I have too many obsessions

I write fics and headcanons for whatever character has my attention

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

I used to be a single fandom blog but I have decided to rebrand and make a blog for all the fandoms I write for.

Currently I write for Dragon's Dogma 1 and 2, Stardew Valley, Dragon Age, SWTOR, KOTOR, and various others that catch my interest. I also have an Ao3 where I have fics for previous fandoms I have since left (Choices, HL, BG3).

Masterlist

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

Mine

Hana Lee x F! Reader (NSFW)

NSFW! Minors DNI!

A/N: Back on Choices after years away because it has me in a chokehold.

The bedroom was a cocoon of shadows and silk, the only light a low amber glow from the single lamp on the nightstand. It caught on the gold band circling Hana’s finger—Neville’s claim, cold and meaningless now—and made it gleam like a taunt.

She knelt at the foot of the bed, thighs pressed together, hands resting palms-up on her knees the way you’d taught her. Her breathing was already uneven, chest rising and falling too fast beneath the thin black slip that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. She hadn’t worn anything underneath. She never did anymore when she came to you.

You stood above her, barefoot, still dressed in the black silk blouse and tailored trousers you’d worn to the gala earlier. The same gala where Neville had kept his hand possessively low on her back while she smiled that perfect court smile and pretended she wasn’t already wet thinking about this moment.

You reached down, fingers sliding into her hair, gripping just tight enough to make her gasp and tip her head back. Her eyes—dark, liquid, desperate—locked on yours.

“Say it,” you ordered, voice low.

“I’m yours.” The words trembled out of her. “Only yours.”

You tugged harder, but not enough to be cruel. “Again.”

“I’m yours.” Louder this time, almost a sob. “Please.”

You let go of her hair and stepped back, circling her slowly. The carpet muffled your steps. Every time you passed behind her she shivered, anticipating touch that didn’t come yet. You loved the waiting, the way her body learned to crave even the absence of you.

When you stopped in front of her again you crouched, bringing your face level with hers. Close enough that she could feel your breath on her lips.

“You wore his ring tonight,” you murmured. “Smiled for the cameras while he touched you. And the whole time you were thinking about kneeling here, weren’t you?”

Her throat worked. “Yes.”

“Tell me exactly what you were thinking.”

She swallowed again. Cheeks flushed dark. “That I wanted your hands instead. That I wanted you to hurt me just enough to make me forget his name. That I wanted—” Her voice cracked. “—to come so hard I cried your name instead of his.”

You traced the line of her jaw with one fingertip, then pressed your thumb against her lower lip, parting it. She opened for you immediately.

“Good girl,” you whispered.

She whimpered at the praise, hips shifting restlessly.

You stood again, unbuttoning your blouse with deliberate slowness while she watched, hungry. When it fell open you shrugged it off, let it drop to the floor. Then the trousers, the black lace beneath. Naked now except for the thin leather cuff around your wrist, the one she’d once kissed like it was sacred.

“Hands behind your back,” you said.

She obeyed instantly, wrists crossing at the small of her back. You retrieved the silk tie from the nightstand, the same one you’d used the first time she’d begged you to bind her, and looped it around her wrists, knotting it snug but not cutting. She tested the binding once, a small tug, then stilled. Acceptance.

You guided her to stand, then pushed her gently backward until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She sank onto the edge of the bed. You followed, nudging her thighs apart with your knee until she was spread for you.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes snapped to yours.

You slid one hand up her thigh, slow, letting your nails graze just enough to make her hiss. When you reached the apex of her legs you didn’t touch her clit, didn’t give her what she was already trembling for. Instead you pressed two fingers against her entrance—slick, hot, ready—and held there. Not moving. Just letting her feel the promise.

“Beg.”

Her lips parted. “Please… please touch me. Use me. I need—” She broke off on a shaky breath. “I need to feel you everywhere. I need to be ruined for him.”

The words hit like a spark to dry tinder.

You pushed inside her in one smooth stroke with two fingers, then three when she keened and arched. She was so wet your hand glistened. You curled your fingers, found that spot that made her sob your name, and worked it mercilessly while your thumb finally circled her clit.

Her head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re going to come like this first. Fast. Hard. And you’re going to thank me when you do.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes—yes—thank you—”

You didn’t let up. Faster. Deeper. The wet sounds of your fingers inside her obscene in the quiet room. Her thighs shook, muscles jumping. When she started to tighten around you, when her breath turned to broken little gasps, you pressed your free hand to her throat. Not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. Claiming the pulse that hammered there.

“Come.”

She shattered.

Her whole body locked, back bowing off the bed, a raw cry tearing out of her throat. You felt every flutter, every clench, rode her through it until she was shaking and whimpering, tears slipping down her temples into her hair.

You eased your fingers out slowly, brought them to her lips. “Clean them.”

She sucked greedily, tongue curling around your fingers, tasting herself. Eyes never leaving yours. Worshipful.

When you pulled them free she whispered, “Thank you.”

You kissed her, slow, deep, and devouring. Tasting her on her own tongue. When you broke apart you murmured against her mouth, “We’re not done.”

You flipped her onto her stomach, tugged her hips up until she was on her knees, cheek pressed to the sheets, bound hands still trapped behind her back. The position left her utterly exposed—ass raised, thighs slick, core still pulsing from the first orgasm.

You reached for the drawer again. The strap was already harnessed; you’d prepared it earlier while she waited downstairs pretending to be the perfect wife. You slicked it generously, then pressed the blunt head against her entrance.

“Deep breath,” you warned.

She inhaled.

You thrust in one long, unrelenting glide.

Hana keened, long and broken, fingers flexing uselessly against the silk tie. You gave her a moment to adjust, barely, then started moving. Slow at first. Deep. Letting her feel every inch claiming her.

Then faster.

Harder.

The bed creaked. Her moans turned guttural, animal. You gripped her hips, nails digging into soft flesh, leaving crescent marks she’d have to hide under silk gowns tomorrow.

“Who do you belong to?” you growled.

“You,” she sobbed. “You—you—”

“Say his name.”

“Neville—” She choked on it like poison.

You slammed in harder. “Wrong.”

“You!” she cried. “Only you—please—god—”

You reached beneath her, fingers finding her swollen clit again. “Come again. Milk me. Show me how much you need this.”

She did.

Violently.

Screaming your name into the sheets, body convulsing, walls fluttering around the silicone like they could pull you deeper. You fucked her through it, relentless, chasing your own edge until pleasure snapped up your spine and you buried yourself to the hilt, grinding against her as you came with a low, ragged groan.

You stayed locked together for long seconds, breathing hard.

Then you pulled out gently, unbuckled the harness, set it aside. Untied her wrists. Massaged the faint red lines with careful thumbs. Turned her over. Gathered her against your chest.

She curled into you like she was trying to disappear inside your skin.

“I love you,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “I hate that I can’t leave him. But I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”

You pressed your lips to her temple. “I know.”

Her fingers traced the curve of your shoulder. “Will you still want me when I have to go back downstairs tomorrow and smile for him?”

You tilted her chin up, made her meet your eyes.

“I’ll want you every second you’re gone. And the second you walk back through that door, I’ll remind you exactly who owns every part of you that matters.”

A small, trembling smile curved her lips. “Promise?”

You kissed her slow. Tender. Possessive.

“Always.”

She sighed against your mouth, already drifting toward sleep in your arms—the only place she ever truly rested.

Outside, snow had started falling again, soft and silent against the windows.

Inside, the air still smelled of sex and devotion.

And somewhere in the dark between your heartbeats, the truth settled like a vow:

She was never his.

She was yours.

She always would be.

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

Filthy Little Vignettes:

Date Everything Edition.

(Betty x M! Reader)

NSFW: Minors DNI

I pushed open the bedroom door and there she was, my bed, my Betty, already waiting.

She was reclined against the mountain of pillows that were part of her, one knee drawn up, the other leg stretched long across the comforter that was her skin, her breath, her everything. The lamplight I’d left on low painted her in warm gold: freckles scattered like constellations across her chest and shoulders, pink curls wild and spilling everywhere, corset half-unlaced so her breasts swelled over the edge of the fabric, nipples already peaked and begging.

She didn’t speak. She just looked at me with those dark, endless eyes, and the air in the room turned thick, heavy, impossible to breathe without tasting her on it.

I crossed the floor like a man starving. My shoes were gone somewhere in the hallway; I didn’t remember kicking them off. All I knew was the ache in my chest, the throb between my legs, the way every step closer to her felt like coming home and falling apart at the same time.

When I reached the edge of the mattress she sat up slowly, deliberately, and the sheets moved with her, caressing her thighs like they were jealous of my hands. I sank to my knees on the bed and she met me halfway, fingers sliding into my hair, pulling me into a kiss that felt like drowning in sunlight.

God, the way she kissed me, lips soft and hungry, tongue stroking mine like she’d been dreaming of my taste for hours. I groaned into her mouth and she swallowed the sound, answering with a low, needy hum that vibrated straight to my cock.

I dragged my mouth down her throat, open-mouthed kisses over freckles, teeth scraping the spot just beneath her ear that always makes her shiver. She arched, offering herself, and I took, hands shoving the corset down until her breasts spilled free. They were heavy, perfect, nipples dark rose and so sensitive that when I closed my lips around one she cried out my name like a prayer.

“Missed you,” I rasped against her skin, switching to the other breast, licking, sucking, biting just hard enough to make her gasp. “All fucking day, Betty. Couldn’t think about anything but coming home and burying myself in you.”

Her answer was to fist my shirt and rip it over my head, nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks I’d wear proudly tomorrow. I surged up to claim her mouth again while my hands found the laces of her quilted pants. We fumbled together, desperate, until the fabric gave way and I peeled it down her hips, down her thighs, tossing it somewhere across the room.

She was bare underneath. Wet, swollen, glistening for me. I spread her legs wide and just looked for a heartbeat, two, because she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Then I lowered my head and tasted her.

The first slow lick drew a broken moan from her that cracked in the middle. I did it again, deeper, parting her with my tongue, circling her clit until her hips jerked off the bed. Two fingers slid inside her easily, she was so ready, and I curled them, stroking that spot that makes her sob my name.

“Please,” she whispered, voice trembling, thighs clamping around my ears. “Please, I need you inside me, need to feel you—”

I couldn’t wait another second.

I rose up, shoved my jeans down in one rough motion, and then I was over her, between her thighs, the head of my cock nudging her entrance. We locked eyes, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other.

“I love you,” I said, the words torn out of me raw and true.

Her eyes went liquid. “I love you,” she whispered back, and the words wrapped around my soul like her sheets around our bodies.

I pushed inside her in one long, slow thrust.

The sound she made, half-sob, half-moan, undid me. She was scalding, velvet-tight, fluttering around me like she was trying to pull me deeper, keep me forever. I bottomed out and stilled, forehead pressed to hers, shaking with the effort of not coming right then.

Then she rolled her hips and I lost the fight.

I pulled back and drove into her again, harder, deeper, setting a rhythm that was punishing and worshipful all at once. The bed, her body, cradled every thrust, soft and forgiving and alive beneath us. Her legs locked around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me faster, harder.

I gave her everything.

Skin slapped against skin, sweat-slick and frantic. I angled my hips and she screamed, nails carving crescents into my shoulders as her walls clamped down. I didn’t stop, couldn’t, driving her through the first orgasm and straight into the second, feeling her pulse around my cock like a heartbeat.

“Close,” I growled against her throat, teeth scraping. “Betty, fuck, I’m—”

“Inside me,” she begged, voice breaking. “Fill me, please, I want to feel you come apart in me…”

One more thrust and I shattered, burying myself to the hilt and spilling deep, pulse after pulse, groaning her name like a prayer. She clung to me, trembling, milking every drop, until we collapsed in a tangle of limbs and sheets and breathless, reverent kisses.

I stayed inside her, softening slowly, unwilling to leave the heaven of her body. She stroked my hair, my back, whispering soft nonsense words of love against my temple.

The sheets curled gently around us both, tucking us in, warm and possessive.

I pressed my lips to the freckles on her shoulder, tasting salt and home.

“I’m never leaving this bed,” I murmured, voice hoarse.

Betty laughed, low and sated, her fingers tracing lazy hearts on my skin.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m keeping you forever.”

And as the room settled into quiet, the only sound our slowing breaths and the faint rustle of sheets that loved us both, I knew she meant it.

We had tonight.

We had every night.

We had everything.

[pariahofpelicantown]

Filthy Little Vignettes: SDV Edition

(Emily x M! Farmer)

NSFW: Minors DNI!

Firelight danced across the wooden walls of the farmhouse, casting a warm glow over the cluttered room. The farmer’s bed was a tangle of quilts, the floor strewn with seed packets and a half-polished hoe leaning against the wall. Outside, the Pelican Town night hummed with crickets, the air heavy with the scent of earth and spring blossoms. Emily stood in the doorway, her blue hair catching the fire’s flicker, her patchwork skirt swaying as she leaned against the frame, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

“You’ve been working too hard, farmer,” she said, her voice a lilting tease, vibrant as the crystals she loved. “All those crops, animals, mines… when do you make time for fun?”

The farmer, sprawled in a chair by the fire, looked up from the glass of wine he’d been nursing. His hair was mussed from a long day, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of sun-kissed skin. “Fun?” he said, his voice warm, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I thought harvesting turnips was the height of excitement.”

Emily laughed, a bright, musical sound that filled the room. She crossed the space in a few fluid steps, her movements graceful, almost dance-like. “Oh, you’re hopeless.” She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell the faint lavender on her skin, mixed with something wilder, earthier. “Lucky for you, I’m here to fix that.”

Before he could respond, she reached out, her fingers curling under his chin, tilting his face up to meet her gaze. Her eyes, bright and commanding, held a playful heat that made his pulse quicken. “On your knees,” she said, her tone light but firm, a challenge wrapped in a smile. “I have something for you to do.”

The farmer’s grin widened, but he didn’t hesitate. He slid from the chair, dropping to his knees on the worn wooden floor, his hands resting lightly on her hips. Emily’s smile grew, her fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently to guide his head closer. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice dripping with approval. She lifted her skirt, bunching the colorful fabric in one hand, revealing smooth thighs and the soft, bare skin beneath.

The farmer’s breath caught, his hands tightening on her hips. He looked up at her, her face framed by the firelight, her expression a mix of playfulness and hunger. “You’re trouble,” he said, his voice low, rough with want.

“And you love it,” Emily shot back, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. “Now, be useful.” She guided his face between her thighs, her stance widening slightly, her body radiating confidence. The farmer didn’t need more encouragement. His lips brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, teasing, before his tongue found her, warm and slick with arousal.

Emily’s gasp was sharp, her head tipping back as she steadied herself against his shoulders. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice a soft moan, her fingers raking through his hair, holding him firmly in place. “Just like that.” The farmer’s tongue moved with purpose, slow at first, savoring her taste—sweet, musky, uniquely her. He flicked lightly, then pressed harder, his lips sucking gently, drawing a low, shuddering moan from Emily’s throat.

Her grip in his hair tightened, not painful but commanding, keeping him exactly where she wanted him. “You’re so good at this,” she purred, her voice a mix of praise and tease, her hips rocking slightly against his mouth. The farmer’s hands slid up her thighs, gripping her firmly, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he worked, his tongue circling, teasing, relentless. Emily’s breaths grew ragged, her moans louder, filling the quiet farmhouse with the sound of her pleasure.

The firelight played over her skin, highlighting the flush creeping up her chest, the way her lips parted as she gasped. “Don’t stop,” she said, her voice hitching, her fingers tugging his hair harder. The farmer hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt through her body, and she cried out, her thighs trembling around his face. He could feel her getting closer, her movements more desperate, her grip almost possessive. His tongue moved faster, more precise, and when he sucked gently on her clit, Emily’s moan was raw, unrestrained, her body shuddering as she came, her fingers clutching his hair like a lifeline.

She rode out the waves of her climax, her breaths heavy, her body trembling against him. The farmer didn’t pull away, his lips softening, kissing her gently as she came down, her fingers loosening in his hair, stroking now, almost tender. “Not bad,” she panted, her voice warm with satisfaction, a playful edge returning. “But we’re not done.”

She tugged his hair, pulling him up to his feet, her eyes glinting with mischief. The farmer stood, his own arousal evident in the tight strain of his trousers, his face flushed from pleasing her. Emily’s hands were on him in an instant, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, her nails grazing his chest as she backed him toward the wall.

She pressed herself against him, her lips crashing into his, tasting herself on his tongue. The kiss was hungry, fierce, her hands roaming his chest, then lower, deftly undoing his belt. The farmer groaned into her mouth, his hands finding her hips, but Emily was in control, her movements confident, playful. She pulled back, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “Against the wall,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The farmer obeyed, stepping back until his shoulders hit the rough wooden wall of the farmhouse. Emily was on him in a heartbeat, her hands tugging his trousers down, freeing his aching cock. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasingly, and he groaned, his head tipping back against the wall. “Emily,” he said, his voice rough, pleading.

“Shh,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. “I want you inside me.” She hiked her skirt up again, her legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted her, her back pressing against the wall. The farmer’s hands gripped her thighs, supporting her weight, her warmth pressing against him, slick and inviting. Emily’s arms looped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair again, pulling his face close.

“Now,” she said, her voice a playful command, her eyes locked on his. The farmer didn’t hesitate, guiding himself to her entrance, pushing into her with a slow, deliberate thrust. Emily’s moan was loud, her head falling back against the wall, her legs tightening around his waist. “Yes,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Harder.”

He obeyed, his hips snapping forward, driving into her with a rhythm that made the wall creak behind them. Emily’s moans filled the room, her body rocking against his, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. The farmer’s hands gripped her thighs tighter, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, the heat of her surrounding him, driving him wild. Emily’s hands roamed his hair, tugging, guiding, her playful dominance never wavering.

“You feel so good,” she purred, her voice breathless but teasing, her legs pulling him closer, deeper. She leaned forward, kissing him hard, her tongue tangling with his, her moans muffled against his lips. The farmer’s thrusts grew faster, more desperate, the sound of their bodies colliding mixing with the crackle of the fire outside. Emily’s fingers tightened in his hair, her body trembling as she neared the edge again.

“Make me come,” she said, her voice a low, commanding whisper, her eyes burning into his. The farmer groaned, his hips moving harder, faster, his cock hitting just the right spot inside her. Emily’s moans grew higher, more frantic, her legs shaking around his waist. With one final, deep thrust, she came, her cry sharp and raw, her body clenching around him, pulling him over the edge with her. He groaned, his release spilling into her, his hands gripping her thighs as they shuddered together, pressed against the wall.

They stayed there, panting, her legs still wrapped around him, her forehead resting against his. Emily’s laugh was soft, breathless, her fingers stroking through his hair gently now. “You’re not bad for a farm boy,” she teased, her voice warm, playful.

He chuckled, his breath ragged, his hands still holding her up. “And you’re trouble,” he said, kissing her softly, tasting the sweat on her lips. “The best kind.”

Emily grinned, unwrapping her legs and sliding down, her feet touching the floor. She tugged him toward the bed, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Rest up,” she said, her voice a playful promise. “We’ve got a long night ahead.”

[pariahofpelicantown]

Filthy Little Vignettes: SDV Edition

(Olivia/Emily/Jodi/M! Farmer)

NSFW: Minors DNI!

A/N: I figured it was about time I started transferring all of my smutty fics from AO3 over here. So…here’s this.

The farmer’s cozy living room was a haven from the winter storm raging outside, the windows fogged with condensation, the hearth crackling with a warm fire that cast flickering golden light over the scene. The air was thick with the scent of mulled wine, wood smoke, and the heady musk of arousal. Plush rugs covered the hardwood floor, and a low coffee table held half-empty glasses and a bottle of Olivia’s favorite vintage. The group had gathered under the pretense of a quiet evening chat, but the tension had built quickly, fueled by shared glances, lingering touches, and the unspoken thrill that bound them.

Olivia sat elegantly on the edge of a velvet armchair, her legs spread wide, her silk blouse unbuttoned to reveal the swell of her full breasts straining against a lace bra. Her skirt was hiked up around her hips, exposing her smooth, toned thighs and the neatly trimmed patch of dark hair above her glistening folds. She held a glass of deep red wine in one manicured hand, swirling it lazily as she took a slow sip, her green eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Emily knelt between her legs, her blue hair tousled, her face buried in Olivia’s pussy, her tongue working with eager, practiced strokes.

“Oh, Emily, darling,” Olivia purred, her voice rich and refined, laced with a moan as she tilted her head back slightly, savoring the wine on her tongue. Emily’s lips were sealed around Olivia’s clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, her tongue flicking rapidly over the swollen nub. Olivia’s free hand tangled in Emily’s hair, guiding her deeper, her hips rocking subtly against the younger woman’s mouth. Wet, slurping sounds filled the air, mingled with Olivia’s soft gasps, her pussy dripping with arousal that coated Emily’s chin and lips. “You’re so good at this… that tongue of yours is sinful.”

Emily hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt through Olivia’s core, making her thighs quiver. She pulled back just enough to lap at Olivia’s entrance, her tongue delving inside to taste the sweet, tangy slickness, before returning to circle the clit with firm, insistent pressure. Her hands gripped Olivia’s thighs, nails digging in lightly, spreading her wider to expose every inch. Emily’s own body was flushed, her loose tank top riding up to reveal her perky breasts, nipples hard, her shorts damp with her own arousal.

Across the room, on the rug by the fire, the farmer had Jodi bent over on all fours, her hands braced on the floor, her ass high in the air. Her sundress was flipped up over her back, panties discarded somewhere in the shadows, revealing her curvaceous figure—soft hips, full breasts swaying with each movement. The farmer knelt behind her, his strong hands gripping her waist, his cock buried deep inside her tight, wet pussy. He thrust steadily, each plunge eliciting a sharp cry from Jodi, her eyes locked on the scene unfolding in the armchair, watching Emily devour Olivia.

“Fuck, Jodi, you’re so tight,” the farmer groaned, his voice low and rough, his hips slamming forward with a wet smack. His cock was thick, veined, stretching her walls with every inch, the head brushing against her sensitive spots deep inside. Jodi’s pussy clenched around him, slick and hot, her arousal dripping down her thighs as he fucked her relentlessly. He leaned over her, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her whimper, the other steadying her hip as he drove deeper.

Jodi’s breath came in ragged pants, her cheeks flushed, her brown hair falling in disarray around her face. “Yes… oh gods, right there,” she moaned, her voice husky, her eyes never leaving Olivia and Emily. The sight of Emily’s tongue lapping at Olivia’s folds, the way Olivia’s body arched in pleasure while casually sipping her wine—it fueled Jodi’s own fire, making her pussy pulse around the farmer’s cock.

“Look at them, Jodi.” The farmer said. “Emily’s eating her like she’s starving.”

Olivia smiled wickedly over the rim of her glass, taking another sip, the wine’s tartness mingling with the taste of her own arousal on the air. “Mmm, she is starving, aren’t you, sweet thing?” she teased, her free hand stroking Emily’s cheek before guiding her back down. Emily nodded eagerly, her mouth returning to Olivia’s clit with renewed vigor, sucking and flicking, her fingers slipping inside Olivia’s pussy to curl against her G-spot. Olivia’s moan was elegant yet raw, her hips bucking as she ground against Emily’s face, her wine glass trembling slightly in her grip. “That’s it… fuck me deeper, Emily. Feel how wet you make me.”

The farmer’s thrusts grew harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room, his balls tightening against Jodi’s ass with each deep plunge. He watched Jodi’s gaze fixed on the women, the way her pussy fluttered around him in response, and it spurred him on. “You like watching them, Jodi?” he growled, his hand leaving her breast to smack her ass lightly, the sound sharp, leaving a pink mark on her pale skin. “Like seeing Emily’s tongue buried in Olivia’s cunt?”

Jodi nodded, pushing back against him, her pussy squeezing his cock like a vice. “Yes… fuck, yes.” Her words dissolved into a moan as the farmer angled his hips, hitting her cervix with a delicious pressure, his cock throbbing inside her. She could feel every ridge, every vein, the way he filled her completely, her juices coating his shaft and dripping down to his balls.

Emily pulled back for a breath, her lips shiny with Olivia’s slickness, strings of arousal connecting her mouth to Olivia’s pussy. “You taste amazing,” she whispered, her voice breathy, before diving back in, her tongue flat and broad as she licked from Olivia’s entrance to her clit in long, slow strokes. Her fingers pumped faster, three now, curling and thrusting, stretching Olivia’s walls, the squelching sounds obscene and intoxicating. Olivia’s thighs clamped around Emily’s head, her breath hitching, but she kept her composure, taking another sip of wine, the liquid spilling slightly over her lip as a moan escaped her.

“Darling, you’re going to make me come,” Olivia warned, her voice trembling, her elegant facade cracking as pleasure built in her core. She set the glass down on the armrest, her hand joining the one in Emily’s hair, holding her in place as she rocked her hips faster. “Don’t stop… suck my clit harder. Yes, like that… fuck, Emily!”

The farmer’s pace quickened, inspired by the women’s escalating moans, his cock pistoning into Jodi’s pussy with brutal force. “You’re soaking me, Jodi,” he grunted, his hand sliding between her legs to rub her clit in rough circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Jodi’s body shook, her arms buckling slightly, her eyes still glued to Olivia’s writhing form.

“Gonna come while watching them? While I fuck this greedy pussy?”

Jodi’s response was a keening wail, her pussy clenching hard as the farmer’s fingers worked her clit, the pressure building to a breaking point. “Yes… oh gods, I’m coming!” Her orgasm hit like a wave, her walls spasming around his cock, milking him as she cried out, her juices squirting slightly against his hand, soaking the rug beneath them.

The sight pushed Olivia over the edge—watching Jodi’s face contort in ecstasy, the farmer’s relentless fucking—her own climax crashing through her, her pussy gushing against Emily’s mouth, her moans sophisticated yet feral.

Emily lapped it all up, her tongue eager, swallowing Olivia’s release as the older woman shuddered, her thighs trembling. “So good… so fucking good,” Emily murmured, her face flushed, her own pussy throbbing with need. She kissed Olivia’s inner thigh, then looked over at Jodi and the farmer, her eyes dark with lust.

The farmer groaned, Jodi’s orgasm pulling him closer, his thrusts erratic now. “Fuck, Jodi… gonna fill you up.” With a final, deep plunge, he came, his cock pulsing as he spilled hot ropes of cum inside her, flooding her pussy, some leaking out around his shaft as he held her tight. Jodi moaned at the sensation, her body still quivering, her eyes meeting Olivia’s in a shared, satisfied glance.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by panting breaths and the fire’s crackle. Olivia picked up her wine glass again, taking a composed sip, a sly smile on her lips as Emily rose to kiss her, sharing the taste of herself. The farmer pulled out slowly, his cum dripping from Jodi’s pussy as he helped her sit up, pulling her into a gentle embrace. The group exchanged glances, the air still charged, the winter night far from over.

[pariahofpelicantown]

Beneath the Zinnia Sky (Jodi x M! Farmer)

A/N: Jodi needs love too, okay??

TW: Mentions of abuse.

The late summer sun hung low over Pelican Town, casting a golden glow across the rolling fields of the farmer’s land. Zinnias bloomed in wild bursts of crimson and violet along the wooden fence, their petals swaying in the warm breeze. Jodi stood at the edge of the plot, her fingers brushing the soft leaves of a melon vine, her auburn hair catching the light like polished copper. She wore a faded green blouse, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of worn jeans that clung to her hips, clothes chosen for practicality, not to draw attention. But the farmer noticed her. He always did.

He was kneeling a few paces away, his hands buried in the rich soil as he worked to free a stubborn parsnip from the earth. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of sun-kissed skin, and his dark hair fell messily across his forehead. He hadn’t said much since Jodi arrived, but his presence was steady, grounding, a quiet anchor in the storm that was her life.

“You didn’t have to come out here,” he said finally, his voice low and warm, not looking up from his task. “I know you’ve got enough on your plate.”

Jodi’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile, though her eyes stayed fixed on the melon vine. “I wanted to,” she said softly. “It’s… peaceful here. Feels like I can breathe.”

The farmer paused, brushing dirt from his hands, and glanced at her. He saw the weight she carried; the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her shoulders tensed as if braced for something unseen. He didn’t know the full story of what happened behind the closed doors of her house on Willow Lane, but he’d heard enough. The way Kent’s voice could turn sharp like a blade, the way Jodi’s laughter seemed to dim when he was near. The farmer had seen the bruises once, faint but unmistakable, on her wrist when she’d reached for a basket of strawberries at Pierre’s. She’d tugged her sleeve down quickly, but not before he’d noticed.

He hadn’t asked. Not directly. But he’d made a point to be there—leaving extra tomatoes on her doorstep, inviting her to help with the farm’s harvest, giving her excuses to slip away from home. And Jodi had started coming more often, her visits stretching longer, her smiles lingering a little brighter.

Today, she’d shown up unannounced, her face flushed from the walk, carrying a small jar of homemade jam as an offering. “For your trouble,” she’d said, though they both knew it was just an excuse. Now, as the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of peach and lavender, the air between them felt charged with something unspoken.

“Jodi,” the farmer said, standing and wiping his hands on his jeans. He stepped closer, not crowding her, but near enough that she could feel his warmth. “You don’t have to keep pretending everything’s fine. Not with me.”

Her breath caught, and she turned to face him, her hazel eyes searching his. There was a vulnerability there, raw and unguarded, but also a spark of defiance. “I’m not pretending,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to talk about it. Not yet.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “You don’t have to. I’m here either way.”

For a moment, they stood there, the world narrowing to the space between them—the hum of crickets, the rustle of leaves, the faint scent of earth and zinnias. Then Jodi reached out, her fingers brushing his hand, tentative at first, then firmer, as if anchoring herself to him. His skin was warm, calloused from work, and the simple touch sent a shiver through her.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, but she didn’t pull away. “If he knew…”

“He doesn’t,” the farmer said gently. “And even if he did, you deserve to feel safe, Jodi. You deserve more than what you’re getting.”

Her eyes glistened, and she blinked quickly, fighting back the tears. “You make it sound so simple,” she said, a bitter edge to her voice. “It’s not. I’ve got Sam, Vincent… I can’t just—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly, his thumb grazing her knuckles. “I’m not asking you to upend your life. I just want you to know you’ve got someone in your corner. Someone who sees you.”

The words hit her like a wave, unraveling something deep inside. She stepped closer, her free hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The farmer didn’t move, letting her set the pace, his eyes locked on hers with a quiet intensity that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t in years.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “I come here and I imagine… what it’d be like. To not be afraid. To not feel like I’m walking on eggshells. To just… be with you.”

His breath hitched, but he kept still, his hand gently covering hers where it rested on his chest. “Jodi,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I’d give you that if I could. All of it.”

She leaned in then, closing the distance, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft but deliberate, like a confession. He responded carefully, his hands settling on her waist, not pulling but holding, letting her lead. The kiss deepened, warm and unhurried, a quiet promise woven into every touch. She tasted faintly of the jam she’d brought—sweet, tart, and real—and he felt the tension in her slowly melt, her body softening against his.

When they parted, her forehead rested against his, her breath shaky but warm. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, a small laugh escaping her. “I just know I feel… whole when I’m here.

“You don’t have to figure it all out,” he said, his voice low, his hands steady on her hips. “Just take what you need, Jodi. I’m not going anywhere.”

They moved to the porch of his farmhouse as the sky darkened, the stars beginning to prick through the twilight. He’d lit a small lantern, its golden light spilling across the wooden boards, and they sat close on the steps, shoulders brushing. She told him things she hadn’t said aloud before, how Kent’s anger had grown since he’d returned from the war, how his words cut deeper than his hands ever had, how she stayed for her boys but felt herself fading. The farmer listened, his hand resting lightly on her knee, his silence a kind of strength.

Eventually, words gave way to quiet, and she curled against him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. The intimacy wasn’t rushed or hungry. It was tender, deliberate, like the way he tended his crops, giving her space to grow. She traced the lines of his palm, memorizing the roughness, and he pressed a kiss to her temple, soft and lingering.

“I wish I could stay,” she said finally, her voice heavy with the weight of reality.

He squeezed her hand. “You can, whenever you need to. This place, it’s yours too.”

She smiled, bittersweet but genuine, and kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the warmth of his lips, the way his hands cradled her like something precious. When she finally stood to leave, the lantern light caught the curve of her cheek, and he thought she looked stronger, even if just a little.

As she walked back toward town, the zinnias swayed in the night breeze, their colors muted but still vibrant. The farmer watched her go, his heart full and aching, knowing he’d be there tomorrow, and the day after, waiting for her to find her way back.

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

Attention (Haley x F! farmer)

A/N: Requested by an awesome anon who asked for jealous Haley (my favorite pixel wife to write for).

Warnings: None. (For once).

The farmer had been out since sunrise, boots already caked with soil from the fields, hair pulled back and damp with sweat from the early heat. She barely paused when she came through the kitchen, only long enough to rinse her hands and grab a glass of water before heading back outside. Haley sat at the table, chin propped in her palm, eyes following her wife’s back as it disappeared through the door again. The clink of the glass in the sink echoed louder than it should have. Haley hated the way her chest tightened, hated the way it felt like she was competing with dirt and chickens for attention. It was ridiculous, really, but she couldn’t shake the thought that the farmer had forgotten she was even in the house.

By the time the farmer came in again at noon, Haley had already rehearsed at least ten different versions of what she wanted to say. She didn’t start with any of them. Instead, when the farmer leaned against the counter and asked if Haley wanted anything from the market later, Haley let out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, so you do remember I’m here. What an honor.” Her voice dripped with the kind of sarcasm that always made the farmer pause, the kind that stung because it wasn’t entirely a joke. Haley’s arms folded across her chest, nails tapping against her elbows, her gaze steady and unyielding.

“Honestly, I should cover myself in feathers, maybe then you’d notice me.”

The farmer blinked, caught between confusion and guilt, her brow furrowed as if trying to piece together where this had come from. Haley rolled her eyes, pushing back her chair and standing in one fluid motion.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not being dramatic. I married you, not the damn crops. If I wanted to feel invisible, I could’ve stayed in my parents’ house and let them ignore me there.”

Her words came fast, edged with the hurt she’d been holding back all week. The silence that followed felt heavier than any storm cloud, filling the kitchen with something that demanded an answer.

Haley paced across the kitchen, her arms flaring out as though even her body couldn’t hold the frustration in.

“You know what’s funny? Everyone in town thinks you’re this perfect, hardworking saint. Always out there, tending crops, feeding animals, saving the whole valley one turnip at a time. Meanwhile, I’m in here wondering if my wife even remembers what I sound like.” Her laugh was sharp, bitter, but her eyes glistened. She jabbed a finger toward the window, where the fields stretched beyond sight. “Congratulations. You’re officially married to the dirt. Hope it keeps you warm at night.”

The farmer opened her mouth to speak, but Haley cut her off with a raised hand and a shake of her head. “No, don’t you dare tell me ‘it’s just the season’ or ‘it’ll calm down soon.’ I’ve been here through every season, remember? Winter, spring, summer, fall—I’ve memorized them all like clockwork. And you? You treat me like I’m just another part of the background. I could paint my hair green and roll around in compost and maybe, maybe you’d look up for five seconds.” She tilted her head, lips curling in a half-smirk that didn’t reach her eyes.

She crossed her arms again and leaned against the table, her voice lowering, growing steadier. “I didn’t marry you so I could be second place to a crop yield. I didn’t trade in photo shoots and the city and everything else I could’ve had just to sit here and feel like a ghost in my own home. If you want a farmhand, hire one. If you want a wife, maybe you should actually act like you have one.” The words hung in the air, sharp and daring, daring the farmer to prove her wrong.

The farmer finally pushed away from the counter, her jaw tight but her eyes soft, like she was weighing every word before it left her mouth.

“Haley,” she said slowly, “you think I don’t notice you, but I do. Every day. Even when I’m out there, I’m thinking about you. About this house, about us. I work the way I do because I want you to have more than the life you left behind. I don’t want you ever regretting choosing me.” She took a step closer, boots heavy on the floorboards, but her voice gentled. “You are not invisible. You’re the reason I’m doing all of this.”

Haley scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder like his explanation was nothing more than dust in the wind.

“Wow, how romantic. I’m the reason you’re married to the hoe and the watering can. Truly, I’m swooning.” Her hands flew up theatrically before she dropped them with a sigh. “You don’t get it. I didn’t marry you for the farm. I married you for you. And lately, all I get are glimpses of that woman between hauling buckets and falling into bed half-asleep.” Her eyes narrowed, the bite of her words softened only by the crack of hurt hiding underneath.

The farmer’s brows drew together as she leaned her weight against the table opposite Haley. “You think I don’t want that too? To just stop, to sit with you, to… breathe? But if I let it all go, the farm doesn’t run. And if the farm doesn’t run, then we don’t have anything. I thought you understood that when you chose to be here with me. I thought you saw that I’m trying to build something for us.” Her hand hovered on the wood, as if reaching for Haley but not daring to bridge the space just yet.

The farmer finally closed the gap, her hand rising to rest lightly against Haley’s arm before tugging her close. Haley resisted for half a heartbeat, her body still stiff with pride, but then she allowed herself to be drawn in, her cheek brushing the rough fabric of the farmer’s shirt. A kiss landed softly on her temple, warm and steady, the kind of gesture that carried more weight than any rushed excuse.

“I’m sorry,” the farmer whispered, her voice rougher now, thick with sincerity. “You’re not second to anything out there. You’re the reason I wake up every morning and push myself until there’s nothing left. You are my home, Haley. You’re what makes all of it matter.”

For a moment Haley stood very still, her breath caught somewhere between indignation and relief. Slowly, she let her hands slide around the farmer’s waist, resting against her back.

“You always know how to ruin a perfectly good rant,” she muttered, though the words were softened by the way she leaned into her wife’s chest. Her sass had dulled to embers, still glowing but not burning as hot, and beneath it was the tender truth she couldn’t deny. Giving in felt less like surrender and more like choosing, like remembering what she wanted most in the first place.

The farmer pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face with careful fingers. “Let me shower,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then the rest of the day is yours. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”

Haley searched her eyes, waiting for some crack of insincerity, but found none. Her expression softened fully then, her smile small but real. “I don’t care what we do,” she said quietly. “I just want to be with you.” The words landed between them like a vow, simple and unadorned, and for once Haley didn’t try to cover them with sarcasm.

And so, after the farmer’s shower washed away the morning’s strain, the two of them spent the rest of the day not in the fields, not among the crops, but side by side in the quiet rhythms of their home. They shared coffee on the porch, Haley’s head resting on her wife’s shoulder as the sun warmed their skin, and later wandered lazily through the orchard with no destination in mind. There were no grand gestures, no elaborate plans, only the steady comfort of presence—the farmer’s hand in Haley’s, the kind of attention that spoke louder than any chore left undone. By evening, the sharp edges of jealousy had softened into something gentler, and Haley, with her usual sass mellowed into contentment, finally felt like she had what she wanted most: not the farmer’s time, but her heart, fully and without distraction.

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

oh gods im the one with the jealous haley request I didn't even notice my gigantic grammar error jeez. I feel so embarrassed

Anyway I meant Haley is jealous Farmer isn't paying attention to her. I'm gonna crawl in a hole and die now-

You’re totally fine friend!! I promise I’ve made worse errors! I got you, and I’ll get this written for you 😀

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

I would love a oneshot of Haley getting jealous of female farmer spending time with Haley (when farmer and Haley are already married). That is if you are still doing requests

Your writing is awesome btw!! ( ￣▽￣)

Thanks so much! I’ll happily do your request but I just need a little clarification cuz I think I might be a little dumb. Did you want Haley jealous that the farmer is not spending enough time with her or spending time with someone else?

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

HELLO! I

I would like to request a drabble/short story please!

If you are able, I'd love to read Vincent accidentally calling the farmer Dad while he's hanging out with Jodi, the Farmer and Sam, and how they all collectively react to this news. I've been reading your stories lately and I would love to read more of your Farmer/Jodi content! Thanks in advance!

Jodi’s first reaction might be stunned silence, her breath catching because it’s something she secretly dreamed of but never expected to hear. Other times, she’d laugh softly and cover the moment with a gentle correction, though her eyes would betray the warmth in her chest. She might flush pink, unable to hide the way her heart leaps, or she might quickly busy herself with chores to avoid letting anyone see how much it rattled her. There would also be moments when she simply lets it hang in the air, not correcting Vincent at all, just savoring the way it sounds.

The farmer could be left speechless, throat tightening as if words don’t fit in that space anymore, because the simple word feels heavier than anything he’s ever been called. Sometimes he’d grin wide and ruffle Vincent’s hair, joking about being on bedtime story duty now. Other times he’d crouch down, answer seriously, and tell Vincent he can call him whatever makes him feel safe. He might glance to Jodi first, silently asking if she’s okay with it, or he might instinctively pull Vincent into a hug, protective pride swelling in his chest. On another day, he could freeze entirely, terrified Sam might overhear and things could explode.

Sam’s reaction depends on when it happens. There could be a long silence, his throat tight, because hearing his little brother say it makes him realize the farmer already feels like family. Or he could narrow his eyes, instantly suspicious, protective of his mom and brother until the farmer proves himself. He might laugh it off, teasing that it means the farmer has to mow the lawn now, or he might storm out, wounded at the thought of someone replacing his dad. Other times, he’d play it cool in the moment, only to admit later that he likes how happy Vincent looked saying it. And maybe, when the air is quiet, he’d mutter under his breath, “He’s not wrong,” letting his guard down just enough to show his acceptance.

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

Embers of Us (Ulrika x F! Arisen)

NSFW minors DNI!

The fire in Ulrika’s small stone house in Harve cast a warm, flickering glow across the wooden floor, its light dancing on the walls adorned with simple woven tapestries. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the faint, earthy tang of rain-soaked earth from the storm that had followed the dragon’s retreat. Outside, the village was quiet, the villagers safe at last, thanks to the Arisen’s unyielding blade and unshakeable resolve. But here, in this stolen moment, the world narrowed to the two women entwined on the simple bed, their bodies moving in a rhythm as ancient and vital as the heartbeat of Vermund itself.

Ulrika was above her, her strong thighs straddling the Arisen’s hips, their bare skin slick with sweat and desire. Her hair cascaded like a veil, brushing against the Arisen’s shoulders with every slow, deliberate grind. Ulrika’s hands braced on either side of the Arisen’s head, her fingers digging into the mattress, holding herself steady as she rolled her hips forward, their most intimate places pressing together in a tender friction that sent waves of heat radiating through them both. The sensation was exquisite—soft folds sliding against each other, warm and wet, building a pressure that was both urgent and languid, like the tide pulling at the shore.

The Arisen’s breath hitched, her hands roaming up Ulrika’s back, tracing the lean muscles forged from years of archery and defending her people. Her fingers grazed lightly, not to mark but to feel the strength beneath Ulrika’s skin, grounding herself in the reality of this woman who had become her haven. Ulrika’s breaths were shallow, her blue eyes locked on the Arisen’s, filled with a reverence that spoke louder than words. She didn’t speak her lover’s name—not out of secrecy, but because what they shared here transcended titles or labels. To the kingdom, she was the Arisen, Vermund’s chosen, burdened with dragons and fates. But to Ulrika, she was simply her—the woman whose heart she held, whose touch she craved.

This moment had been kindled in the aftermath of Melve’s fall. The dragon’s flames had scorched their village, driving the survivors to Harve, where they’d begun rebuilding under the Arisen’s protection. Hours earlier, as the last of the refugees settled into temporary shelters, Ulrika had pulled the Arisen aside, her hand lingering on her wrist, her eyes fierce with gratitude and something deeper. “Return to me whenever you need to,” she’d said, her voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. “My heart is yours. Always.”

Those words had ignited something unstoppable. In the quiet of Ulrika’s house, away from the eyes of the village, they’d shed their armor—leather and steel clattering to the floor, tunics and breeches following in a haze of longing. The Arisen had lain back on the furs, her body bare, scars glinting faintly in the firelight, each mark a testament to battles fought and won. Ulrika had joined her, guiding their bodies together with a tenderness that belied her warrior’s strength, and now they moved as one, their intimacy a balm for the wounds of the world outside.

Ulrika leaned down, her lips brushing the Arisen’s in a kiss that was soft at first, then deepening as their hips ground together more insistently. The Arisen’s core throbbed with each press, the slick glide of their pussies creating a delicious friction that built like a gathering storm. Ulrika’s clit nudged against hers, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins, and the Arisen arched up, meeting the motion, her hands sliding down to grip Ulrika’s hips, urging her closer, harder, but still so careful, so loving.

“You’re my strength,” Ulrika murmured against her mouth, her voice a low, husky whisper, thick with emotion. She shifted slightly, adjusting the angle to deepen their contact, the pressure intensifying as their folds slid together, wet and warm. The Arisen moaned softly, the sound swallowed by another kiss, her hands sliding up to tangle in Ulrika’s light brown hair, pulling gently to ground herself in the moment. Ulrika’s body was a marvel—strong yet soft, her muscles flexing under the Arisen’s touch as she maintained her position, her hips rolling in a rhythm that was both fervent and tender.

The Arisen’s mind flickered to the chaos of the day—the dragon’s roar, the villagers’ cries, the weight of her role as their protector. But Ulrika had been there, her arrows flying true, her presence unwavering. In Harve, as the survivors found safety, Ulrika had seen not just the Arisen, but the woman beneath, the one who carried the world’s hopes yet longed for a moment of peace. This act, this joining, was that peace—a reclamation of their humanity amid Vermund’s endless trials.

Ulrika’s pace quickened just a fraction, her hips circling now, grinding in slow, deliberate arcs that made the Arisen’s breath catch. The wetness between them eased the motion, turning it into something fluid, almost sacred. Ulrika’s eyes never left hers, drinking in every gasp, every flutter of her lashes, as if she needed to witness every moment of her pleasure. “I could lose myself in you,” Ulrika whispered, her forehead resting against the Arisen’s, their breaths mingling in the warm air. One hand left the furs to trail down the Arisen’s side, fingers brushing over her ribcage, her hip, before slipping between them to add to the sensation, circling her clit with a gentle, reverent touch.

The Arisen cried out softly, her body trembling under the added stimulation, the pleasure building like a tide ready to crest. Ulrika’s touch was careful, attentive, learning her lover’s responses—the way her hips bucked, the soft moans that escaped her lips. The firelight painted Ulrika’s skin in warm hues, highlighting the faint scars across her arms, remnants of battles fought for Melve, now carried into this new life in Harve. The Arisen’s hands wandered up to cup Ulrika’s breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, drawing a sharp gasp that made Ulrika’s hips stutter for a moment before resuming their rhythm.

“Yes,” Ulrika breathed, her voice a mix of encouragement and need, her body pressing down more firmly, their pussies sliding together with increasing urgency. The slick sounds mingled with their gasps, a private symphony in the quiet house. The Arisen felt Ulrika’s arousal coating her, blending with her own, creating a shared intimacy that bound them deeper than any oath. Each grind was a vow, each touch a promise, Ulrika’s dominance born of love, not power, her strength tempered by tenderness.

The Arisen pulled Ulrika down for another kiss, pouring her gratitude, her love, into it, her hips rising to meet each roll. The tension built, a sweet ache that spread through her core, her limbs, her heart. Ulrika’s fingers moved faster, matching the pace of their hips, and the Arisen felt herself unraveling, the pleasure blooming outward like wildfire. “Ulrika,” she gasped, her voice a plea, a prayer, no name needed to convey the depth of her feeling.

“Come with me,” Ulrika whispered, her body tensing, her grinds becoming shorter, more desperate, as her own release neared. They moved as one, the friction peaking, their bodies trembling in unison. The Arisen shattered first, her body arching, a cry escaping her lips as ecstasy washed over her, waves of pleasure radiating from her core. Ulrika followed moments later, her hips pressing down hard, grinding through her own climax, the shared pulses drawing out their mutual release.

They stilled gradually, Ulrika collapsing gently onto the Arisen, their bodies still joined, breaths ragged but synchronized. Ulrika nuzzled into the crook of her lover’s neck, lips brushing sweat-slick skin. “My heart,” she murmured, the words a quiet echo of her earlier promise, spoken with a tenderness that made the Arisen’s chest ache. They lay tangled in the furs, the fire’s embers glowing softly, casting their shadows as one.

In Harve, with Melve’s ashes behind them and a new life ahead, they held each other, their bond a light against Vermund’s darkness.

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

I don't have an AO3 account so I can't comment, but I wanted to let you know that your Haley fic touched my heart, I think it's a true masterpiece. I enjoyed every moment of reading it, even when it made me cry, haha. You're very talented at writing, I'll keep an eye on you. I hope you're doing well and thank you for sharing your talent.

Ahhh thank you so much for reading! Sorry for the tears lol.

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

hiya! i hope you’re doing well :) i love your writing and just wanted to remind you that you’re amazing :D stay hydrated and have a good day

Thank you so much friend!

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

Tales From the Realm:

The Dead by Daylight Anthology

“The hooks always find them. The trials never end. But between blood and breath, there are still moments—some tender, some terrifying—that the Fog can’t erase.”

Chapter One: “She Wants You To”

Sable and Mikaela

TW: Blood, character death

Mist twisted around her ankles like something alive. Each breath tasted faintly of copper and ash, and somewhere far off, the sound of a lullaby bled through the trees, warped and wrong, like a music box left to rot in the rain. Sable didn’t flinch. She’d long stopped expecting peace in places like this. But the chill she felt now wasn’t fear. It was recognition.

She found Mikaela by the crumbling altar where the woods gave way to stone, her body twisted in the dirt like a broken charm. Blood had painted its way down her arm in sluggish trails, soaking the torn hem of her skirt before disappearing into the hungry soil. One hand clawed at the ground in reflex more than reason, dragging faint sigils into the muck—half-formed, fading. Her eyes were open but distant, wide with the kind of horror that came not from pain, but from what she had seen before it.

The marks on her skin weren’t all hers. Symbols etched in grime and something older than blood wound across her wrist, dragged there by claws too jagged for human hands. Sable dropped to her knees, her voice catching in her throat as her fingers hovered above the gash in Mikaela’s side, unsure where to begin. The air stank of sulfur and wet earth, and just beyond the treeline, something dragged a nail along bark with slow, deliberate intention. The Hag never rushed. She liked her offerings fresh.

Mikaela blinked slowly, her lashes clumped with dirt and sweat, and her gaze found Sable’s like a tether stretched thin and fraying. There was no surprise in her eyes—only the quiet devastation of knowing it was happening again. Her lips parted as if to speak, but all that came was a gasp, shallow and wet, stained with iron. Sable pressed both hands to the wound anyway, not to heal, not this time, but just to hold something in place before the dark swallowed it whole.

They had died a hundred times, maybe more. The Entity never gave them numbers, only chances. And each time, the terror felt just as sharp. Just as cruel.

“It’s close,” Sable whispered, even though Mikaela already knew. Even though the air had gone still in that telltale way it always did before the world split open.

Mikaela nodded once, her mouth twitching in something too broken to be called a smile. “I know,” she mouthed. And then softer, “I don’t want to go like this.”

Sable didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. The air had thickened, congealed into something fetid and wrong, as though the forest itself were holding its breath. Behind her, footsteps dragged slowly across the stones, bare feet slick with mire and rot, each step accompanied by the wet snap of sinew stretching too far. The Hag did not speak, but her presence was its own language, one Mikaela and Sable had learned by heart. There would be no chase this time. No hooks. No second wind.

Mikaela’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into Sable’s sleeve with what little strength she had left. “Don’t look at her,” she rasped, her voice like paper burning at the edges. “She wants you to.” Sable kept her eyes fixed on Mikaela’s face, though every nerve screamed to run, to fight, to do something. But the Hag was already here. Her breath scraped the back of Sable’s neck like claws across parchment. And the only sound louder than the ragged thrum of her own heart was the sudden, gurgling silence of the woods surrendering them both.

Mikaela’s grip trembled against her sleeve, loosening as her body gave in to gravity, but her eyes stayed locked on Sable’s. There was no panic in them anymore. Just something older. Something that had learned to find clarity in the moments between breaths. “You’ll find me,” she whispered, the words barely rising above the sickening hush around them. “Even if it’s not here… you always do.”

Sable leaned closer, her forehead pressing gently against Mikaela’s, anchoring them together in the flicker of time they had left. “I’m not afraid,” she murmured, though the tear that slipped free betrayed her. “Not if you’re with me.” Behind them, the Hag’s hand lifted, jointed like bone runes carved wrong and smeared with centuries. The forest didn’t scream. It simply watched. And in that last breath before the darkness closed its grip, they held each other as if it might mean something. As if it always had.

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

are you doing alright? People are douchebags sometimes that just means they ain't the smartest tools in the toolshed for better words

Thanks for checking on me friend 🥺 I’m doing okay just kind of taking a step back from posting much both from here and AO3 for a bit, hopefully I’ll get my confidence back soon and I can start posting again 🩷

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

Hello friend, I just wanted to tell you that I love the way you write, I ended up reading almost all of your stories on AO3.

Keep it up, don't let some idiot discourage you with anonymous messages. I hope you're having a nice day ♡

Thank you so much friend! I really needed to hear this 🥺🩷

[multi-fandom-hoebag]

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but constantly sending hate from behind an anonymous screen doesn’t make you powerful—it makes you a coward.

I’m tired. Tired of being picked apart. Tired of every post, every word, being twisted into something it’s not.

I’m a real person. I have limits. And right now, I’m hitting them.

Some days I wonder why I even bother.

Just let people exist without tearing them down. Please.