that screamin’ ain’t gonna save you.”

-“Why don’t you just give up?”

Blood Trail

-“You left a trail, y’know…”

-“Yer makin’ this awfully easy to find you”

-“Les’ got to clean this up.”

-“Aw, don’t bleed out everywhere. It ain’t no fun if you die before I get to ya”

Match Start

-“Y’all’s heads are gonna be rollin’ soon enough..”

-“Didn’t know we had visitors.”

-“Don’t worry, I’ll put y’all to good use.”

Victim seen escaping

-“Shit..they won’t believe em…”

-“Ain’t worth chasin’ em down, probably won’t make it far anyway.”

-(annoyed groan)

-“Goddamnit. The others really gotta start helpin, I can’t stop all of em on my own.”

-“Slick bastards…”

Idle

-"That girl wasn't even pretty, I dunno why the hell Johnny liked her so much...glad he fuckin' killed her"

-"The hells this draggin' on for?"

-"Doin' everything round here I swear.."

-"Awfully rude to keep hidin' from me y'know.."

Victim Seen

-"Come back here, sugar"

-"Where the hell you think yer goin'?"

-"It don't have to be this way y'know..."

-"I'll take it easy on ya."

-"Honestly, all this runnin' around is kinda pathetic."

Ability Denied

-"Ain't none of em nearby.."

-"None of em can hear me from here."

-"Nah, won't work here."

-"I should wait until they get closer..."

Close encounter

-"Oh? This ain't gonna end well for you."

-"Go on, hit me."

-"That's it! Fight back! It ain't no fun if y'all just let us kill you."

Execution

-"This woulda been easier if y'all just quit runnin'"

-"See? There was no damn point in allat."

-"Don't worry, I'll make sure to put ya to good use."

Drayton/The Cook seen

-"Quit hollerin' at me old man."

-"It'd be a hell of a lot easier for you to hear em if you'd shut the fuck up."

-"Watch it, I'll rip yer fuckin' tongue out myself."

-"Put those damn locks to use"

-"I'd rather be dead than actually be related to you, so quit talkin' like it actually matters that I ain't."

Nubbins/Hitchhiker Seen

-"Keep that damn roadkill away from me."

-"Hurry up 'n place them traps, they ain't doin no good if you don't."

-"You sure as hell ain't the best...don't care what that prehistoric ass says."

-"If you gonna talk about me, speak up. Yer mutterin' is annoying."

-"How the hell you make them traps of yers anyway?"

Johnny seen

-"Don't worry Hun, we'll catch em."

-(whistles)

-"You find any of em yet?"

-"I'll help you catch em if you want.."

-"I ain't lookin'.."

-"Yer old lady's gettin' on my nerves y'know."

-"Let me know if you need any help Hun"

-"You should quit bringin' them city girls around."

Sissy seen

-"Keep that poison shit away from me, I'll rip yer fuckin' head off if you get it on me."

-"Awfully convenient for you to show up now."

-"I ain't goin in yer stupid fuckin garden."

-"Quit singin' those stupid hippie songs all the time, it's annoying."

-"Don't you dare bring back one of them weirdos with you."

Nancy Seen

-"We're gonna catch em, quit hollerin' at me."

-"Just don't place them traps in my way.."

-"Where the hell you get all that barbed wire anyway?"

-"That's an awfully nasty scar..." (Chuckles)

-"What? Need help or somethin'?"

-"You can quit lookin' at me like I did somethin' wrong..christ."

Bubba Seen

-"Goddamn big boy, yer puttin' that saw to work."

-"Just watch where yer swingin' that thing..."

-"Don't listen to them, they're a bunch of assholes. They're just jealous."

-"Don't worry, I'll help you catch em'"

-"I'll drag one of em to ya so you can gut em, yeah?"

Cook(seeing Rae)

-"Yer makin a damn fool of yerself!"

-"You ain't even a part of this family, quit yer yapping."

-"This is Johnny's fault y'know."

-"You 'n Johnny better quit bringin' back those damn girls."

Hitchhiker(Seeing Rae)

-"Y-you ain't even actually a part of this family.." (snicker)

-"Lookit what I found!"

-"I'm p-placin' my traps, what're you doin'?"

-"You still can't handle eatin' flesh?"

-"Quit h-hollerin' at me."

-"You better watch out! Bubba might give you another one of them scars."

Johnny (seeing Rae)

-"You know all the good hidin' spots, don't ya?" (Chuckle)

-"Quit starin' now ain't the damn time."

-"You didn't seem too fond of that girl..there somethin' you wanna tell me?"

-"C'mon now, lure them out already!"

-"Put that voice of yers to work, yeah?"

Sissy(Seeing Rae)

-"Stay outta my way and you won't get any poison on you."

-"I'd stick around more if yall weren't such assholes..."

-"You still ain't seen the light yet, that's your problem!"

-"Stay out of my garden."

-"Don't start bringin' back those girls like Johnny.. we're in this mess cause of him."

Nancy(seeing Rae)

-"Quit ooglin' Johnny, you ain't slick."

-"Hurry up 'n lure em out!"

-"Why you always out in Johnny's shack for?"

-"Focus! Don't let em get away."

-"It ain't that hard to not get tangled in my traps.."

#Oc: Rae Slater #TCM oc #TCSM oc #TCM game #TCM game oc #TCSM game oc #Drayton Sawyer #Nubbins Sawyer #Sissy Sawyer #Johnny Sawyer #Johnny Slaughter #Black Nancy #Nancy Sawyer #Nancy Slaughter #Bubba Sawyer #Leatherface

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 9 months

Note

Can I request a fem reader x jack Daniels from the golden circle, where maybe they are dating for a while but agent whiskey wants to keep it quiet, cause he doesn't want them to get fired from being in a relationship together, but then there is a party and he sees another agent flirting with reader and gets jealous and just goes up to her, kiss her and admits in front of everyone that he loves her

.⋆｡Jack And Coke｡⋆.

Jack Daniels x plus size reader

Hiding your relationship from your employers was a good idea in theory but when a suave English agent begins chatting you up, your partner is definitely not happy

Warnings: secret relationship, jealousy, drinking, vague mentions of danger, no use of y/n, fluff, implied smut, reader is a handler like Ginger-Ale

WC: 595

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The burning fury in the southern man was stoked by the expensive whiskey he was sipping on. His brown eyes fixated on the couple only a few yards away from him. The English agent was very clearly flirting with you and you, being your usual friendly self, were indulging him (not that you had any clue what his true intentions were).

Jack knew he had only himself to blame for this whole situation, he was the one that insisted on keeping your relationship a secret, for a time at least. Not only would you both not have to deal with the bullshit paperwork you would have to fill out but it would allow you to remain his personal handler. And for the more selfish reason that he wanted to keep you safe. If any of his enemies knew that you and him were an item or even if they knew you existed- you would be in danger and he couldn’t live with himself if you got hurt.

But watching you now as you were dressed to kill in a navy dress that so beautifully framed your soft body while another (younger) man flirted with you, Jack was second guessing all his decisions up to this point. “She’s looking damn gorgeous ain’t she?” He was shaken from his thoughts as the Statesmen boss saddled up to the bar next to him.

“Don’t know what yer talkin about.” Jack grumbled, singling for a refill of his drink. Champ raised a brow at his agent, his thin lips downturning.

“I may be an old man now but I know the look of love when I see it and you aren’t as slick as ya think you are. I also think you forget that the hallways have cameras and microphones.” He smirked, making Jack choke on his drink. He turned to retort but a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Gallahead was now mere inches from you, his left hand hovering over your wide hip, just waiting for permission to touch. Jack’s vision went red.

The music and the chatter went quiet as he slammed the tumbler of whiskey down, causing the glass to shatter. All eyes turned to him, surprised at the sudden outburst by the normally cool and collected agent. They expected him to smile and play it off as an accident but instead he pushed himself from the bar and barrelled his way through the crowd, his gaze firmly locked on you.

Your own eyes were wide but not with terror, in fact they got darker as he approached, making Jack internally beam with pride. He said nothing as a strong arm wound around your thick hips and he tugged you away from Eggsy and into his side. He glared at the younger man and before anyone could speak, he cupped your full cheek and kissed you.

You squeaked against his lips before sighing and relaxing into it, one of your hands coming up to rest right above his pounding heart. He gave your bottom lip a quick nip then pulled away. “I suggest ya keep your hands to yourself, specially when it comes to my gal.” He glared at Eggsy who seemed, for once, at a loss of words.

Considering the matter dealt with, Jack turned back to you with a sly grin. “Now darlin why don’t we blow this party and you can show your cowboy a good time?” He led you from the bar, not noticing Tequila and Champ exchanging a sizable amount of bills over their drinks.

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impala-dreamer · 7 months

Text

Another War

A Story From The MCU (Falcon and The Winter Soldier)

~Sam and Bucky are continuously bickering... even in the bedroom.~

Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, F!Reader

1,732 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Comedy and Smuts.

A/N: I didn't "pair them up" for a reason, but there's no Sam/Bucky action... don't worry. You'll see...

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It wasn’t an uncommon thing to bear witness to- the bickering. Sam and Bucky were constantly at each other’s throats arguing about just about everything. Not a moment would pass where one man wasn’t side-eyeing the other and or dramatically huffing. It was generally amusing, but at that moment, it was incredibly frustrating.

They stood, naked and quarreling at the foot of the bed, repeatedly gesturing towards you even as they paid you no regard.

With ankles and wrists tied to the bed with silken ropes, a white sash wrapped around your head and locked between your lips, you were at their mercy. Naked and whimpering, you had no choice but to wait and see what their plan was.

“All I’m sayin’ is that we can’t both be down there at the same time.”

Bucky scoffed at Sam’s words. “You kidding me? Of course we can. She has two holes.”

Sam pursed his lips. “I ain’t gonna be in a position where my dick touches your dick. Even by accident, even a little bit. Therefore, double time is out.”

The thought of both of them down south at once made you shiver and leak. You could feel a stream of wetness slick down your crack and into the sheets. It probably wasn’t possible to take both of them at once- your ass was untrained, your cunt too tight, but the idea was lovely. Eyes gliding down their firm bodies, you gazed at their cocks, only half hard but long and thick. Imagining them both at once, practically splitting you open was enough to make you moan.

Bucky shot a look at you and his lips curled in a tiny smirk. “Be right with you, doll,” he assured, adding a wink for good measure.

Arousal burned in your belly and you jerked your hips. Blue eyes widened slightly and Bucky licked his lips.

“She’s waiting,” he said, turning back to Sam.

“Yeah, well, so am I.” Sam rubbed a hand down his face and scratched at his jaw. “You know what? Screw this. I’m going in.”

Grabbing his cock, Sam turned to the bed and only managed to get one knee on the mattress before he was stopped by a metal grip that nearly knocked him back into the far wall.

“Not so fast!” Bucky warned, eyes narrowed and silver digits tensing on Sam’s upper arm. “We’re not finished here.”

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed. “And we never will be if you don’t step off and let me get in there.”

It was hard not to laugh at their ridiculous argument, but harder still not to whine with desperation. You gnawed at the sash in your mouth and pushed it with your tongue in a pathetic attempt to loosen it and speak.

Sam had tied it well.

Bucky growled and released his hold on Sam.

“Who put you in charge of positions anyway?”

Dark eyes stared on with annoyance. “I did. You can’t make a damned decision to save your life.”

Bucky balked. “Fuck you, I can decide things. I’ve been deciding things since before your grandfather was born!”

“Here we go again, the old man talk.” Sam tossed his hands up and sighed. “You always gotta bring up that shit like it matters.”

“It does matter.” Bucky took a step towards the bed, essentially blocking Sam from getting to you. “Now, respect your elders and back up. That pussy is mine.”

Every muscle in your body clenched and your sensitive flesh darkened with heightened arousal.

Sam skirted around him and set his knee on the bed once more. “Don’t think so, Grandpa. She wants a young, virile man, not some Baby Boomer.”

“Virile?”

“You heard me.”

Bucky sneered and pushed Sam back again. “And excuse me, I’m no Baby Boomer. We were called the Greatest Generation for a reason.”

Sam chuckled. “Were. As in past tense.” Fearlessly, he grabbed Bucky’s metal arm and shoved him back away from the bed. “Make room for the future.”

More than annoyed, Bucky whipped his arm away and sucked his teeth, his jaw clenching. “I’m gonna kick your ass later, just be prepared.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Sam set his eyes on your cunt and puckered his wet lips, honing in on his target. “You can try.”

“I will.”

“Sure.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

Almost at the end of your patience, you tried to break up the fight, but your words came on in an unintelligible mumble. You strained against the ropes, twisted your hips, groaned as loud as you could.

The men got your point and relented. They both took a deep breath and stood back up, turning once more towards each other to end the debate and get over their bickering.

A wave of relief washed over you and you set your eyes upon their cocks once more. Your mouth watered around the sash and drool spilled down your chin. You needed them badly, no matter who went where.

Sam spoke first, his arms crossed over his smooth, puffed out chest, taking charge again. “How about we spit roast her? Will that make you happy?”

Confused, Bucky squinted down at him. “What?”

“Spit roast,” he repeated.

Bucky laughed. “That’s not a thing, you made that up.”

Sam exhaled hard through his nose. “That absolutely is a thing.”

“No it’s not. You’re just fucking with me.”

“While I do enjoy fucking with you, this time I’m not. It’s a thing.”

Bucky hummed and looked over at you, trying to imagine what Sam was talking about.

“It’s when we go at her from both ends,” Sam explained calmly. “Like… putting a chicken on a spit and… well, roasting it.”

“So… I go-” Bucky gestured to your pussy, then your face. “And you go-”

“Yeah. Technically. Except I’m going there-” Sam pointed at your cunt. “And you go up there.”

Bucky shook his head. “Why do you get to go there? Why can’t I go there?”

“Because someone’s gotta go there and the other has to go up there or the whole thing doesn’t work!”

Sensing the utter decline of your evening, you yelled again and thrashed about until they stopped and stared at you.

Bucky cocked a brow. “Why don’t we just ask Y/N what she wants?”

It was as if the idea had occurred to neither of them, and Sam made a little noise of interest.

“Huh. Good idea.”

Back on the mattress, he crawled up to the headboard and gently pulled the sash from your mouth. Finally free, you smacked your dry lips together and swallowed.

“Thank you!” Flipping your head to glare at them both in turn, you let them have it. “You two are the dumbest fuckers I’ve ever met. You’re literally fighting over the stupidest thing right now. Who goes where, who does what… You’re both gonna get some so who cares! And, you’ve both already been both places so you know they’re both good- so shut the fuck up and somebody fuck me before I dry up faster than Arizona in a drought!”

At your feet, Bucky struggled not to laugh, but Sam let it go, nearly bursting out at your frustration.

“Oh my god! Now you’re laughing at me?”

Sam covered his mouth, unable to stop. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Watching Sam lose it, Bucky broke as well. He turned his back but you could see his shoulders shaking with each laugh.

“You two suck,” you sighed. “So much.”

Sam softened and leaned close, his breath wisping over your collarbone. “Oh, don’t be like that. You know you love it.”

Your pulse quickened. “Nope. I hate you both.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder at you; blue eyes bright and mesmerizing. “Come on, sweetheart. No need to lie.”

The shiver was back and you squirmed, rolling your hips as Bucky flipped over onto his hands and knees. He was like a tiger and your lips were his prey.

With your eyes locked on Bucky, Sam snuck his hand down your side and scraped his blunt nails across your lower belly.

“Oh god…”

Bucky reached his goal and dropped down to lick deep into your mouth, spreading your lips with his forceful kiss. You moaned into his mouth, felt your eyes close tight as the heat spread quickly through your system.

When Sam’s fingers dipped between your open legs, you choked back a scream as the flood returned. He gathered up the slick and coated your clit with it before turning mind numbing circles right above it.

“Not dry now,” he teased.

Bucky pulled back and stared down into the very center of you. “She never is…”

Sam sat up a bit. “Well, sometimes she is. She don’t walk around soaking her panties all day.”

“She does when I’m around.”

“You know what- I’m gonna smack the hell out of you if you-”

“Enough!”

Your roar shut them both up and they looked down in awe and apology.

“I swear to god, this is the last time I let you two into my bed at the same time. I can’t take it anymore.” A deep breath calmed you slightly, but it was just too much. “Now, untie me and let’s get this thing over with. Bucky, you’re up here, Sam, you go downtown. OK? Good. Let’s go.”

In agreement and in tandem, they both set to releasing you from the ropes. Bucky gently untied your ankles while Sam leaned over you to let your arms free.

“See? Told you she wanted me down there,” Sam whispered under his breath while scooting down to the foot of the bed.

Bucky leered and shook his head. “You’re such an ass.”

Sam sat straight up and raised a finger, ready to lash out at Bucky again, reup the argument.

Before they could get back at it, you jumped up and slapped them both in the side of the head.

“Hey!”

Sam gulped audibly and Bucky rubbed at his head.

“Ouch.”

“That didn’t hurt,” Sam huffed.

Bucky gawked. “Yes it did!”

“No it didn’t, you pussy.”

“Who you calling a pussy, you fat head?”

“Fat head? The fuck does that even mean?”

On and on they went, not even noticing that you slipped away into the other room to take care of yourself on the sofa.

It wasn’t an uncommon thing to witness them fighting, but it certainly was frustrating.

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