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mlmxreader · 9 months

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Fire | Forrest Bonduraunt x gn!reader

anonymous asked: Forrest Bondurant Hey 🖤!! May I please ask for a work using the following prompts for Forrest Bondurant X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader: “What? He had it coming” (Someone talking shit about our mans and reader is like, no you don't??)

summary: he had it coming, you're not to blame and Forrest knows that.

tws: violence, blood, swearing

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Forrest was more than used to people talking about him, insulting him, causing him grief; he was used to it, and he always brushed it off if he knew that it wasn't worth the fight. Most of the time, it wasn't.

Most of the time, it was just someone getting too big for their boots, and that wasn't his fault; so he brushed it off. Usually with little more than a grunt or a growl, followed by him lighting up a cigar or having a shot. But then you came along, and suddenly Forrest had the challenge of keeping your temper in check when someone talked about him or insulted him.

He could be violent when he needed and wanted to be, but you?

You seemed to think that violence was a question, and that the answer you were looking for was yes. Word soon spread that people had to watch their words around Forrest, in case his partner overheard; more than anything, it was the knowledge that if they hurt you, there would be nothing to hold Forrest back.

One person shouting and putting someone in their place wasn't so much scary as much as it was a reminder that common sense still existed. But Forrest's partner?

Nobody would risk that unless they were stupid, refused to believe that Forrest was capable of great brutality, or both. Nobody would dare hurt you - not while Forrest was around. He was scary when he had to be, when he needed to be. When his hand was forced. Forrest's violence was unlike yours; you were uncontrollable and fierce - a red hot fire. Forrest was methodical and cold - a predator lurking in shadows.

You were fire, but Forrest? Forrest was an earthquake.

"I don't get it," the man you were dealing with scoffed, looking over at Forrest. "Why him? He's never gonna give you what you need."

You glared at him, clenching your jaw and balling your fists at your sides. "Because unlike you, Forrest makes me happy."

"How?" He scoffed. "It's not like he can provide you with stability. Or a decent place to live, or-"

You grabbed the back of his head, and smashed it against the table; with his head down, you grabbed a nearby glass, and hammered it against his skull, not caring where the shards went as you sighed heavily and shook your head.

No one was allowed to speak ill of Forrest. He should have known that, and as he sat there, weeping and crying out in agony, you grinned over at Forrest.

He knew immediately what that grin meant, and took his time to come over to you; with his hand on your shoulder, Forrest hummed, and dropped his gaze to your bloodied knuckles.

"What? He had it coming," you shrugged, but Forrest only dropped to his knees, and took your hands in his. "Forrest?"

He was carefully examining them, seeing if the blood belonged to you or to the most recent recipient of your temper; he pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket, gently mopping away the blood as he nodded slowly.

Satisfied that you were not injured. He dropped your hands, and sighed heavily.

"Is he dead?"

"No," you rolled your eyes. "He should be though, the shit he was saying about you."

Forrest cocked a brow, shaking his head. "You need to learn to control your temper."

"I can control it," you told him. "Just not when people talk shit about you."

A sharp growl came from the back of his throat; he was meant to be the one to protect you and to stand up for you. He was meant to be the strong one. Yet you were insistent on protecting him, standing up for him and never backing down. You were as strong as he was.

He liked that, even if he thought that your methods weren't exactly the best way to deal with things. At least you didn't kill him. Licking his lips, Forrest pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and hummed softly as he pulled you up from your chair, leading you away; he let you sit at the kitchen table while he prepared the coffee. He knew how you liked it.

He would have to have been an idiot not to notice that you never drank the full cup when anyone else made it. Even if you were friendly with his brothers, you never finished a cup of coffee made by them. You always left the last three or four swigs.

But when Forrest made it, you always emptied the mug. It made him smile when he was out alone; if he was out chopping wood or doing some other errand. When he was all by himself, he often thought about how you drank coffee.

He thought about how protective you were of him, and how you would always stand up for him, and he would smile then, too. Sure, he wasn't exactly keen on the bloodshed you left behind - but you were definitely a keeper. He knew that.

He put the mug down in front of you and smiled as he sat down beside you. "Hungry?"

You shook your head, taking a swig. "Not yet… I swear, every time you make coffee, it's better than the last time."

Forrest smiled as he nodded slowly. "Hurt?"

You shook your head again. "I don't think so. My hands feel okay… sticky from that cunt's blood, but… okay."

He nodded. "Good."

"I'm sorry," you said quietly. "If I worried you. I just… I don't… I can't stand it when people talk shit about you, and I won't have it."

"You always worry me," Forrest huffed quietly, although the smile on his face was more than evident. Endearment.

You smiled back, wanting to playfully shove him for such a comment but unable to find it in yourself as you brought your legs up to rest on his thighs; you sat back in your seat, sighing contently. "You worry me, too, y'know."

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areyoureadytofumble · 9 months

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As My Life Spill Into Yours

NSFW 18+ run on home, children

Summary: Just a wee bit of smut and fluff.

Pairing: Forrest Bondurant x Original Male Character

Warnings: handjobs, blowjobs, deep throating, size difference, PWP, and some good ‘ole fluff

Word count: 3k-ish

A/N: holy shit y’all this is the first thing I’ve written in ✨literally✨over five years. I just hope it’s not a piece of shit hahaha. I’ve also got it posted on ao3 so check it out there? Here? Whatever makes you happy.

🎃🎃happy spooky season🎃🎃

“Have ye thought about what I said?”

Forrest’s grip on his paper tightens. The question sounds innocent. It’s asked casually, tossed into the air like it’s insignificant, like the room hasn’t gone still upon the utterance of it. He can feel a pair of eyes boring into the side of his head from across the bar. The room feels hot all of a sudden. His collar presses tight against his scar. “You say lots of things,” he grunts.

A short auburn haired man is standing behind the bar, a devilish smile curling over his youthful face. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Forrest swallows hard then sets the paper down. He turns fully in his seat to look at the man across from him.

Mads Fitzpatrick. He had emigrated from Northern Ireland on his own at the age of twenty eight with his most sacred possession, his typewriter, it was a gift his granda had given him when he turned sixteen. With it he wrote romance novels under the pseudonym BH Elliot.

He was short with a fair build, small waist, and dark auburn hair. When he smiled it was crooked but his nose was long and straight. His mother’s reason for naming him Mads, in her words, ‘I was mad enough to have him.’ It was fitting, he could go a little mad sometimes. He was quick to laugh- quicker to smash a bottle in someone’s face. His upbringing required him to be tough. He didn’t scare easily. So when Forrest opened the door of the station with his scarred throat on full display Mads wasn’t thrown in the slightest. He explained to the large man that he’d been told from people in town there was a room available for rent and he’d very much like to take it. Truth be told his books weren’t being received as well as they had been in Ireland, he couldn’t afford a place on his own. Forrest accepted his offer and helped him carry in his bags.

It was an adjustment for Forrest at first, having another person in his home, especially after his brothers had moved out and started families of their own. The house was quiet. It had never been quiet before. A million little sounds went when his brothers left, sounds he hadn’t realized were there, the idle noises that made up the soundtrack of his day to day life: Chairs scraping, boisterous laughter, footsteps in the night. It was proof he wasn’t alone.

Forrest never felt lonely when he heard the typewriter clicking away at the bar.

There was one concern creeping up in the first few months. It started small as a seed, growing and spreading through Forrest until he thought he would choke on the branches.

Forrest was more than adjusting to Mads, he was falling for him.

He couldn’t focus when the other man was in the room. Couldn’t risk stealing a glance into those his eyes. They were so large and dark he felt bottomless when he looked into them, he could feel the world give way under his feet. Forrest loved his accent; how his voice pitched this way and that, the way he said ‘how’ sounded like ‘hi’ and his C’s caught his tongue. He liked that he was smart but never pretentious. Mads crept into his heart and took root like he had always been there.

If Forrest was falling, Mads was crashing, head first, started slipping as soon as Forrest opened the door. He knew from that first night that he was exactly where he was supposed to be with the person he was meant to be with. He could feel it in his very being.

Mads wanted to be patient, he tried to be subtle, but he was a hallion through and through, if he wanted something he was going to pull every cheap trick he needed to get it.

He would touch Forrest as often as he could; Offering to give him palm readings, fixing his collar so he could gently graze the scar with the pads of his fingers, grabbing onto the large biceps for support (after he purposely stumbled over his own feet), and asking for a light then cupping his hands over Forrest’s own to ‘protect the flame’. He even took to wearing sweet almond oil in his hair and on his pulse points because he noticed Forrest stood closer when he did.

Sometimes, late at night, when he could hear Forrest settling down to bed, he would touch himself. He wasn’t loud, he didn’t need to be loud, with just the two of them there he knew the sounds would carry. That and the fact that their rooms were right next to each other. He was careful, limited his noises to breathy sighs, let quiet moans get caught in his throat. And it was working. In the mornings after Forrest was drawn to him like a moth to burning flame.

Mads was doing everything short of a Mae West impression when Forrest finally broke and kissed him against his beat up truck. And then again on the porch. And again behind the bar. And again and again as many times as he could.

Mads leans over the bar with a rag so as to seem busy, “If yer not interested that’s all ye have to say, love,” he says soothingly.

Forrest pauses again, weighs his thoughts before he speaks. “I’m… curious.”

Mads lifts his head. He’s got a mischievous quirk playing on his crooked grin, “Curious?”

“More’n curious,” Forrest mumbles. His face is flushing sweet and pink, Mads loves to see it.

The young red head sets the rag down and comes around the bar to the table Forrest is seated at. He sidles up close to him and lays a hand at the nape of his neck. The hairs there are short and bristly under his palm. His thumb rubs circles behind Forrest’s ear. Forrest turns his head to kiss the lovely offered wrist. When he breathes he smells sweet almonds.

“Is that a yes?” The voice above him is hopeful.

Forrest looks up and stares, caught in that black gaze. The world seems to move around them at that moment. He inhales shakily and nods once then turns his head and kisses the wrist again.

Mads’ grin becomes positively lopsided. He bends down and kisses the shell of Forrest’s ear. “You’ll like it,” Mads purrs, “I promise.”

He slides easily into Forrest’s lap and pulls him down for a hungry kiss. Forrest responds eagerly, wrapping his hands around the firm thighs splayed across his own. His hands slide up, over the curve of Mads’ hips, settling on his small waist. Mads tugs at the top buttons of Forrest’s shirt. He slips a hand under the fabric and rakes his nails through the thick, soft brown hair covering the muscled chest. A sweet hum leaves his lips as his pinky grazes a hardened nipple. He takes care of the rest buttons quickly, pushing the shirt off the broad shoulders and leans down to catch the other nipple in his mouth. He kisses it wetly, lavishing his tongue over the stiffened bud. Forrest groans, Mads feels the rumble under his lips. His nails scratch lightly down his lover’s stomach until he reaches his trousers. The hand smooths over the larger man’s bulge, squeezes with just the right amount of pressure, enough to snatch the breath right out of Forrest’s lungs.

Mads gets up suddenly but doesn’t go far. Forrest is holding on tight to the slim waist. Mads answers with a light laugh.

“Eager,” he teases.

His smile softens and turns tender as he looks down, “Wait ‘til I say ready, aye?” He plants a kiss on Forrest’s temple and slips out of his burly arms with ease, sauntering away to their bedroom.

“Have ye thought about what I said?”

Oh yes, he had thought about it. Thought about it when he was in town, at home, in bed, driving down empty dirt roads. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It was late, the air in the bedroom hot and sticky. Mads was straddling Forrest’s thick waist, rocking his hips at his own frantic pace, chasing his own pleasure. His hard cock bobbed untouched. Forrest was in awe of the sight. He could only grab at the sweat soaked sheets beneath him. Mads’ moans turned higher and breathier. He was getting close.

“Fuck, Forrest,” he panted, “yer so fuckin’ big.”

Mads looked down at him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He pounced, dug his nails into Forrest’s strong shoulders, pierced his prey his black gaze.

“I want ye to fuck my face with yer big fat cock,” he said sweetly, “I wanna choke. Pull me hair and make me take it like a good cocksucker. Use my throat like yer fuck toy. Fuck me raw. Think yea’d like that? Aye, ye do. Always starin’ at me mouth. Imagine how lovely it’ll look covered in cum.”

Forrest was pinned, he was trapped in that gaze, caught in that clawed grip- his blue eyes widened, pupils blown out with lust. There was a brief flash in his mind; Mads’ lips stretched tight around the base of his cock, the long straight nose buried in his pubes, his black eyes blinking wetly. A switch flipped in him. He grabbed Mads by the hips and rolled them over, folded the smaller man in half and drilled into him mercilessly. Mads was now the one tearing desperately at the sheets. He cried out in pleasure and reached between their bodies to fist his neglected cock. He was floating, breathless, almost there.

Forrest covered the smaller hand with his own. He pumped in time with his thrusts, watched enraptured as Mads fell apart apart in his arms. His back arched off the bed, he tossed his head back, auburn hair spilling onto the pillow. He came with a curse, spilling over Forrest’s scarred knuckles.

Forrest didn’t let up. He drove deeper and deeper into Mads’ clenching tightness, encouraged by his breathless moans. He captured them in a burning kiss. His orgasm hit him like a wave, knocking him breathless. He fucked Mads through it until they were both shaking and sensitive from the aftershocks. They stayed close, exchanging soft kisses, bare grazes of the lips, whispered they loved each other in the tranquil space between them.

Afterwards they had cleaned up and returned to bed, Forrest smoking a cigar with Mads curled over him, both content, sated, warm in their afterglow. Mads was quickly nodding off, a proper fucking always put him right to sleep. He mumbled tiredly as he rubbed his face into the furred chest. He peeked up at Forrest sheepishly.

“What I said, earlier,” he whispered, “Give it a wee think.”

He was asleep before Forrest finished his cigar.

“Crack on!” Mads calls from the bedroom.

Forrest is out of the chair and standing in front of the door in seconds. His hand hovers over the handle. He has to take a moment to calm the rushing in ears.

When he steps into the bedroom he finds Mads kneeling on the rug in front of the bed. He’s stripped down to his briefs, has his hands folded behind his back in a show of submission. Forrest’s heart races as he takes in Mads’ doe eyed stare. He crosses the distance between them with slow, measured steps. He’s hard and straining against his trousers, inches away from Mads’ face.

Forrest runs a scarred hand through Mads’ hair and gives it a light tug, gets a soft gasp in return. His other hand goes to the buttons of his pants. He takes care of them slowly, holds Mads’ head in place so he can watch.

“You’re sure?” He grunts.

Mads beams at him cheekily, “Are ye gonna make me beg?”

Forrest smirks, “You’d like that more than me.” He pulls out his erect cock and gives it a couple slow strokes. Mads watches enraptured. He opens his mouth and tries to lean forward but Forrest holds him in place by the hair. Mads whines petulantly. He tries again, the impatient brat, but Forrest doesn’t let go.

“More I think ‘bout it,” Forrest drawls, “more that beggin’ starts to sound real nice.”

Mads’ eyes brighten and take on a fiendish shine. He pushes his shoulders back and bats his lashes at the towering figure stood over him. “Please fuck my face, Forrest. Make me yer whore. I can take it.” He licks his lips, “I’ll be so good fer ye, love.”

Forrest grumbles in approval and guides Mads’ wet mouth to his stiff member. Mads moves with him, opens his mouth with his tongue out and receives him beautifully, making them both moan. He’s tugged by his auburn hair slowly down Forrest’s thick shaft but is stopped halfway. Forrest holds him there for a beat, then pulls him off just as slow, Mads sucking as he goes, his mouth slurping loudly. They both exhale shakily, look into each others eyes and read each other quickly. They see heat and anticipation burning white hot.

Forrest tests how much Mads can handle, forces him to swallow more and more of his length then pulls him back. He gives the redhead plenty of time to catch his breath, but Mads doesn’t want it, he keeps trying, in vain, to take more but Forrest holds tight to his hair. They start to build a rhythm, Forrest thrusts his hips as he yanks Mads down, makes him take too much, releases him, then does it again. Mads is gagging, tears gathering in his coal colored eyes, the front of his briefs tented and damp with precum.

“Harder,” Mads gasps through a coarse voice. A string of saliva connects from his lips to the reddening tip of Forrest’s cock.

Forrest obliges. He pushes Mads back until his shoulders hit the bed, then steps in close. He grabs both sides of the younger man’s face and fucks it properly with hard snaps of his hips. He only lets go when he feels Mads’ nails digging into his thighs. Mads’ chest heaves as he sucks in a large gulps of air. He noses at the base of Forrest’s long, thick cock, and breathes in his musk. He bathes his balls with his tongue, greedily laps up the taste of salt, he hears cursing above him. Forrest tightens his hold on Mads’ auburn locks, fucks his mouth deeper and deeper, feels his throat open like a rose in bloom. It’s heaven.

It’s been going on so long, Mads isn’t sure how long, but he thinks he gone delirious from lack of oxygen. When his mouth isn’t full he’s babbling with shining bruised lips, “That’s it,” “Don’t stop,” “Fuck me,” “Just like that”. His eyes are absolutely feral. He can feel Forrest’s cock throbbing on his tongue and knows he’s close.

“Mads..” Forrest warns.

He makes like he’s going to step back, or worse, Mads thinks, pull out, and Mads can’t be having that. He slurps him down loudly, all the way to the root, and grabs hold of Forrest’s hips. They lock eyes. Mads hums sweetly.

Forrest buckles, grinds his cock into the velvety warmth as he cums straight down Mads’ throat. His noises wrung out of him are animalistic. Mads moans gratefully and takes it all. He’s practically purring as he milks Forrest for all he’s worth.

Mads tenderly caresses Forrest’s thighs as the large man comes back to himself. He’s panting, trembling, but his mind is blissfully clear. He straightens after a moment and cradles Mads’ face, looks deep into his eyes, and slowly pulls out, Mads suckling softly as he does so, he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Forrest collapses on the floor next to him with a grunt. He wraps a large arm around Mads’ waist and pulls him into his lap. He reaches between the redhead’s legs for the waistband of his briefs and tugs them down.

“You’re crazy, kid,” he whispers the words against the younger man’s temple, seals them with a kiss.

Mads hums and lifts his hips so his briefs can be pulled down the rest of the way. He looks pleased with himself as he spreads his legs wide. “Aye, so I am,” his voice is raspy as he speaks, arches as Forrest wraps a strong hand around his erection, “You love me all the more for it.” He moans as Forrest’s pulls back his foreskin with one hand and reaches around with the other to massage the shiny exposed head. He uses the precum leaking from the redhead’s tip as lube, smears it down his aching cock and cups his tight sack. He leaves nipping kisses along Mads’ neck as he jerks him off.

Mads bites down on his lip, he’s been on edge this whole time, he’s so close.

“That’s it,” Forrest breathes, “Good boy.”

The words hit home. Mads cries out and shoots ropes of cum all over his chest. Forrest rumbles, keeps pumping until Mads is spent and weakly turning in his grasp. They stay on the floor a little while longer, curled in each others arms, nuzzling and kissing whatever they can reach.

Once their heartbeats have returned to normal Forrest scoops Mads up in his arms and lays him gently on the mattress. He leaves the room briefly and comes back with a damp washcloth in one hand, Mads’ cigarettes in the other, and a big, fat, smoking cigar clamped in his mouth. He’s got a stupid grin on his face as he cleans Mads up. They both look quite pleased with themselves. Mads takes the cigarettes and lights one as Forrest potters about the room. He picks up the discarded clothes and puts out the lamps, whistling happily through smoke all the while. When he finishes and crawls back into bed, still smoking. Mads is just putting out his cigarette. The younger man pulls the covers over their exhausted bodies and snuggles close.

“Yer good to me, Forrest,” he whispers, his voice is already starting to crack.

Forrest’s fingertips trace gently up and down Mads’ spine, “I’ve got you, kid,” he gruffs. When he looks down he sees his lover nodding off.

Forrest finishes his cigar, he puts it out on the ashtray next to him then rolls over to take Mads fully in his arms. Mads reaches for him in his sleep, and buries his face in the furry chest. Forrest falls asleep soon after, he can smell almonds and the feel Mads’ heart beating against his own.

#forrest bondurant fanfic #forrest bondurant fanfiction #lawless fanfic #lawless fanfiction #mlm #forrest bondurant #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #confetti writes

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tiny-pun · 10 months

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"You know how to clean up a crime scene but not how to wash the fucking dishes ?!?

...

How is that even possible?! "

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maddascanbe-blog · 6 months

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"Haven't you heard? I'm the head of the Hive!"

Gold Sting "Goldie" here to help his favorite Cat out. Fun fact I actually like this design better than both Mischief and Jackal. Good to finally put Camilo in yellow again.

I didn't realize before but Camilo is the character I most consistently practice drastically changing the camouflaged miraculous' appearance with. I do understand the irony of that.

#miraculous ladybug #encanto #encanto fanfic #miraculous fanfic #bee miraculous #camilo madrigal #a vengeful butterfly #a lawless cat

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xenite51 · 4 months

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I’ve started writing Xena fanfic again after YEARS long hiatus. Currently I’m rewriting what I had titled “Return of the Warrior Princess” the title will likely change as I believe there’s another well known fanfic of that title. I’m trying to decide where/how to post them though. If I should create a Patreon and link to them here or just post them here. I’m not an amazing writer but I do enjoy it and I think I have interesting ideas here and there. Anyway, the purpose for this blog is mainly for my fanfic and over all obsession with Xena Warrior Princess. I hope y’all enjoy and I hope to make new friends 😊 Battle On Xenites!

#xena warrior princess #xena and gabrielle #xenaverse #xena #xwp #fanfic #lucy lawless #renee o'connor #xenites #Xenite #hardcore nutball

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wiltf · 5 months

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teeny bit of 🔞 but mostly early dating exploration / light humour / lil bit of love with seven and jen

not even the music blaring from jen’s phone manages to cover up his thoughts. try as he might, as their own voices roll over him, tinny and reminiscent of someone accidentally covering the microphone while trying to record, seven kind of wanted to just sink into the leather of the car seat until there was nothing left. little bit of burning shame and also that floaty feeling he was still getting used to. all culminating in his stomach twisting into knots.

“‘m sorry.”

“sev, i told you it was fine.” the leg jennifer had thrown over his was still bopping along to their song, and as he peeks under his arm, he can see the small twists that suggest she was following the choreography, too. “it happens.”

honestly, even he couldn’t tell what kind of noise left him, but jennifer was moving. leaning over and hand on his thigh to brace herself. hand hitting all parts of the car until she seems to find whatever it was she wanted from under the passenger seat. “drink some water, take a breather, and—”

“jen, you’re sounding like—like a doctor, or something. it’s weird.”

the bottle is a little too warm, pressed into the side of his face that she had access too. enough that it encourages him to finally pull his hands away from his head, and try to not completely pass out at the dishevelled jennifer in front of him. his shirt, far too loose of a neck, letting seven stare all the way down into the way the little pendant around her neck was stuck to the still sweaty skin between her breasts. messy and loose hair. she sits back on her heels, somehow not managing to completely fall off balance, and seven just has to curl away. not think about the rose on her underwear, embroidered and familiar.

“you’re too hot.”

pressing his face into the seat, jennifer’s “thank you?” is accompanied with a light laugh, and she’s digging at him. trying to get him to turn over. sitting on the backs of his legs eventually, even though the angle is all wrong and it’s pulling at his hips. which jennifer likely knew, as her fingers start to massage along his exposed skin, from where his pants were still sitting low and shirt was riding up.

“seven, you’re being stupid. who cares if you like… ‘came early’, or whatever. honestly your refractory period is pretty solid so like—”

seven doesn’t mean to cut her off, but he hits a level of incredulity that manages to overshadow whatever embarrassment was still lingering. “what the fuck have you been looking up online, jen? ‘refractory period’?!”

“i’ve been doing research, butthead.” insult accompanied by sharp pokes in his side. “it’s like, i dunno, the time between an orgasm? and well, you’re young—even if you act like an old man—so generally it’s a few minutes and then—”

seven groans, dragging out the “stopppp…” until her laughter dies down. one long pause, before he rolls over again to look at her. “why were you looking this up?” like yeah, of course he had ended up down some sort of wikipedia spiral at some a.m. time, but seven couldn’t deny his curiosity, enough that he finally relented, rearranging limbs and clothes to sit on the backseat now, opposite jennifer.

a jennifer who grinned in that particularly devilish way she did, when some awful and possibly illegal idea crossed her mind. some people may have called it smug, or smarm, but seven leans in to greet the way she loops her arms loosely around his neck, playing with his hair. “i was doing research… and not just porn, either,” she winks, and seven feels his cheeks colour, “i found some pretty cool, like, forums, journal articles—not just sealed section for us, babe! top shelf research shit.”

oh, he remembered those magazines. the sealed sections. the way jennifer had been huddled over them with anyone else morbidly curious on what might be on display for that particular month. and yeah, of course he had read them too, especially once they had hit puberty running. and even his mother suggested that it might be worth having a look, with those far too know-it-all smiles and eyebrows, which in hindsight. okay. maybe he should’ve thought about it instead of brushing it off then, thinking his mum was being ridiculous about it.

but now they were here, in the backseat of her car, not in completely unfamiliar territory, because seven had definitely had her hands down his pants before. but there were some particularly wild stories that came out of those magazines which seven knew he would never forget, and all the facts just faded away.

“you are weird as shit.”

and she laughs and kisses him and bumps his nose with hers. and they’re still figuring it out, really. teeth clicking and nails that cut a little too far, so seven isn’t that concerned about ‘research’, because hell, he’d even spent some time looking stuff up too. not whatever jen had, using specific terms and telling him to stay hydrated, now, you need it more than i do, because he wasn’t a freakin’ weirdo, and he calls her that all over again, as she giggles about some fact she looked up (something about the cardiovascular system affecting his dick and she recommends getting exercise in).

“wanna try again?”

seven makes a hum, back of his throat, but can’t help the way he feels his whole damn face scrunch up. okay, lawless, you got this, you can ask her this. “are you—are you, like…” hand wave, relatively south, “interested? or wet, or… i don’t know the word, stop looking at me like that!”

“are you asking me if i’m turned on?”

he just wanted to cover his face and roll over. again. “i guess?!”

the feeling only rises as there is a drawn out pause, where jennifer’s face goes through several stages of emotions. eventually, it seems to land on a wonderfully pleased if mollified smile; the kind that played around the corners of her mouth, as if she was trying to fight it. “do you want me to tell you what it’s called or—?”

“jennifer, i swear, can you just—”

“i’m kidding! yes, i am very turned on by you—always, duh.” butterfly kisses, over his cheeks, lips, temples, nose, that punctuate her next question: “did you wanna touch me again and see for yourself?”

“i don’t… know. fuck,” and with that, seven lets his head fall back, hitting the top of the seat. “i don’t know what i’m doing right now, and i don’t wanna fuck it up for you, y’know?”

“‘for me’?” is the echo, followed by a snort. “sev, sex involves both of us. that whole ‘two to tango’ shit, y’know? okay, yeah, sometimes more, and i guess by yourself can count technically as well—”

at his raised brows, she waves her hands in an almost apologetic way. “off topic, sorry, but… babe, we’re both in this, and i do want you to feel good as well, okay? one of the few times this isn’t just about me, i know.”

and she’s trying to get a rise out of him. play it off and rib him. it works, of course it does, when seven can’t help the smile. meets her insistent kisses with his own.

“look, i want to christen vlad,” and with the apparent chosen name of her car, jennifer lovingly pats the back of the driver’s seat headrest, “with you, but we don’t have to. we don’t have to have sex—i would rather, like, not fuck right now, and just wait for sunrise, than have you all wound up, okay?”

one day, she would stop jabbing him in the sides for an answer. “okay?” but it was not that day, not anytime soon. “okaaaaayyyyy?” and jennifer is practically crawling over him, getting in his personal bubble (not like she wasn’t already under his skin constantly), poking and prodding for a response that would satisfy her. the grin doesn’t reach her eyes, as there is that tension in her brows, the worry there, for him.

“i still can’t believe you chose that as a name.”

it’s easier to deflect. to hide the fact that seven caught her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers and yeah, he was okay. more than okay. embarrassed and swallowing his feels all the way down into the soles of his shoes, but okay. because jennifer was all relaxed and giddy and pulling his hair free of the headband, peppering whatever skin she could find with those lips of hers.

“my naming choices are spectacular, and you’re just jealous i got an impala first.”

with a shift, he’s back against the seat proper, jen in his lap. seven keeps his hands on her waist, pulling his shirt up, finding warm skin and freckles he’d memorised since the first day he’d seen them. open mouthed kisses along the top of her breasts, following awkward tan lines from a bikini top that wasn’t sitting straight and that one half moon scar just below her collarbone from where she’d fallen from the monkey-bars as a kid. truthfully, seven could’ve just buried his face right there, between her tits, and just stayed a while. breathing her in, feeling the way her body practically hummed under him.

yet in the only moment she pulls her hand away from him, jennifer accomplishes several things in no particular order. with all the practice dedicated from someone used to dressing and undressing in cramped spaces, she manages to not only remove her own underwear, but encourage seven to raise his ass enough to pull his jeans and boxers down. there was also the stretch to the middle console at the front of the car, which was accompanied a frustrated groan when whatever she had been fishing for not being there.

“hold on,” is the grumble, as she twists completely off his lap to move between the front seats now. passenger side glovebox, seven was sure, but well. he was suddenly and acutely aware of the music playing from her phone (track six, blue blooded beard, not the best but it’s why no more team votes were allowed for names), and her ass swaying to it. possibly annoyed swaying, were that a thing, but,

“jen,” and seven swallows thickly, now, slowly. clenched fist on his thigh, angling enough to brush a knuckle against his definitely hard dick. “your—you—mmm, this is a really good look for you, y’know?”

“really?” hair flicks back, and she looks over her shoulder. smug, of course, but that high flush on her cheek betrays her. in particular, when she holds up what she was looking for. “i mean, did you wanna do it this way or…?” and jennifer lets that question hang there, right there, definitely making sure there was not a nearly enough oxygen or blood reaching his brain.

“another time, definitely, get over here—fuck!”

seven manhandles her back onto his lap, and he’s grumbling, he knows. touching and mumbling and kissing, whatever he can find, as her wrist is loose now, slack and rolling a condom down over his dick. mindful of sensitivity, as she says, which definitely has him roll his eyes and seven would have said something about her being a know-it-all, thank you, if jennifer hadn’t decided in that moment to touch herself.

he’s sure he says something like she was too hot, but whether it came out as just a sound was something else. all wrapped up in the way he’s acutely aware that he isn’t moving, uncertain hands that don’t leave her hips, jen doing all the hard work. if seven could think, let alone talk, there was a smart-ass comment on the tip of his tongue about this being a better workout for her than her many attempts at a gym membership. but it doesn’t make it out, his head hits the headrest, and jen. oh, god, jen. takes his hands in her own, holding them there, either side of his face.

forehead to forehead, contact only broken by open mouthed kisses and lips that drag and sweet nothings. seven had learned somewhere along the line — of fumbling their way through crossing a dozen lines about dating a band member — that jen talked a lot. breathless, absolutely, but the words that left her were always so painfully sweet. mostly mumblings to herself, he figured the first few times, because her eyes were screwed shut then, just as they were now, while she kept going. maybe he was never supposed to hear it, but seven couldn’t help himself, watching the way her face shifted with each movement of their hips, how her lips just continued to move with each praise.

and jennifer says, i love you i love you i love you, like it was a prayer. like seven was not fully at her beck and call, caged under her, intertwined fingers and every damn nerve ending on fire. almost weird to consider (and that was the best descriptor he had rattling around in his brain, really). few short months, dating and kissing and fucking and jen had said that all before. smiling and bright and it was always a phrase of hers that would echo in him, days on end.

but that was before, this was now, and seven feels the corner of his eyes prickle. a sniff, and fuck, he thought he was quiet, hadn’t gone still, shit, fuck. fuck! squeezes his eyes shut, but jen hits the brakes, hands releasing his, and,

“sev? seven? holy shit, babe, are you crying?”

seven wants to laugh and blow his nose and isn’t sure what to make of the situation right now, because he can only pull the collar of his shirt up, as if it might swallow him whole. holy fucking shit, seven lawless, you actual idiot. can only sit there, while jen gets off him, moves around — and of course there’s hardly any light coming in through the thin fabric of his shirt, so he can only make out a shape, because fuck!

“why are you crying? did i do something?” tentative hands, barely lingering for more than a beat, thigh, forearm, top of his head. “what’s going on, seven? talk to me.”

swallows the will to try to sass his way out of this, because seven knows jen wouldn’t take that shit lying down. when he’s at least eighty percent sure he wasn’t about to start leaking from the optical area once more, seven pulls his shirt down to find the very, very concerned face of lamb, jennifer lamb, his—

oh, god, it just hit him. he’d never referred to her as his girlfriend before. it was always just seven and jennifer, jennifer and seven. but this was—this was insane, right? to worry about this now? getting all limp-dicked over technicalities when she had just been telling him to get some cardio in, and yeah sure, seven was sure jen didn’t have a problem with a label like ‘girlfriend', right? right?!

“sev, babe, i can see you, like, talking all up in there. i’ll accept a noise to let me know you’re… okay? are you okay?” a vague hand wave to his head, because jen knew him better than he knew himself, and seven was all kinds of scared and sad, and honestly a bit horny, and a little more in love with her than it had occurred to him, as everything in him raced, full throttle.

tongue too heavy to form an actual sentence that made sense, but damn if he wouldn’t try — because seven’s eyes start to get pinpricks again. because he was so fucking in love with her, right now, always, forever (he was so damn sure of it).

“look i just wanna say this, and i mean, i don’t know if you wanna hear it—and i’m sorry for ruining it, ruining now, and your plans, and it’s not just like… fuck. i don’t know what i’m saying.”

seven doesn’t watch the way jennifer’s face no doubt went through a wide variety of expressions, before a very gentle, “do you want me to like, touch you anywhere?” comes from her. still not committed to one spot, but her hands were off, now.

“no, no, i mean, yes, no—fuck! i don’t know!” heels of his palms against his eyes, seven keeps the pressure there until he’s seeing stars and whatever tears threatened to spring from him left.

“breathe… you’re really freaking me out here, dude.”

too much drawn out silence, as seven can’t get a word out and jennifer just sits there. waiting. waiting for him to actually say something that doesn’t sound like he was having a meltdown, third degree. what he wouldn’t give to be able to just turn back time, even a few minutes ago, where he didn’t think about the fact that jen had said she loved him, and he hadn’t spiralled, and maybe she just liked having sex with him—that was a fair assumption, right?

just say it, lawless. just fucking say it. he wouldn’t know the reality until he said it.

“i love you.”

deep breath. head first dive. seven opens his eyes, and repeats himself, for each and every time jen had said those words to him. maybe it was too much, too forceful, too idiotic to assume. but it tumbles from him, broken dam and all that poetic wording normally crammed into the hours dedicated to songwriting.

when seven finishes, it’s all too much to wait, really. wet his lips and wait, wait, wait, for the fragile state of this relationship, whatever it was to her, to just. end. tells himself he’d take it gracefully, bow out and all that, but that’s a lie.

biggest one he’d told himself to date.

jen fidgets, then. twisting earrings and rings and necklaces and the hem of her shirt and it’s her turn to tear up. to get all snotty and arms around his neck and she’s apologising, for hugging him, not asking. laughing about this situation they got themselves into and jen’s million miles a minute sentences crash into his ears — worried she’d hurt him, mostly, but he picks up the thoughts of thinking seven wanted to end it, and that. well. she loved him, too.

madly, badly, always, she says, a kiss punctuating each word; signed, sealed, delivered. the laugh that leaves seven is just as much relief as it is in amusement, at the two of them. the two idiots, now, back of her car, half dressed and sun rising.

and a little more in love than what they started the night as.

#infamous if #oc: jennifer lamb #ch: seven lawless #post: fanfic

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babacontainsmultitudes · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Glenn Close/Henry Oak, everything else is a secret Characters: Henry Oak, Glenn Close (Dungeons and Daddies), and many more, BUT I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE MORE FUN NOT TO TELL Y'ALL, SO YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT AND SEE, WE'RE GOING ON A PIRATE ADVENTURE BABEEEYYY Summary:

Prince Hen's life gets turned upside down when he unwillingly finds himself amongst the crew of a frustratingly handsome pirate.

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ARRRRRRR READ ME STUPID FUCKING GLENNRY PIRATE FIC IF YE KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YE. PREPARE TO SET SAIL ON AN ADVENTURE FILLED WITH GOOFY TROPES AND QUESTIONABLE ROMANCE AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE- and well hopefully you enjoy the plot as well hehe.

Just the first chapter rn but, yup, we’re finally doing this! 💜

#ehehehehehe #dndads #oh man nothing makes me insecure like sharing writing haha #that said- very excited to finally be getting to this one I'll admit #henry oak #glenn close dndads #glenn close #dungeons and daddies #glennry #as an aside for those of you reading Lawless I'm so sorry that I haven't updated that fic in forever #I swear I've been working on it just having to overcome some real writer's block with the next chapter!#anyhoo anyhoo #in the meantime hope y'all like pirates hehe #and if you don't hey all good none taken #dndads fanfic #fanfiction #misty steppers #henry oak garcia

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plagued-melodies · 2 years

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jeje, tsubaki, Lawless and The Mother as they call and nickname their S/O, I don't know how many characters you make, feel free to delete any character and this message if you have any problems :)

AKDJKAKA YESSS I love servamp so so much, I'm still reading it and trying to catch up and it's been a long while since then so it may not be entirely accurate but I hope you like it anon! Also sorry for this being so late :')

An- for the sake of simplicity and not complicating things too much, you, the reader, are their eve be it in the future of the manga or the past <3 except maybe tsubaki (maybe even present seeing their actual names and such but you know^^

Content warnings: slightly OOC, I have no clue how to write tsubaki but im trying :] Tsubaki's is also longer in trying to compensate for both being inhuman and human/his eve

Servamps and how they call and refer to their significant other! <3

Jeje / Doubt Doubt - servamp of envy

He doesn't talk much, and when he does it's quiet, almost like he never spoke to begin with.

This wasn't much of a problem when you were both first bonded, if he didn't or couldn't speak much, what makes you the authority to make him do so?

You were the exact opposite, you were VERY talkative and could fill the void of what his answers could be.

It used to mostly be one sided conversations that you partook in. He would either read or do some building some ship in a bottle while you talked about anything and everything that came to mind.

I like to headcanon that he knows sign language and converses with you that way, or if you're a bit too preoccupied or he needs a bit of space he'll leave you notes.

He doesn't mind verbally speaking to you when you're alone though, you never push to do one thing or the other.

He loves that about you and I would love to say he fell quickly but it's more likely that he fell for you slowly but what he lacked in speed he sure made up for in how he sure did fall the hardest.

He's not huge on pet names, I'm sure he does throw in the occasional "dear" or if he's feeling particularly smitten, "sweetheart"

He knows he doesn't do this much, and he knows the effect it has on you and you can practically hear the teasing in his voice and writing when he does.

Of course he does eventually start using petnames more and more often without realizing it but not in the cute loving kind of way.

He lovingly calls you a leech, not in a mean way and you know that so he doesn't stop but would if you asked him to.

He also loves to compliment you using metaphors instead of actual names like "you are of a fungus, your poison, although deadly, keeps me reeled in." And despite how odd it sounds you keep any notes of these he's left safely tucked away.

Lawless / Hyde - Servamp of Greed

He.doesn't.shut.up

It took forever for him to trust you and for you to trust him, because although he seemed nice and kind, you knew better than to trust the blood that stained his hands.

The blood of his eve's before you.

But that didn't deter you, you just wanted to keep both of you at an okay distance that would keep both of you happy.

That distance is purely metaphorical thought because he is GRABBY.

I feel as though he would call you nicknames before you even got into a relationship but over time you could hear how they went from more of a teasing nature to something more genuine.

These petnames were also few and far between, he finds saying your name (and you saying his given name) to be such an intimate verbal act, but he doesn't mind indulging in petnames, of course there's always that one particular nickname he often switches out for your actual name but it really isn't a nickname) but

When he does call you pet names, he probably calls you the most WEIRDEST things in the form of pet names that make no sense in context and are probably more so jokes than actual pet names

"Gumwad went to the laundry mat and left me here AAAAALLLLL alone" -Hyde talking to the other servamps probably

Gumwad referring to you

Obviously

He's not too fond of being referred to by a nickname unless he trusts you entirely but even then, simply calling him by the name you gave him is enough, doesn't mind the occasional pet name though (:

The Mother / Freya - Servamp of wrath

As you probably know, she is probably the sweetest servamp you can find. Although the others have their own quirks that make them admirable, you find that her unconditional kindness is what drew you two closer.

It almost unnerved you how calm she could be, even during times when you royally screwed up. You expected her to be upset, give you the silent wrath, disappointment even! But when she simply knelt down to you asking if you were okay, you realized you may have misunderstood her, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for assuming.

When you two get closer and closer and eventually become a couple she isn't quick to change how she is

Because she probably already dotes on you let's be real

Like her name suggests, she is motherly and caring so I don't doubt she would call you "dear" or "hun" before, mostly in times of stress where either one of you needed forms of comfort.

She probably calls you her dove or the "apple of her eye" later on though, maybe even "My flame" when cuddling.

She loves the warmth you give, it's a warmth she herself rarely feels but is always ready to give.

Your face always flushes into an unbearable shade of red and you feel the room around you raising in temperature.

She is very casual about it though, only ever reserving them for when you two are private (i.e: not near her nosy siblings, she loves them but they can be quite... Troublesome)

She isn't too outlandish with affection but she isn't too prudent with it either, it's instead a warm healthy middle ground.

She absolutely malfunctions if you call her an endearing pet name though, like I mean she just absolutely dies

She can't take the medicine she dishes out smh 😔

Nicknames are nothing too special In her eyes, it's just another way to refer to the one you love, right?

Tsubaki - Servamp of Melancholy

This guy is a fifty-fifty

It really just depends because from what I can grasp on his character, you're probably not his eve, but his subclass.

If you are his eve, somehow, it would take a LONG LONG time for him to not try and kill you.

As far as I'm aware, he hates humans. So for simplicity, you're a subclass or maybe like.. an inhuman friend turned significant other

The how and why isn't important what is important is that when he cares about you, he - c a r e s (cares)

He uses petnames like sweetheart, darling, etc. The gushy kind that, with his personality, is hard to tell between teasing and seriousness.

He isnt one to show public displays of affection but, similar to his elder sister, is one to show it in a private setting.

A vulnerability that only you and his subclasses get to see

He doesn't have an opinion on petnames for himself, he doesn't mind them, but he certainly prefers to hear you speak his name far more.

If you were human/his eve he'd probably call you a pin cushion or a flesh bag, you know... The usual.

It also takes a long time for him to warm up to you and when he does you are officially given the honorary title of "one of the good ones"

Ones referring to mortal flesh bags such as yourself of course

If you were his eve he'd definitely go "Oh yeah they're my eve-" with an attitude but sooner or later it becomes more sweet and genuine

He'd probably treat you similar to his subclasses if not with a little bit more respect (from what I've read, he holds them dearly)

As the youngest and forgotten sibling of 8 servamps, he'd probably try his best to keep you in mind when coming up with his schemes

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I will probably rewrite this or make a part two of it being a modern AU but this has been in my ask box for forever and I need practice with writing the servamp characters. Sorry anon this took so long with very little in return <3

#melodic musings post <3 #servamp headcanons #y/n x servamp #reader x lawless #reader x wrath #reader x envy #reader x hyde #reader x Freya #reader x Jeje #x reader fanfic #OOC #tsubaki x reader #tsubaki servamp #reader x melancholy

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sy1r4h · 6 months

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PLSPLSPLSPLSPLS SOMEONE GIVE ME A LAWLICHT FIC OR A SERVAMP X GENSHIN FIC OR I'M GONNA LOSE IT AND MAKE THEM MYSELF

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shamrockqueen · 6 months

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Wasteland paradise

Chapter 1

Pairing : Boyka X Reader (Post Apocalyptic AU/ inspired by but not in the universe of Fallout new Vegas)

Warnings : R18, human trafficking, purchased reader, eventual Smut, rough smut, eroticism (not every chapter has smut), death of minor characters.

Word count : 1498

Scott Adkins Masterlist

They say that the decay was gradual, overtaking humanity like a spiderweb of cancer and bleeding into the very bones of modern society. The elite sat comfortably on their pedestals as the earth below them crumbled—that is, until the rot reached them too. They say that when the tallest tower finally fell, it was already too late.

The underbelly was all that survived, becoming this new aristocracy within what once were major cities. Those who fled were left with the scorched landscape they had left barren. Some founded small communes; others formed almost farel gangs that roamed further out into the wasteland. Some settlements fizzled easily; some were attacked and picked clean by invaders; but a few seemed to live long enough to spawn other generations.

You’d never know what that modern world was truly like, and sometimes you’d find yourself wondering how your life would have been if the older generations had ensured a better future. It wasn’t worth thinking about anymore. No, living through the week has greatly outweighed depressive fantasies.

You found yourself alone—finally and horribly alone.

You tried your best to wash the blood stain out, but no amount of scrubbing could make the dress clean again. It felt low, repurposing the very clothes your mother died in while she lay naked in a shallow grave, but you couldn’t afford to waste the fabric. The dress would never come clean, but the pattern was a beautiful yet slightly faded floral blue, so the cleanest part of the fabric had to have been worth something. Anything to put some food on that empty table now that you’d be the only one left to provide for it.

Almost all of your time had been spent taking care of your mother until her slow demise, which had her coughing up most of her own blood. It was always hard to look at her while she was in that state, and the only hope now was that she would be at peace.

You looked at the once-beautiful dress you had bundled in your hands. It had been her favorite, but it was too late to bury her with it now. You pulled the small switchblade from your pocket and began cutting off the stained portion of the fabric. You didn’t bother to cut the seams, as whoever bought it off of the trader once it left your hands would just do it themselves.

You bundled the dress under your arm and left your little home. You had shared this poorly constructed, one-room shanty house with what was left of your family. The small shanty village wasn’t very big and didn’t yield very much production, but the few traders that came through were often a godsend as they brought in many much-needed supplies. A tiny smudge on their map, and they still remembered to visit all of you.

You hoped to get there early so as not to be stuck in the hot sun for most of your day. The caravan was normally parked over by the moonshiners shack, an old man who made a pretty good hootch and would sell a lot to the passing traders.

It was the main reason the caravan came at all and often a great reprieve from everyday life since he’d let the townsfolk get drunk at a hefty discount.

He was nice enough for an old coot, and more often than not, he could be seen sitting in front of his home with his dog Trixie, waiting for the traders to show up.

Old Trixie was sweet and would wonder over and nuzzle up to passersby in search of extra affection and maybe a bit of food. She usually rushed the hill when anyone got close, but when you rounded towards the shack, she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

You crested over the hill and looked down at the lonely little shack at the bottom. There were vehicles all around the house, alongside the trader’s trucks, but you didn’t see any people. You used your hand as a visor to shield your vision from the bright sun overhead to get a better look at the scene before you.

A mound of fluff lay motionless next to the door. Trixie’s telltale brown and white spots were stained in a deep, terrifying red splattered along her small body.

More bodies, larger and human, came into view, all of which lay slain by the side of the caravan. You stopped walking, shaking in your boots at the prospect of getting caught by whatever had caused this entire scene. You nearly pissed your pants off when the mirador walked out of the shack with a jug of hooch in each hand. He wore a torn armored vest doused in a fair amount of blood that most likely wasn’t his.

He turns back towards the house as if to talk to someone behind him, and you take this chance to turn tail and run back the way you came. The fabric was let loose from where you’d clutched it under your arm, kicked away by the dusty wind in exchange for your meager life. The desecration, the sacrifice, the loss—none of it was worth anything now, and all was forgotten in the wake of a possible bullet to the teeth.

The only sound you could hear was the crunch of dirt under your boots as the blood rushed to your ears. You sprint off as fast as you can, propelling yourself down the hill almost faster than your legs can keep up with.

You barely caught the sound of someone shouting after you with a jovial “Woah, where’s the fire?”

All were silenced after a loud bang of gunshots went off not far behind you. Everyone scattered like ants as more shots rang through the air.

You make the mistake of turning back to look at the whirring of a spiked vehicle as it rounds over the hill. You tried to run as fast and as far as your feet could carry you until you could find ample cover from the impending doom.

The flicker of the blue plastic tarp as it got caught up in the breeze stole your sight as you switched your direction towards possible safety. Your boots nearly slid out from under you as you dove towards the tarp. It proved to be a small, unused alcove between two shanty houses, with the plastic cover leftover from a collapsed partial roof.

You kick yourself underneath it and fling the tarp back over your body. You had to squeeze in among the long-forgotten junk as you tried to steady your heart.

You watched as the shadows flickered from the outside of your small cover; many were from those running away just as you had, but others were larger with more sharp edges. Your stomach ached as the shrill and broken voices of your neighbors disappeared into the distance, but it would be the first crack of gunfire that made your guts drop entirely. The cries of the fallen were quickly devoured by the roar of scrap metal against the rough terrain vehicles that rolled by.

You held your breath to keep from hyperventilating, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as tears dribbled tracks down your dirtied cheeks.

You hear heavier, slower footsteps that clinked as they hit the dirt. The sound of it was horribly clear as they got closer and closer to you, hidden only by a tattered blue tarp. When the cracked leather of the side of a boot came into view, you had to choke down every ounce of fear that wanted to burst forth, practically forcing it back down into your lungs as it twisted your face in horror.

You wait just as they wait. The boots don’t move for however long it takes to make your heart nearly beat out of your chest. Then they started to turn towards you.

The next sound is deafening as bits of rusted metal go flying as the blue sheet is ripped right off of it. Old car parts clunk and scrape together, and you have to cover your head with your hands as the small avalanche of junk falls over you.

As the hot sun hit your body once again, there was no use in staying quiet, and a scream finally forced its way out of your body.

To your dismay, you weren’t shot; you were only dragged out by the roots of your hair as the raider dug his fingers into your scalp. You're barely kicking as your legs fight, only to wiggle out from under the junk pile.

He pulls you out onto the road before giving you a kick and a quick order of “get up, off the fuckin ground.”

You scramble up, hands over your head, his rusted gun pointed to your face. He barked out “walk” through his broken teeth, pointing ahead of you with his weapon before kicking the back of your knee when you didn’t already turn and start moving. Your leg buckled but kept you upright as you limped ahead of him towards the chaos they had created.

Shanty houses were lit on fire after being looted and knocked over. A few children were being pulled away from the corpses of their parents left laying in the street; some were caught in the crossfire and laid not far from their fallen family.

“There’s almost nothing here aside from the hooch and the cargo from the caravan!” One man shouted out to the one following not far behind you, his gun still pointed to your back.

“Grab some survivors and load'em into one of the empty wagons. We can sell them off at the trade center for good money.” The voice behind you called back. “If they try to fight you, just shoot’um.”

When your knees shook, it slowed your pace, and you heard him yell at you, “Move, damn it.” And you picked your feet up as quickly as you could towards the caravan.

True to their word, anyone who fought back was shot immediately. They would say that they could still get plenty of money for a few of you, so losing 1, 2, or maybe 5 wouldn’t be an issue.

When everyone was loaded into the wagon, it pulled off with a kick of dust. You watched your old town smolder and smoke in the distance until it disappeared into the wasteland. You’d never see the shanty town again, not that there would ever be anything left to look for.

Chapter 2

Tags : @annwoods91 @jasminrt1

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mlmxreader · 9 months

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Unwavering, Unshakeable | Forrest Bondurant x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Forrest Bondurant Hey 🖤!! May I please ask for a work using the following prompts for Forrest Bondurant X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader: "Do not let me die here" Thank you 🖤! 🐍anon

summary: after Forrest gets his throat slit, the only thing you can do is stay with him and make sure he makes it out of the woods.

tws: injury detail, mentions of attempted murder, swearing

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Forrest glared at you through only half open eyes, his jaw clenched and sweat dripping down his brow as he slowly, with great caution, allowed himself to wake up at last; he had been out for so long, but you supposed that losing that amount of blood would render just about anyone in the same state as he was.

You hadn’t moved from his side, even when his brothers tried to pull you away to get you to eat and sleep and bathe, you always refused to budge; they resorted to waiting until you sat down next to Forrest before pressing whatever food they could get into your hands, quietly demanding that you eat. You were going to make yourself sick, but you wouldn’t give up on Forrest so easily, you couldn’t.

When he woke up, looking at you dazed and worried, he let out a spluttering cough, and for once, you moved from his side to avoid the flying droplets of spit that left his lips. But you still smiled, relief flooding your veins more than anything, making your hands shake as you helped him to sit upright, swallowing thickly as you did your best not to immediately kiss him and tell him how amazed and thankful you were that he had made it through and was finally out of the woods.

He was struggling, coughing and wheezing, but the doctor had said that he probably would given the trauma to his throat; you wished you could end it, that you could just grab his hand and take him straight to the time his throat would be alright and the slit across it would be healed. You got him a drink, pressed it into his hands as you frowned and gently wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of your sleeve, a gentle touch for such a violent man.

“Do not let me die here,” he growled, voice hoarse and raw. Croaky.

You shook your head, licking your lips as you sighed heavily and swallowed thickly. Your hands were still shaky as you ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair, you decided to tug his blanket down a little, exposing his bare chest in hopes that it would help him to cool off even a little bit.

“You’re not gonna die,” you said softly, quietly. “They fixed up what they could, gave you enough stitches to make a new coat and everything.”

Forrest tried to laugh, but all that came out was a high pitched wheeze. He scowled, sinking back against the plush pillows and the blanket as he sighed, frustrated with how he couldn’t even fucking laugh properly anymore. Or at least, at the moment, he couldn’t. He huffed, staring up at the ceiling; you could tell he wasn’t happy with the circumstances, and if you were honest, neither were you - but he was alive, and that was more important for you than anything else.

He was alive, he was breathing. Your Forrest was out of the woods and would keep on living. That mattered more than anything else in the world; you yawned, catching his attention as he glared at you and frowned.

“You ain’t slept.”

“I had to make sure you’d make it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I’ll catch up eventually.”

“No.” He reached over, taking your hand in his and coaxing you onto the bed beside him.

It was cramped, but you managed to wriggle around so that the side of your face was pressed against his shoulder, your hand on his chest and feeling it rise and fall; you didn’t mind that your feet were dangling from the end of the bed. You could live with that. Always a man of action over words, Forrest kept an arm around you, gently stroking your arm up and down with what little strength he had; you knew what he wanted you to do, he didn’t have to tell you or to ask, but it was the one thing you could not bring yourself to obey.

You had to stay awake, had to make sure that there would be no complications now that he was awake; you couldn’t leave him vulnerable and unprotected for even a second because you knew. You knew that he would do the same for you. Your unwavering loyalty to one another and sheer devotion would surely be both of your undoings.

But you were just so tired, and although you were desperate to fight against it, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to do so forever. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to push sleep away forever, especially not when Forrest’s hand was running up and down your arm so softly, so tenderly and his breathing was so stable that you couldn’t help but to match it; you let out another yawn, desperate to disobey what he wanted for his own sake but knowing that you were too weak to keep fighting.

“Sleep,” Forrest told you gruffly. “You need it.”

“I need…” you yawned again. “I need to make… make sure you’re gonna be okay… need to make sure everything… everything went well.”

Forrest clenched his jaw. He would have tied you to the bed and forced you to stay there until you slept if he had the energy and the strength, but he couldn’t muster it in himself; he was worried. He didn’t know how long he had been in that bed, just as he didn’t know how long it had been since you had last slept or eaten; you were destroying yourself in his name, and he hated it.

Even though he knew all too well that he would have done the exact same thing if you were in his position; even if he knew that he would not have hesitated to do the same thing if the roles were reversed. He still worried.

Forrest always worried about things that he never spoke about, but when he listened closely to your breathing and dared to look down at your face from the corner of his eyes, he sighed with quiet relief; although only lightly, you were finally at rest.

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younggayanddoingokay · 2 months

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I wonder how all those girls whose moms sold them to one direction.

#gosh do you remember that?#what a wild time #wattpad was a lawless land #one direction #fanfic

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mahariel-theirin · 2 months

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Nineteen

Category: F/M

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Infamous - Amy (Interactive Fiction)

Relationship: Seven Lawless/MC

Additional Tags: First Time

Word count: 6,599

Summary: Juggling college and their first album, Heaven's Horn hit a wall in their music. While trying to unravel Seven's lyrics, Aoi comes to a big realization.

AO3

Excerpt:

Seven's mind vividly painted the future—of him and his friends living their dreams on stage. Him and Aoi singing together to a crowd as large as Misfit Alley’s. Moving his mom into a better house and telling her she didn’t have to work extra shifts at the diner unless she just wanted to do it for fun. Going home together with Aoi, sharing the same bed every night, the fairy princess ring she dreamed of on her finger—

A buzz broke the silence.

#seven lawless #infamous if #infamous if fanfic #18+ content

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maddascanbe-blog · 7 months

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Hellion and Phantasma Indigo. Letting Bruno lean into the drama kid roots I gave him

#black cat miraculous #peacock miraculous #encanto fanfic #miraculous fanfic #mirabel madrigal #bruno madrigal #a vengeful butterfly #a lawless cat

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rightpastnowhere · 2 years

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oh hey look at that i’m writing again!!! this time i’m trying to start a Project. right as school starts. anyway, if you like perc’ahlia fluff and/or theorizing about fictional languages, then this fic is for you !!!

resonance

rating: teen and up

word count: 2.1k

genre: fluff, established relationship, and some ramblings on the mechanics of a fictional language :))

• • •

As they’re lying in bed, the night that they marry - impulsively, impatiently, and imperfectly - Percy breaks the warm silence with a word that sounds like music.

It rings through her ears, and for a moment it’s not Percy’s voice - it’s the deep echo of church bells, it’s the light chime of crystals knocking together. It rushes through her body like the kind of healing magic that only Pike wields, that feels like the sun on your skin and sugar on your tongue.

As the last syllable fades, Vex finds herself blinking out of something of a daze. Percy is sort of just staring at her, looking almost apprehensive, and she gives him a half-quirked grin. “Was that Celestial?” she asks, keeping her voice at a quiet murmur - something in her shies away from anything louder, as if it would break something in the air.

It’s funny, the way he still blushes so brightly at small things like this. “Yes,” he says, and he mirrors her, matching her volume, an unspoken agreement.

She grins wider, poking at his ribs, causing him to squirm. (Percy is incredibly ticklish, a fact that Vex has not ceased to delight in since she found out.) “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“You know that I speak it,” he says, a slight tinge of a laugh to his voice.

She rolls her eyes, but can’t muster even a speck of annoyance. “Well, yes, but you’ve never spoken it to me. Not until just now, at the least.”

He tilts his head, looks off to the side. Thinking. “I suppose I haven’t.”

“Therefore,” another poke to emphasize her point, and this time he actually yelps, “holding out on me.”

read the rest on ao3

#vex’ahlia #percival de rolo #perc’ahlia #percy x vex #critical role #vox machina #critical role fanfic #percy de rolo #vexahlia #vex'ahlia #percahlia #perc'ahlia #tags because tumblr is a lawless land #i am unapologetic #nova writes

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wiltf · 3 months

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very few times in their lives thus far had seven maintained being the responsible party. he had vlad, having spent the better part of the night as good cop. the specific ringtone, just for the walking lamb, had gone off at quarter to 2, emojis signifying she was still alive. enough gatorade to swim in packed into the walls of the car, because the lamb was always prepared, but in the front seat—

“oh, she’s here?”

jennifer looked like she had definitely spent her afternoon busy, but at least she hadn’t lost her scrunchie between then and now. simply seemed to have taken a new shirt, this one too long, while balancing her heels off her little fingers. with several clicks of her nails on the screen, jen slides into the back without so much as another look at seven’s current—

he doesn’t think about current girlfriend, as he throws the car into reverse. that was just jen talking there, as she would snap and pop gum over the counter and make a complaint or another about his dating life. she never remembered the names — or at least, seven was sure of that. they were just removable fixtures to her. ones she’d squeeze past backstage to get to the mic, never spared a second, never seemed to think he would make it past the first few weeks.

but seven doesn’t think about all that. attentive on the road, eyes not flicking into the rearview, not noticing how jen had her feet up on the seat, boring a hole into her phone, one bottle tucked under her chin. his lip doesn’t curl into a smile, and he doesn’t flinch as his girlfriend, not just current, slides her hand in his.

jen also thought it was hilarious that this one was called gem.

“hey, double-oh, i’m gonna need to get some plan buzzzzz” dragged out too long, never hitting the last note. if only because the voice in the back seems to dissolve into a series of mumbled and furious fucks; flurry of the phone keyboard filling up the space.

seven can see that gem, gem with a gee and an em, gives him a look, the raised eyebrow kind. he’d seen it before, and this time it was going to be different. not stop before the finish line, with a discussion about boundaries and how much he does for jen. that she’s taking advantage of him. that it would be good to get some distance.

this time, the brow lowered slowly. “plan…?” a mumble, one that trails off with realisation. gem’s hand leaves his, and it’s her turn to play at her phone.

looks like jen was right again. local pharmacy, throwing vlad into park. not at all focusing on how jen hops out, pops the boot, pulling out her bag of necessities. shoes, shorts, swapping out for whatever she had walked out in being thrown in the back. seven knows the drill, as he opens the middle console, finding the cash under layers of wrappers and receipts. the rubber band had snapped the first time they’d ended up here, and it was different then. she was in tears, and that was their small profit from the earlier gigs. so seven had tied it into a shitty bow, symbolic of fixing things, and well,

he holds it out the window, now, today. and jen floats by and in. gone in sixty seconds.

gem shifts to look at him. turns herself as much as the belt would let her. “should i expect this often?”

“what do you mean?”

“like… calls in the afternoon to pick her up and take her to—i mean just. are you always going to be running to her rescue?”

it’s the emphasis that punches him. always was a long time, but seven couldn’t see it any different, really. so he blinks, slowly, surely. lets his mind think on a response before jumping the gun. “well, it is jen’s car.”

gem scoffs, like all the others had. rolls her eyes and pinches her lips and lets her hand hover over his on the steering wheel. “seven, you know i don’t mean it like that.” pulls away, carding her fingers through her hair now.

inspecting the ends of her hair, letting that silence grow. muscle in his jaw tightening, as seven can see jen through the window, inspecting sunglasses on a stand. if it wasn’t sunglasses, then it was ice cream flavours. magazines. weird keychains from that one gas station in the middle of nowhere. did it mean something, that in the glovebox right at this very moment, was a collection of all those things. all little mementos from moments like this.

like some fucked up memory box. and seven can’t find himself caring enough to stop a new addition.

with a click of his tongue — twice, thrice — seven starts up the engine. it would let jen know, like it always did, that she was right, again. that it was time to head out, back to hers only after dropping gem off with that promise of talk later (maybe). and here seven thought he might be able to cross that three month milestone for once.

out the corner of his eye, seven watches gem watch jen in the rearview mirror. jen, in her newly acquired shirt and hair in need of some TLC pulled up and out of her face. shorts that have holes along thighs and slides and throwing back plan buzz with a warm gatorade. lost earrings, bruises, grateful sigh.

gem meets him in the mirror, then. seven recalled how before they’d even started hanging out, dating, whatever, she had laughed about how she knew jennifer lamb was part of the deal. with a small dating pool in the specific area of hanging out around bars they played at meant everyone knew everyone. so gem knew, she knew, she knew and yet she was still gripping at the hem of her skirt like she didn’t.

letting out a slow, controlled breath, seven throws the car into reverse, and doesn’t get mad. doesn’t let that little pit open up into how he had tried, how she had known, and how gem had said it was okay. it was always okay. they all had said it was okay, they got it, if they had a friend like that it would be the same for them too.

seven pulls up out the front of gem’s and can’t quite let go of the steering wheel. doesn’t react when gem leans in, just nods. yeah, talk later. because if he looks, well. seven knew how it always went. so they give gem a five minute reprieve to get into her house, before jen fumbles her way into the passenger seat. feet on the dashboard, phone plugged in with the aux cord.

“was it about me again?” she asks, scrolling through their track list.

the headrest greets the back of his head with three solid thumps, before seven takes his foot off the break. “naw, you know it’s always something wrong with me.”

through the crackly sound system, which gets another comment about how this was the next thing jen was saving up for, she says, “you’re such a liar, sev,” as her phone hits the bottom of the cupholder and the window winds down.

end of conversation and seven turns the corner with a very simple thought of end of relationship, too.

#infamous if #oc: jennifer lamb #ch: seven lawless #post: fanfic

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