#BOW FUCKING CHEWING HIS NAILS

[evermoreal]

being mafia!price’s soft spot 🎀

cw. nsfw (18+ minors dni), fem reader, mafia au, price loves his wife

it’s not that john price has a temper problem — he just has a bit of a .. firm hand. it’s needed in his line of business; when his men fuck up, it can result in lives lost. he needs to keep them in line.

with that being said, though, he can get a little testy when he’s had a bad day. enough for people to avoid him in the halls, to dread when he calls them into his office. one wrong move and they could end up on the wrong end of a berating — or a bullet.

however, they’ve recently found a fix for price’s temper. a soft spot, if you will. it came wrapped in a pretty pink bow and glossed lips — his wife.

when price is cross, it’s not long before someone is dialling your number, pleading for you to stop by his office lest someone end up dead.

upon your arrival, price is a completely different man. it’s like your perfume is laced with some kind of drug specialized for him. his eyes, hard and fiery, are softening as he pulls you into his chest and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

leading him into his office, you pout at him. as he he sits in that ostentatious chair behind his desk, he pulls you into his lap and raises a brow. “wha’s’at face for, sugar?”

scratching your nails over the hairs at the base of his neck, you say, “heard you were upset over something.”

price groans — you can feel it against your throat. when he doesn’t lift his head, you gently pull him back to look at you. embers of a fire still lingered behind his gaze, and you frowned.

“y’want me to help with that?” you offer, lips pressing against his jaw. “clear your head a little?”

his grunt was answer enough. soon enough, you were bent over his desk, skirt flipped up and panties pushed to the side as he took out his frustrations on your cunt.

if the 141 hadn’t informed you of his bad day, you never would have known. not with the way he uttered praises into the back of your neck, hand wrapped gently around your throat. “such an angel, ain’t’cha? coming all the way here jus’ to let me fuck this sweet cunt.”

afterwards, when he finally allowed you to leave his arms and head back home, price was his usual self again. not exactly kind, but he wasn’t threatening everyone in his path. he even called the man he’d earlier chewed out back into his office, offering him a drink.

when your phone pinged with a ‘thank you’ message from one of his guys, you couldn’t help your amusement.

#i’m obsessed with this old man #( 🌷 ) — writing. #( 🪻 ) — captain price. #( 🕊️ ) — call of duty. #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #captain price #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #tf 141 x reader

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 29

part 1 | part 28 | ao3

“Hey,” Steve sniffles when Eddie gets home.

He has no idea what time it is, but he knows he’s been crying since Wayne left for work — the exhausted, intermittent kind that leaves him boneless and craving a nap. From the foyer Eddie’s expression pinches with concern, and Steve can’t help the little bubble of wet laughter he lets out over the sight he must make: swaddled in a blanket, tear streaks down his face, neck flopped over the back of the couch to look toward the door. And he’s surrounded by towels.

The few that Wayne managed to salvage after his temper tantrum are all hung up near the radiator, draped over shelves and the backs of chairs, and the rest are sloshing away in the washing machine. (Wayne started a fresh cycle for him before he left for work; didn’t say a word about Steve boohoo-ing like an injured toddler on the other side of the room, which kind of makes him want to cry again.)

“Welcome to your house,” Steve tries to joke, but his voice cracks, so it comes out sounding more pathetic than funny.

“Uh… hi?” Eddie speaks slowly, moves slowly, cautious as he drops his bag and toes off his sneakers. He comes to stand behind the couch.

Steve blinks up at him with another weak, watery laugh.

“You okay?” Eddie asks. He bows his head to meet Steve’s gaze, eyes sharp with worry, brows drawn down, and Steve smiles just a little when Eddie’s hands reach up to touch him: sweep his hair off his forehead, cradle his face, cup his jaw. He runs his thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones, wiping at the salt tracks, and his rings rest in the hollows, his fingers drumming soothing rhythms as he chews on his next words.

Steve thinks he’s never seen something so lovely. Full lips twisted up in sympathy; secondhand heartbreak in his eyes. His hair falls around them like a curtain, like a cocoon.

He looks beautiful.

Warm.

Safe.

“...Do you wanna fuck around?”

Eddie’s hands flex against his jaw and then go still. So perfectly still, every muscle tensed, face gone horribly, carefully blank.

“Jesus,” Steve cringes at himself. He screws his eyes shut with a groan; lifts a hand to hide his face. “Oh, my god. Dude, I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

Eddie plucks Steve’s hand away. Goes back to holding his face, fingers kneading the tense muscles in Steve’s neck. Steve’s thinking that if he could just go blind right now so he never has to look up and see Eddie’s reaction, that would be so cool.

“Hey,” Eddie coaxes. “Look at me?”

Steve cracks one eye open. “Sorry,” he winces.

“S’okay,” Eddie says. Soft and simple, like it's easy, like he means it. There's a smile in his eyes, a playful quirk to his lips. “More than okay, actually; shit, that’s like, supremely fucking flattering, just, uh…"

Oh, god. Is this the part where he lets Steve down? Tells him he read this all wrong; that he let Robin witness his whole sad wet sexuality crisis for nothing?

"Feel like I missed a couple chapters on the reading assignment here, Steve,” Eddie laughs; a disbelieving little thing, his blunt nails catching on Steve's stubble. “You wanna tell me where that came from?”

“Just…”

Steve lets out a breath. Desperately wants to look away, because it’s embarrassing. What he wants.

Why he wants it.

“Last night, when you…”

"Mm. Surprised you remembered that.” His thumb drifts to the corner of Steve’s lips, traces the dip between his bottom lip and chin like he's remembering it now, too. "You were pretty fucked up."

Steve whimpers under the touch. He wants to part his lips, drop his jaw; invite Eddie to feel, to pet his thumb over his tongue and press down with two thick fingers. See how far they’ll go. Eddie makes a noise, and his hands retreat to higher ground; massaging Steve's temples, scratching lightly at his scalp. His voice is almost painfully tender when he murmurs, “No offense, but, um. You still seem a little fucked up now."

Steve nods mutely, because he can feel a rogue tear sliding sideways to his hairline, and what is there to say? It's true. He is a little fucked up now. (A lot fucked up, in fact. Kinda feels like Eddie's fingers down his throat would fix him, but he doubts Eddie would agree.)

Eddie maneuvers around the side of the couch, comes to crouch in front of Steve with his hands braced on Steve's knees. Looks up at him with wide, earnest eyes; two black moons, gravitational pull. "For the record," he intones, squeezing the meat of Steve's thigh, bringing his hand back down to Steve's kneecap with a mournful hiss of air. "I do want to. Fuck around with you, I mean, just- you know. Probably when you're not crying."

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. "You're not into that?" he jokes.

Eddie's dimple flashes. "Only when I'm the cause of it." Then it disappears again, tone serious and soft. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No. God. Not even a little bit; would honestly prefer to get another plate smashed over his head so he can forget this day ever happened. "My mom left," he croaks. He sounds fucking terrible, voice breaking and full of phlegm.

"Shit," Eddie says.

"Shit," Steve agrees.

Eddie gives him a long look — a Robin look, inquisitive and intense, like he can tear all the answers right out of Steve's head. Pluck them up like stray eyelashes; blow them away for good luck. Steve lets himself stare back, catalogs his features: all the freckles and fine lines, the pores, the vellus hair. There's a chicken pox scar just below one of his eyes, a faint silver pockmark that twists and shines in the dim light.

Eventually, Eddie must find what he's looking for because he claps Steve's knees and stands, rolling his shoulders back and down. "Yeah, sweetheart," he nods, "I got exactly what you need."

—

part 30

tag list in separate reblogs, if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

[z3nitsusgf]

still thinking abt the bath scenario with homelander :(

cw: nudity, implied nsfw, making out, he’s so annoying and s*ft here I think I’m gonna jump out a window

He can hear the soft thump of your heartbeat, the surprisingly relaxed nature of your breathing. You’re chest to chest, if he had any energy he’d probably he harassing you for a few minutes between your legs, but he settles for an ass grab here and there.

Homelander would stay here forever if he could. In the warmth of the bath, your forehead pressed against his while your shitty jazz music plays. What did you call it? Lo-fi? He doesn’t care.

He can see the droplets of water that kiss along your shoulder, your legs still hugging at his hips. He’s got both his hands holding your waist, he can see that his fingers are starting to prune from how long you’ve both been in here. You look like you’re falling asleep.

He nudges you with the tip of his nose, “Hey,” he hears you hum and he waits for your eyes to open before he’s saying, “gimme a kiss."

You twitch in his hold, chewing on your tongue. It’s strange, being this close to him. Face to face, where you can see the fine lines of his cheeks and the golden tan of his skin. The dark-tattooed mark visible on his wrist, usually hidden by his suit. He doesn’t have any scars, it’s impossible for him.

“Go on, I’m not getting any younger.” You resist the urge to curl your lips at him and comply, leaning towards his face and pecking his cheek, narrowly missing his lips.

Homelander scoffs at that, dragging you closer on his lap. Palming at your lower back, he’s feeling around a bit before pinching the top of your ass with lithe fingers, reveling in how you squirm with a startled yelp. Tsking at you with mock disappointment.

"Fuck was that, a kiss for your granny?" You narrow your eyes at him and he looks at you with mocking shock, his brow raised.

"Don't give me that look, kiss me right."

You sigh through your nose, tilting your face and pressing your mouth on his with a softness he's still not used to. Homelander hums contently, molding his lips with yours in a desperate way. Your fingers still splayed through his hair and tugging at them lightly.

He waits for you to part your mouth for air so he can sweep his tongue in. That garners a muffled sound from you, your nails scraping along the back of his neck while he sucks lightly on the tip of your tongue. He can smell your soap, the floral scent flooding his brain. Your mouth tastes like faint chocolate from his PR promotion, sweet and rich. And he’s turning his head so he can glide the slippery pink along the inside of your palate, over the ridges of your teeth and across the flat of your drooling tongue.

You'd think someone like Homelander wouldn't be so sloppy, that he wouldn't like how you swap the taste of each other's mouths - but he loves it. He loves it when he can see how flushed you get, body temperature rising and dopamine flooding through your veins. You're all hot and bothered by a little kiss, it's so cute. When he pulls away there are silvery webs of saliva that connect his tongue to yours, your lips kiss-swollen and he's got lidded eyes.

You whisper his name softly, puffing against his cheekbone.

"See, now that's a real kiss."

He says breathily, squeezing the plush of your naked waist and smirking at how you look away from him, shying away as you plant your palms on his pecs and push yourself back. You’d smack him if you knew it would do anything. You try not to squirm at the feeling of his dick pressed against your tummy, still a little dazed and foggy in the head. Homelander loves that look on you, maybe more then when you’re crying. The glassy eyes and parted damp lips, your cupids bow glistening.

Fuck the seven and Vought, he’s staying here for the rest of the damn week.

#slamming my fist on the table #the boys.✮ #val.writes ❦ #homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys x reader #the boys x you

[blueberryarchive]

The Evergreen Game

The white pawn moves to E4.

"Pawn. E4." Jungkook swallows, sweat pooling on his temples and Cupid's bow.

"Pawn to E5." You murmur in a hiss, your legs trying to move, but Jungkook leans forward to move your chess piece. Your nails grab the hair at the back of his neck as you reposition yourself in his lap.

Jeon grabs your waist with his forearm so you won't fall, although he also feels that his body is going to betray him at any moment.

"Knight F3." Jungkook played after taking a breath, his cock feeling hot and completely covered in the viscous, milky liquid. He hadn't taken his cock out in an hour, and his dress pants, boots, and the floor were covered in his cum. Nasty, cold, and drying with the fall breeze. The scene was indecent.

"Knight to C6." You responded, holding your boyfriend's sweaty head so you could stand up.

"No, I'm not done yet. I have to win."

"It hurts, Kook. I can't anymore." As you moved further the liquid fell thickly onto the floor, making an obscene sound as you moaned. Your puffy lips were swollen from fucking too much, your insides reddened. But every time you moved ever-so-lightly it felt like scratching an itch, painful pleasure. "Let's play again later-"

"Bishop to C4." He interrupted, lifting your listless and tired body. You put your feet on tiptoe and moved on top of him again, the hair on his thighs sweating under your ass and your nipples gnawing at Jungkook's cashmere sweater.

You thought about your next move while he used you as a simple glove or toy.

"Hurry up or I'll go harder."

"You don't need to win."

"I do. Hurry up or I'll go harder." He repeated firmly.

Jungkook's mind wanted to focus on this round, he had an important game tomorrow; he could earn good money to pay for the apartment. But you offered him some gummies to which he just opened his mouth to chew them without thinking much.

Bad decision. In the first fifteen minutes, he felt his body warm up. Fifteen minutes later, you appeared completely naked in front of him.

An hour and a half and you no longer know how to count the times he has filled you until you were dripping wet and overflowing.

Half an hour ago, you asked for mercy, like a hypocrite. The fact that you thought it was going to end without your pussy being abused was just foolish.

"Bishop to C4?"

Jungkook left his painted hand on your right asscheek. You purred, biting your lips with delight, and curling your toes. 

"Think, pet. I need you to concentrate."

"C5, I- C5" You begged, moving with a little more energy, the cum lubricating your pain, pure bliss.

"Mhm. Keep moving like that. I'll let you go after this round.." Liar, you said to yourself while you hugged his neck. He held you tighter while he moved your black bishop.

"Pawn B4."

This game sounded familiar.

"Bishop to B4." You said, lifting your body even higher. The white pawn out.

"Pawn C3."

Jungkook didn't resist and kissed your neck for the umpteenth time that autumn afternoon. Your sweaty back under his hand moved, trembled, rose, and fell in short moans.

"Bishop A5."

"Bishop D4."

"Pawn to D4." Jungkook's index finger pushes the pawn to its new position, with that, you begin to groan as you shake the pieces with your hand on the table.

"Are we playing the Evergreen game?" You laughed breathlessly when you noticed how fast the game was going.

"Looks like we are." He smiled, revealing his dark eyes beneath the wet strands of his forehead. "You know what that means."

"You win at the end."

Jungkook growled before lifting you up and completely destroying the board until he placed your body on the table. Your breasts bounced with every hit and crash of him inside you.

"Koo, please, slow down. It hurts."

But he just couldn't. God, he wished he could because it hurt him too. But those pretty little cries that came out of your drooled and swollen lips didn't want him to stop filling you up.

"One more time."

"It'll burst out."

"I don't care, love. My floor and boots are already a fucking mess because of you."

You laughed through your tears. You loved seeing him so desperate.

Jungkook grabbed the queen and bishop between his fists before feeling how he filled you to abounding again.

And yet, after feeling himself almost faint and his legs spasming, he felt like he could win another round.

#jk.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts jungkook #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook imagine #bts #bts x you #bts x reader

[impala-dreamer]

Cracks In The Plaster

A Supernatural Quickie

~After a long day in the car, Dean's got plans to relieve a little tension...~

Dean Winchester x Reader

763 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Rough and Yummy Motel Sex ;)

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

God it hurts but it's also really fucking good the way he's ratcheting into you, every pull out lifting you off of the wall, every thrust slamming you back into it. The plaster is groaning nearly as loud as you are and the dusty wallpaper is threatening to curl around you. The motel room didn’t know what was in store when you checked in; truly, neither had you.

Dean had turned the key, stepped back to let you in, and then attacked out of nowhere. Hours on the road with your teasing smile and flirtatious side-glances had driven him wild and the beast inside took over as soon as the latch caught.

You were in his grasp before you knew what was happening, gasping as his plump, cracked lips locked onto your pulse and his strong arms twisting around you from behind. His right hand cupped your tits while the fingers of his left hand splayed across your soft belly, teasing at the hem of your jeans.

You could feel him growing hard against your ass, denim fighting denim, heat building, breaths matched in heaviness.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed, moaning as he gripped your right nipple hard and twisted it into a tight bud.

“Need you,” he growled, teeth leveled at your jaw. “Now.”

A thrust of his hips made your eyes roll and you shoved back against it, rubbing your ass over his caged erection.

“You got me, cowboy…” You pushed again and his hand slid up from your tits to your throat, fingers tigtening around the sides as he yanked your head back.

“You sure about that?” He squeezed and your eyes fluttered, breath stopped for a moment. “Because I’m not gonna let you go…” With a snap, he had your jeans open and his fingers crawled inside, pressing hard up against your throbbing cunt. “Ever.”

The next few minutes were a blur. Spinning in his arms, you let go, giving yourself over to his desires, his whim. Almost too quickly, he had your shirt off and your bottoms gone- fabric twisted and damp and tossed carelessly away. He left your bra on, enjoying the way your tits looked propped up when he turned the cotton cups down beneath. He dipped his head to taste your nipples, biting and suckling until your skin was on fire and each scrape of his teeth made you wince and moan in pleasure.

Pushing your fingers through his short hair, you tugged as best you could, egging him on, silently begging for more.

“Driving me nuts all day,” he slurred, tongue heavy with lust as he shoved you back against the ugly wall by the television. “Such a fuckin’ tease…” He whipped his belt away and tugged his jeans down, letting them fall around his bowed knees.

Breathless, you chewed on the corner of your mouth and batted your lashes up at him. “Who? Me?”

Giant hands grabbed at your face, fingers curling in your hair as he licked into your slick mouth. “You.” He grit, kissing his way across your face and back as he dropped his hands to your sides and lifted you up.

Feet off the ground, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping as the tip of his cock slammed against your clit. Dean groaned and rolled his hips, rubbing himself through your lips, coating his cock in your wetness.

“Please…”

He pressed his tongue between his front teeth, tipped his head down to look up at you through impossibly thick lashes. “Love it when you get all whiney and desperate for me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, clinging to the canvas jacket and layers below. “Please, Dean… Please…”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “just like that…”

And now he’s really got you. The crack of his thighs against your ass makes your body ache, the racing, frantic thrust of his cock deep inside makes your mind melt. You struggle to hold on, hands clasped behind his neck, legs dandling, feet anchored on the plump globes of his ass.

The emerald of his eyes is nearly eclipsed by lustfilled pupils and he stares at you, panting, ruby lips parted and struggling, and fuck, it’s so good.

One, two, three, and you’re cumming hard on his cock; a pathetic cry muffled by his big palm. His eyes grind into yours and he pistons a little bit faster, a little bit harder, and you’re sure the wall is going to come down around you.

“Yes…” he groans, ready to plummet, holding back just long enough to really make himself insane. “Just. Like. That.”

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @amanda-teaches @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @b3autyfuldisast3r-blog @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @because-imma-lady-assface @bloodline1632 @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @djs8891 @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @iprobablyshipit91 @jawritter @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @leigh70 @lovealways-j @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @mistressofallthingsgeeky @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05 @thoughts-and-funnies @vulgar-library

#spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ I was the boy who was on your side❞

Sal Fisher x transmale!reader | nsfw, angst | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | dom. switch. reader | wc: 3k | not proofread

warnings: talks of death, think of Sal as an ex that won’t leave you alone, fingering, shower sex, Sal exhibiting yandere tendencies, mentions of r! taking medication

there’s someone else on your bed. someone whose heart beats steadily in their chest and yet you still feel Sal’s eyes watch you from the corners of the room. worse yet, you feel his ghostly touches on your skin. you crave him even when you can’t touch him, he would apologize but he made a promise to stay by your side no matter what.

authors note: i have no reason for writing this tbh, just wanted to. i hope it's enjoyable tho!

“Do you know what the French call orgasms?”

The sly curl of his lips allows air to be breathed into your lungs. His hands rake down the curve of your back as his teeth chew on his kiss-bruised lip. “The French don’t concern me,” you said. “They should," Calum says with their brows arched haughtily. Leaning up and lifting himself onto his elbows, Calum's aquiline nose bumps into yours. “They’re quite the romantics," Calum frowns as your eyes roll upwards.

“Rude!” his scoff manages to wring a burst of laughter. It’s cut short as he uses this moment to spring upwards, making your body twist in a quick flurry of limbs and sheets that ends with the both of you laughing. The bed squeaks at the force, spring coiling in protests that land on deaf ears. 

Calum's warmth is welcomed. His kisses sweetly call for those praises to be poured from your lips as his hands climb up your forearms until his fingers thread between yours. They grasp firmly. A whisper of his name from you has him grinning toothily, his teeth brushing against your hips as he lowers and lowers and lowers. . .

The sight of his white hair between your legs wasn’t unfamiliar. Nor was it unwanted. His dexterous muscle works on your pulsing cock with fervor. “Fuck, Cal”, he merely hums in acknowledgment. “La Petite Mort”. “. . .Gesundheit?” Calum sucks on your dick meanly. His teeth uncovered and his tongue merciless. The sharp ache of it has you inhaling sharply, thigh tensing and back bowing; the pleasure was enough to ebb all of it away but Calum's wet pout has you puffing out apologies. “It’s French, dumbass”, using his hands now. Calum jerks you off. His knuckles sweetly rub along the sides as lewd noises fill the air. Your body grows lax once again, eyes fluttering shut as you melt on the sheets.

The rain pelting on the windows does little to muffle your noises (though you sincerely hope your neighbours find it sufficient) but the repetitiveness of the raindrops drizzling on glass sinks you into a memory long forgotten. Foggy mornings, squeaky shoes on vinyl floors with equally as squeaky locker door hinges; a hushed whisper of excitement; painted nails with guitar string scars slipping up your shirt as blue eyes dance across your face. “This is where you want to spend your free period in? The dirty bathrooms?” “What?” You remembered saying with your arms wrapped around the neck of the boy you once loved so dearly. The feeling of his choppy haircut along your wrist whispers for you to smooth it out from underneath the straps of his face prosthesis. 

“You too busy or something?” Sal rolls his eye but you still catch the crescent shape it squished into as he smiles. “Sally Face, you got somewhere to be? Can’t even spend your free period with your boyfriend?” he squeezes you closer, slotting you directly against his frame. His belt buckle digs into you a bit but his slender fingers grab a handful of your ass and all is forgotten. “ ‘Didn’t say nothing like that”, his digits stutter as he feels the loosening of his mask but he catches himself as you gaze at him with nothing but adoration. “Good man, Sal”.

The memory fades away as your eyes open, tears brimming and darkening your lashes but not once falling as you groan. Spine twisting, your neck arches as Calum rubs your cock with his thumb while he tells you how delicious you taste. “It means The Little Death, that post-orgasm tingles of unconsciousness."

The idea of an orgasm being linked to death made a delirious giggle slip out. Throwing an arm across your eyes you simply squeezed your thighs together to force Calum's head closer to your boycunt. “You gonna kill me, baby?” Calum's mouth is full of your dick but he doesn’t seem unwilling. The corners of his mouth lift in a grin and he gets to work. 

“Oh shit," your teeth chew on the insides of your cheeks and your arms fly to grasp on the bedsheets as your head turns. Calum's holding your thighs, grip bruising as he devours you like a man starved for weeks. Your vision is hazy. The warbling of shadows slink and rise thanks to the rain, the warm light of the streetlight, and the occasional car that drives past distorts you further as pleasure runs through you like blood through a body. A steady pumping that fills you with warmth and life - not at all anything like death. The French were stupid, you decided. Sex is alive. A beast that languidly stretches itself on chaise lounge chairs with claws so sharp it burns as it cuts; even in passing one-night stands. The beast all but burns.

It's a flame. It’s not death, sex is alive. Mighty and virile. Calum's head between your legs is proof of that and the way your body trembles is proof of that.

Bright lights steer the noise of rubber-crushing gravel onto your street, the ambiance of it allows a face to appear in the corner of your room. For a second, your heart stops and you think that maybe you’d offended Death within your thoughts because sitting in the armchair was Sal. He’s dressed in that sickening shade of orange, his hair looking more green than blue as his mask tilts listlessly. His hands are bound in chains that glint from what little light was flooding through the room but his eyes? They glow in the darkness; they feel accusatory. Panic grips you and you scramble to sit up. Calum chases after you like a hungry dog, tongue out and everything, and gazes up with confusion. Your chest was heaving as you stared at the corner and he kneeled on the bed to squint his eyes at it. The armchair had been picked off the street. Ashley and you revamped it. She said it’d make the room homier while you mused the idea of it being a reading nook. Ultimately, it became nothing more than a place to pile laundry and Calum's guffaws make your cheeks burn in humiliation. “You thought it was a dude sitting there?” “Fuck, maybe? Don’t laugh!” 

Calum grunts as you shove him backward, merely wrapping his arms around you, and his touch burns. Like warm metal scraping on the skin, your gums ache from the sensation. He thinks nothing of it when you push to pin him down, folding his legs until his knees meet his chest. His cock jumps to greet you while he purrs in delight at this familiar position. “You going to fuck me with your dick, scaredy cat?” The pout on your face makes him coo, reaching between his legs to cup your face and pull you down. Once your tongues are tangled and the taste of you mixes with saliva, you dare a sneaky glance toward the corner again. Nothing. No sickly orange or drabe blue-green or accusatory eyes. Just a pile of clean laundry in desperate need of folding. Calum bites down on your lip and you grunt in reply. His bright brown eyes are filled with mirth. He’s caught you sneaking a peek and he is none too shy to tease you about it.

“Hey, I get those jumpscares too sometimes. It happens. Nothing to be embarrassed about, Daddy-o”, he assures with gentle caresses along your jaw and ear.

“Juuust maybe a sign for you to get some chores done so you don’t get a heart attack again, ya’ know, food for thought”. You shift your hips and line your throbbing dick to his sopping hole. The heat of him around your tip has your back rippling and he urges you on with whiny, keening, noises. Calum's at your mercy, filling up with your dick as you mount him. His eyes close and the lovingly bruised neck he has stretches. Your mouth hangs open, and the heat between your legs and the tightness of Calum's have your vision turning fuzzy.

Another car passes. The light washes out Calum's olive-toned skin and for a split second, it’s Sal on the mattress. With his soft tummy and blue-tinted happy trail, the healed acne scars on his chest, and his beautiful face twisted in pleasure. 

“Not too rough. I’m fragile," Sal jested. Even in the dim moonlight, you can tell he’s attempting to cover his facial scars by pressing them into the pillows. Despite how uncomfortable it might be on his sensitive skin. Your frown makes him sigh. It cuts off with a grunt as you slam your hips onto his. "Let me see my beautiful baby." He shivers at your whisper. God, your voice was like lighter fluid pouring over him. Your touches were the fire that ignited his very soul. Every pore and fine hair wants nothing more than to be covered in you; devoured by you. Sal can feel your fingers travel and trace his collarbones, gulping thickly when it encloses around his neck. A sharp intake of breath is all your doing as you squeeze him there. "(Y/N)..."

"Sal." His eyes flutter and your gaze is so overwhelming. He turns to face you, his hair spread out beneath him like a lion's mane. God, he was ethereal. You don't fault him for not thinking the same — the monster that took his mother away from him deserved to burn in hell.

But your Sal was yours. As you cup his face, you can practically feel his heart pounding in his head. There were flashes of teeth where lips should be, and a chunk of his jaw bone was gone which left his face unsymmetrical. His glass eye wasn't as glossy as his real one and you kiss the tears that fall to comfort him. His breath stutters as he feels the strap-on you wore move in tandem with your sweet kisses. Sal grasps at your arms, his painted nails digging into your flesh and you coo at him as you pour your soul into him.

Kissing Sal felt like kissing sunlight. Kissing Calum felt like nothing. Just a pair of lips pressed to yours, opening with his jaw so his tongue could meet yours. His breath puffs into your mouth as your hips grind up into his awaiting cunt. "Fuck, your dick feels good," he grunts out with his head tossed back. He feels like heaven as his sopping entrance squeezes and takes your t-dick. "Yeah?" Calum nods. As if you needed any convincing. The squelching noises your bodies make when you pull back and push back in is enough. Calum's hips canting and thighs twitching were just icing on the cake. "You take me so fucking well. So fucking pretty," your eyes close as your dick bumps with his. They throb together as they slide against each other. It has Calum biting on his lip so hard it threatens to bleed. So you sink back inside of him and he groans. "That feel good?"

Fingers trace your shoulders. Barely there are touches that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand in attention. Your body knows who he is even if your mind tries to deny it. Calum's voice is muffled by the pelting rain and cars passing by. Sal's hand moves to grasp your shoulders, and then the press of his face prosthetic to your nape makes your hips stutter. Those cold lips trace the column of your neck.

His breath makes your ears warm up.

Those familiar hands, with those calloused digits, slip to hold your waist. They settle into your shape, thumb stroking over where your hipbones would be.

"You want me to touch you there, baby?"

"Yes, please, yes," you whimper. Calum is at your mercy as you hand your head down.

He calls out your name as your dick slips out of him but that's cut short by his growl of approval when you start grinding your cocks together.

Sal places his chin to peer down. You can hear the smile he has on his face as he whispers about how hard you are. "Almost there, yeah? That feels good? Fuck, I missed this, missed you. Yeah, come on."

Calum's mumbling about being close and you're on the edge too. Your ghost, your Sal, wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you back towards his chest.

He's there. You can feel him. Feel his body curl over you as his digits slip into you; your walls mold to his shape and they seem intent on not letting him go.

It's so cold, so spine-chilling, but so fucking hot.

Calum moans in pleasure. The sight of him writhing and moaning as he jerked himself off through his orgasm would've made anyone's mouth water.

Your eyes were closed. All you could do to still feel Sal was to drown in his touch.

"Oh fuck —" Sal groans into your ear. Your body shivers, limply leaning against his as he lets you ride out on his fingers. He pumps them, slowly decreasing his pace as you plead for him for more.

Calum grunts as you are laid beside him. The arm that slips over the back of your shoulder forces your eyelids apart. He flinches as you scramble to sit up, once again following your lead and glancing around the room.

"Christ, (Y/N)! Is your house haunted or something? You're starting to scare me," he laughs breathlessly. Your stunned silence does not ease him. When you shove his hand off your shoulder, he furrows his brows and watches you stand to go to the bathroom.

"(Y/N)? Did you take something at the club? Seriously, are you okay?"

"He's a little chatty, huh?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine. I just, I just need a minute..."

His blue eyes narrow as you reach for the bottle of pills you stored in your medicine cabinet. You knew you shouldn't have put it out of sight — object permanence was not something that existed in your brain. If it's out of sight, you tend to forget about it real quick.

"Don't."

You can see his arm on the edge of your sink, his face appearing as he cups your cheeks. The bottle shakes as you back away from him. Sal follows and once again wraps his arms around your waist so you stand still.

"(Y/N)?" Calum calls out.

"Don't."

His eyes were pleading. His tone was nothing short of a beg.

Calum's footsteps grow closer to your bathroom.

Sal strokes your cheekbones as he watches you pop a pill back into your mouth.

"(Y/N)...baby..."

"(Y/N)? Baby?" Calum is there when you open your eyes. He glances at the pill bottle in your hand and you shake your head.

"Sorry, I just...I forgot to take these." Calum busies himself with turning the showerhead on, trying to find the right words to prod for answers. You're thankful for that; you needed to collect your thoughts as well.

"Are they prescribed?" he tests. You nod wordlessly, placing the bottle down next to the sink.

"...Can I ask what they're for?"

You twist the faucet and lean down to splash your face with cold water. He's patient as he stands under the shower. When you straighten up, he reaches his hand out. You take it. His body slots against yours as he kisses your neck and collarbone.

"You don't have to answer — "

"No, no, I...I can answer. They're just for my depression. I kind of had a rough time in college, uhm, it left me in a bad spot." Calum apologizes.

Why is he apologizing?

You catch his lips, murmuring ' It's okay ' as you do. He whimpers in your kiss, wrapping his arms around your neck as you push him to the wall. His legs spread as your knee separates them as he grinds down so sweetly on your knee. You can't shake the feeling of eyes on you. The steam is building up, making the mirror fog up and your heavy breathing isn't helping.

Calum is so pliant this time. No quips or protests. Maybe he feels bad for accusing you of something. Or did he feel bad because you admitted to having a shitty mental state?

He cums on your leg so you praise him for it.

"Do you want me to help you wash up?" You shake your head. He fails to mask his guilt. You're glad he left you alone in the bathroom because the second he closes the door behind him, you're on your knees.

The palms of your hand dig into your eyes as you curl over on the floor. He's there. You know he is. Just watching you from the furthest corner of the bathroom. Kept at bay by some stupid placebo effects.

Ashley would scold you. Probably tell you to tell your therapist that you've been hallucinating your ex-boyfriend.

You know you're not hallucinating though.

You know what he is.

"...I do miss you, I wish you'd stop letting him come over."

"I don't remember you being the jealous type," you reply dryly. Your tears are blending in with the water that cascades down your pathetically curled-up body.

"I love you, (Y/N). We made a promise that we'd never leave each other, remember? So I'm not leaving."

Calum pretends not to hear your laughter. He stares at your bathroom door in worry as he hears it turning into sobbing. His heartstrings were being stretched thin as your sobbing turns ugly.

Every inhale and exhale, rubbing your throat raw as it echoes from the bathroom.

But as Calum stands he's met with the sight of a man dressed in an orange outfit and a haunting mask. The shock was enough to have him fall onto his ass and as he crawls backward, that sickening clinkclinkclink of the man's chains follows.

"What the fuck!? What the fuck!?"

Sal tilts his head, breathing heavily as he wordlessly stares Calum down. Calum turns onto his hands and knees, stumbling over his own feet as he slams your front door open.

Sal shushes you as he gathers you into his arms. Cupping a hand over your eyes he squeezes you close between his legs on the floor of the shower.

You can hear the door slam open, banging onto the wall, but Sal's grip just tightens.

"I've got you. Shh, don't worry, I've got you, baby. Just stay with me."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #gay reader #male reader #male reader insert #male!reader #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher x yn #sal fisher x male reader #sally face #sally face x yn #sally face x you #sally face x reader #sally face x male reader

[rkivepetals]

* ˚ ✦ mastermind * ˚ ✦

Oneshot

Jjk x reader

Word count: 2.9k

.•♫•♬• what if I told you none of it was accidental •♬•♫•.

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates And all the stars aligned. You and I ended up in the same room. At the same time. Your toothy grin stole my heart away. Your gentleness carried me to heaven. Those beautiful orbs, so temperate, and I swear. I’d plot a murder to get those lips enveloped in mine, to get you. To make you mine. To have you looking at me all the damn time. “Princess?” I move my eyes to Daisy, my caretaker. She clears her throat. “You can’t stare at someone for too long”

I internally groaned, “oh fuck it, daisy” I whispered as she gasps. I move my eyes back at your figure to see you dancing, my breath caught in my throat. And the touch of a hand lit the fuse Of a chain reaction of countermoves To assess the equation of you and me, I take a deep breath.

Checkmate, I can’t lose. I was on the ground with you running over me, my father whispering curses of how a princess could fall? How could a princess fall? Yeah, she’s willing to fall. you help me stand up and I feel your hands against mine, your concerned eyes over me.

What if I told you none of this is accidental? And right now when I see you Nothing's gonna stop me I'll lay the groundwork, and then Just like clockwork, The dominoes will cascade in a line. What if I told you I'm a mastermind? And I want you to be mine. It’s all my dеsign, because I'm a mastermind. “Are you okay, princess?” You ask, in your soft voice. I smile under my cloak, “yes. What’s your name?” I can see you frowning, “I need your name to give you rewards for this, you know?” I try to materialise you.

You shake your head, your voice dipping me in honey from the first hair in my scalp to the last bit of my toe nail. Everything in me shudders for you. “You don’t have to.” You were almost gone and I thought I almost lost you. “No. I need your name. It’s an order!” I speak more firmly this time, so you bow your head, “Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook” you smile and I smile. Jungkook, you'll be mine.

“But princess this is wrong!” The head butler says while I chew on my apple. The end of the year dinner was over, sadly I couldn’t stare at your figure anymore. So I made a plan. I plot a scene. For you. For us. “You see, all the wisеst women Had to do it this way, Anderson. My mom plotted my dad’s murder once, and here am I.” He sighs, “that doesn’t quite justifies anything, princess y/n” I grunt softly. “You forgot again? My dad plotted an even more evil plan, like marrying the hell out of her. Loving until she was in her grave 'Cause we’re born to be the pawn In every lover's game!” I roll my eyes and Anderson chuckles in an awkward manner. I still chew on my apple.

“But still, spying on someone from our own kingdom is wrong, princess. It’s against the rules.” Daisy places a jar of peanut butter on the table. “I’m not telling you to spy so I can rob his house. It’s just for uh..some business.” “it’s called falling in love.” “Oh shut up daisy!” She broke into giggles. Elegantly, I roll my eyes. “Okay I’ll do it” I smile at Anderson and kiss his cheek. “You’re the best grandpa ever.” He smiles, his white hair and beard warm. As he ruffles my hair. And I plan and plan, I set a strategy to every scene, I choose your clothes, I do everything I could for you.

Until Anderson was at your house, your honey skin and tiny moles. Your toothy grin, every time I get lost in you. You take the clothes I send as you accidentally glance at my side and I duck my head down. No. I don’t want you to see me. So we can meet for the first time again. I want us to be a beautiful accident. You talk to Anderson for a while and shut your door. Anderson walks past me as I tiptoe and remove my veil, “what did he say?” I whispered as Anderson sighs, “he studies design, y/n”

I smile. “Then let’s study design!” he widens his eyes and follows after me while whispering to me to slow down.

And we meet again, I crash to you. You pick my books up and continuously apologise. I just smile and nod. As you halt for a second before you smile at me. I almost forgot how beautiful your eyes are, yes you’re very gorgeous Jungkook. I’m willing to meet you for the first time a million times. Because I couldn’t get enough of your scent, your smile, your eyes, your moles, your skin, your body. You, I couldn’t get enough of you. Your eyes met mine as you sigh. “It’s fine” I speak for the first time after eating the candies, I can’t let you know.

“Can you help me find the head office?” I asked as you smiled at me and led me around. I almost bumped Into some people because I was following you like a lost puppy. “My name is Betty.” I say as you smile. “Jungkook” I shake hands with you with a shy smile. You clear your throat and walk off as I go inside the room to get my work done. And as always, I tried planning my seat and class with you but I couldn’t. And I see you again, in the cafeteria. With some book in your hand and clear glasses rested on your nose.

You looked like a movie star. I hesitantly tapped your shoulder as you looked at me and smiled. “Hi Betty!” I chuckled at you, “can you show me this place? I don’t know anyone here” I say knowing every kid of yours and my class very well. I even know their personal affairs and their monthly expenses. “I actually need to submit some papers to the office so I can’t come” my smile faded. “But yoongi will help you, right yoongi?” I moved my eyes, and my eyes widened. Oh no. He knows me. Yoongi knows me.

“I gotta go now, Betty” he smile and walk off his table as I see the guy removing his glasses, “you’re a fucking mastermind” yoongi says as I sigh, “I know” as he get up and help me find my class. “How clever of you to threaten me to make Jungkook wear somewhat similar clothing as you” he says while walking, “shut up. And I won’t spare you if you leak this anywhere.” Yoongi doesn't know that I’m a royal. He scoffs, “Jungkook likes intelligent girls” “hah! I’m more than intelligent.”

He sighs, “I meant girls who’re passionate towards designing and art” I hum and enter inside the class, oh please, as a princess it looks tough. “Now I’m going” I heard yoongi as I scrunched at the dirty chewing gum and notebooks here and there. I felt a harsh hit on my back as I turned around to see a girl, she had dark make-up on with a furry hat and a jean skirt. “Hey can’t you see?!” Her piercings shone bright as I bow, “s-sorry” I mumbled as she sighs and picks her stuff. “What’s your name?” She asks, “Betty,” she hums.

“Betty, are you free this Saturday?” I frowned, “uh..yes” she smiles, “then let’s party! My name is chaewon! Kim chaewon!” I frowned, “uh, how, where. I mean” she chuckled and put an arm around my shoulder and started to drag me deeper in the class. “My best friends have booked a yacht for a Saturday night. It would be fun, also you can make new friends beside that boring jeon” she rolls her eyes as I think about it. “Do you know him?” I asked as she nodded, “I once madly wanted to date him. But I figured out it’s just not his thing. He looks better with his books”

I cleared my throat, “he never dated anyone?” She clicks her tongue, “never. He believes in fates and soulmates and all that shit. But I feel he should, because look at that damn body holy moly, he’s hot as fuck—“ I heard someone clear throat loudly, I turned around and freeze on my spot. You were standing there, I can also feel chaewon freezing as she giggled awkwardly before walking away. You walk to me in your minimal clothing and get a satin scrunchie in your hand, “you forgot this, Betty”

I frowned, this wasn’t planned as much as I remember. I bite my lower lip and see an amused smile on your lips, I hesitantly take my scrunchie back, I don’t even remember how I forgot this. “T-thanks, Jungkook” your amused smile didn’t drop as you just stared at me. I cleared my throat. “Are you free this Saturday?” I softly ask as you hummed while nodding, please break eye contact. It's beyond my management. “Uh, Chaewon is having a party this Saturday, would you come? I’m going too” you lick your bottom lip, a cute frown on your face.

“Sure” you say as chaewon popped out of nowhere, “really?!” She realises it and chuckled, “I mean you don’t go on like that so I didn’t ask you. But I’m very impressed! Keep up jeon!” You ignore her while shaking your head and walking away. “Help Betty around!” I heard your echo as chaewon walks to me, “what kind of magic do you carry, Miss Betty?” I giggled loudly at her words. Colleges are nice. I had thought that until the professor showed something I couldn’t understand on the white board.

I couldn’t help but fall asleep. I saw and met you several times within these four days which kept me alive because no way I’ll survive those corny teachers with their unmanageable intelligence towards fashion and design. Now on Saturday, I wore a black shiny shirt and dark blue pants with gemstones on them. As much as I heard from chaewon, you didn’t quite come and I just wanted to go for the sake of some drinks which I’m not allowed to drink as a royal. I’m wearing heels for the first time, since I always remove them under the gowns and walk on my tiptoes in the castle.

I probably won’t wear a body con or those revealing outfits because I’m not allowed to. I kinda do not wish for them too. Heck, nobody even knows me but still. I was texting Anderson that I’ll be late and my heel twisted all of a sudden in the middle of the road and someone grabbed my hand to help me stable. I look up to see yoongi, “mastermind?” He mocks as I grunt to myself. “Shut up purr” yes, purr. Because he’s a cat. When I entered inside I was immediately crushed in a hug with chaewon.

“Oh yeah baby girl that’s hotness” I smiled awkwardly and walked towards the drinks, my mind needed rest as I ordered some cocktails. I see a glimpse of you in a dark blue coat, at the end of the yacht while your hair flew around. You looked in deep thought, I ordered two cocktails for me and you and went towards you to give it. You look at me and I think I just saw an angel. You’re ethereal, jungkook. You smile and take the cocktail from me, “does it have liquor?” I shake my head, I couldn’t move my eyes away from you.

“You said it doesn’t have liquor” you pout, I can’t believe you got drunk by this. “It’s just one shot. How can you even get drunk?” I asked as you chuckled, swaying your glass right and left. “I’m just buzzing a little. Or I would be rambling all my secrets out if I was drunk” you gulp down the last bit of the drink. You put the glass away and smiled cunningly at me, “you’re so cute” I blinked rapidly and my cheeks gushed. You take my tinted cheeks and give them a light squeeze. “This is so soft”

your eyes enlarged, “I wanna bite!” You started behaving like a kid and bit my cheeks, I just stood there still. What the actual fuck is happening. It’s like your lips touched and you didn’t move forward to actually bite them, my eyes were shut as I felt your scent lingering in my mind, adding me into a haze. You hummed in my ear, what the heck is this behaviour?! You just wanted to bite my cheeks, “cutie” I guess I got wet for the first time in my entire life span of twenty eight years.

I felt like I'm gonna puke my shit out with your hands around my waist. You sniff my scent lightly, your body a little shaky as you rest your face at the crook of my neck. And I heard snores. I tilt my head a little in confusion, you slept like that, In five seconds. I sighed, oh you would definitely not do this if you knew who I am. I looked for yoongi and I actually saw him but he was weirded out as he moved his eyes away. I glared at him until he looked back and came forward, “he slept” I say as he snorted.

“Expected him. He slept in the middle of a makeout” my cheeks turned dark pink, “we were not making out.” He simply chose to ignore my statement and take your body on his back, “ask chaewon where’s a room!” He groaned as I removed my heels once again, there’s no use anymore. I walked fast to chaewon as she helped me find one particular room at the yacht. “He’s never going to parties again!” He yells as I shut him, “he’s sleeping shut up!” I whispered loud as he sighs and walks out.

I sat on the other end of the bed and covered you in the blankets. I really wanted to kiss those pink pouty lips but I held myself. That would be inappropriate. I simply peck your forehead lightly and rest my head on the headboard of the bed. I opened the first two buttons of my shirt because it was hot, I also removed your blanket and I didn’t even realise I dozed off at the headboard. Until there were several hard knocks on the door, “oh come on Betty! How much sex y’all gonna have tonight?!”

I jolt awake and see you, right in front of my eyes. “How much sex we’re gonna have tonight?” My eyes enlarged like saucers as I shook my head rapidly. “No no it’s not like that!” You placed your hands around the headboards, nearing me. You glance at my lips, then to my eyes, you tilt your head and join your lips with me. I felt my heart at a rapid speed and stomach twists and turns, you were actually kissing me. Holy shit. You moved your hand around my neck and deepened the kiss.

“I like you Betty.” I bit my lip with furious pink cheeks as you smiled. “I-“ “we’re gonna leave y’all fuckers alone!” Chaewon’s yell cuts me off. You get off the bed and forward your hand to me, “I think I know the answer” I blushed hard as you chuckled and smiled. You bend forward and kiss my head, “I really do like you. Please know that” your eyes were so beautiful, so true and real. And I felt a guilt inside of me building up, you don’t even know my real identity. You think I’m Betty, when I’m not.

I bite my bottom lip and smile. For the whole weekend, I couldn’t shake that feeling off. You asked me for an actual date too but I denied lying that I have some work. “What is it, princess?” Daisy asks as I smile at her, “nothing.” She sighs and sits beside me. “You once told me that I’m like a mother to you. And our late queen handed you to me. Hmm? So now tell me” I groaned, “Jungkook. Daisy, I did all of this for him, right? No one wanted to play with me as a little kid So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since, To make them love me and…make it seem effortless!”

I exhaled with tears in my eyes, “And I swear I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'Cause I care!” I breathe heavily, my chest heaved up and down as daisy smiled. “Are you telling this to me or yourself?” A single tear drop from my eye, “go and tell him. You’re strong and a mastermind” I chuckled and hugged her. So I told you, “None of it was accidental, And the first night that i saw you, Nothing was gonna stop me, I played all this and I’m—“ I Saw a wide smirk on your face, “that you’re princess y/n?”

You smile at me. The same smile I saw when you glanced at me, when you gave me my scrunchie, when you looked at me in the yacht. You knew the entire time. You knew that I'm a mastermind, “you…” I whisper as you take a hold of my frozen hands, “do you think I won’t recognise your scent?” I blinked rapidly and started rambling “I’m sorry I just wanted to get to know you. I'm really sorry Jungkook I’m—“ you hug me, close to your chest. And now you're mine. Yeah, all you did was smile.

Because I'm a mastermind.

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fluff #bts jungkook #jungkook #bts fanfic #bts fantasy au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jjk x reader #taylor swift #midnights #mastermind

[shares-a-vest]

Happy Christmas Eve! Have a ficlet about Eddie terrorising Steve's parents. I had this half-written for @unclewaynemunson's Advent Calendar but I never finished it in time for a prompt

'Christmas Jailbreak, 1986'

"Harrington residence," Steve answers, his phone-voice up-ticking like it does at work. "Steve speaking."

"Oh good, it is you," comes Eddie's cheerful voice before pivoting to comical seriousness as he adds, "Meet me in your bedroom in fifteen minutes."

The line goes dead. Steve frowns, holding the kitchen phone as he mother rushes past with a roast. He rolls his eyes at her ridiculous dress, green with a big red bow at the front that matches with the Christmas decorations.

By the time Steve finally gets to his bedroom, it’s been at least half an hour. Immediately after the movie-like cold call from his boyfriend, Steve was instructed by his mother to serve drinks as Christmas dinner was ready. As always her tone had a sense of urgency laced with disappointment that he wasn't the perfect host like she was. Meanwhile his father sat at the head of the table like the King Douchebag he was, regaling his grandmother and great aunt Doris with boring work tales and doing fuck-all else.

Eddie is just there waiting, clad in black as always, with snow kissed cheek and misty hair laying back on the freshly ironed plaid bedspread, flicking through a Playboy. Just like he would do any time he was waiting for Steve to finish his nightly hair routine and come to bed. Something he hadn't been able to do since before Thanksgiving, all because Mr and Mrs Neglectful-And-Emotionally-Inept were actually residing over their kingdom for once.

Steve rushes over and snatches the magazine from him, throwing it clean under his bed.

"Hey! I was reading that!"

Steve shushes him before grinning, "No, you weren’t."

"So you don’t buy it for the articles then?" he teases, straightening up and smiling, dimples on full display.

Steve leans down and kisses him.

"I’ve missed you," he says, sadder than he'd intended as he runs his hand up Eddie’s arm suggestively.

"Came to save you from your Christmas nightmare fortress, Rapunzel," he smiles,pecking him on the cheek. "Or crash this thing and terrorise your parents. Take your pick."

"Fuck it," Steve smiles.

He was all ready to go live with Eddie and Wayne in their new trailer anyway when his parents left again. They'd planned on going away for New Year's but Steve thinks they might go the second they shove the oldies out the door, so what was the difference of perhaps mere hours?

"Your getaway chariot awaits, princess," Eddie says, rolling off the bed and taking a bow. "Are you giving me full permission to wreck the Harrington Christmas Dinner?"

"What can I say, I’m in the festive spirit," he says through laughs as Eddie bear-hugs him. "Just don’t do anything that will make my dad call the cops."

Eddie pulls away and mock gasps as he clutches his chest. "Never, Stevie."

Wasting no time, Steve slings his overnight bag over his shoulder, rolls his nail bat from under the bed, tucks Eddie’s Christmas present under his arm.

"Uh-oh…" Eddie soon gulps, looking beyond Steve to the bedroom door. And there she is, his mother. Looking into the room with the same disgusted expression she had on the countless occasions she’d walked in on Steve making out with a girl.

"What the hell is going on in here?" she demands, practically clutching at the door frame as she recoils away from Eddie.

"Hi, Mrs Harrington," Eddie says, bowing.

As Steve makes for the bedroom door, he grabs Eddie’s hand and tugs him into the hall.

"Bye, Mom!"

"Like the dress, Mrs H!" Eddie calls behind them as they run down the stairs.

"John! That Munson boy is in our house!" Mrs Harrington shrieks from upstairs as they reach the bottom of the staircase.

Steve catches a glimpse of his father, sitting like the douchebag king he is at the head of the dining table.

"Steven!"

Steve looks at Eddie, shrugs and gives a smirk. Eddie chews at his bottom lip for a second and cranes his neck to peek into the dining room.

"What are you doing?" his father demands. Steve can tell he is willing himself not to shout in front of guests. "What is your mother shouting about?"

Steve snorts a laugh. Of course, his father wasn't even listening, despite his mother positively screaming upstairs.

"Oh," Eddie says, a devilish smile creeping across his face as he dramatically tiptoes towards the dining room. "This is Mr Harrington."

Steve's grandma and great-aunt sit in stunned silence as the young man dressed in leather rounds the table to stand beside John Harrington’s seat at the head of the table as Steve stands in the archway.

"Don’t tell Mrs H but, I’ve been in your house a lot, Johnny Boy."

As he passes Doris, he leans forward and picks up her crystal aperitif glass. He chugs it, a little red liquid spilling from his mouth as he grimaces. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before flicking it, probably hoping for a permanent red spot on the cream carpet.

"Yuck, sherry," he says with a theatrical shiver before leaning down to whisper in a terrified Doris’ ear, "Tastes cheap too."

Steve barks out a laugh, knowing his mother buys the bottom-shelf stuff for Doris, but promptly covers his mouth as he catches his father’s furious eye.

"Weren’t you in prison?" John asks, side-eyeing Eddie and leaning away as if to avoid any potential physical contact.

"Nah," he says looking over the elaborate table and pursing his lips in thought. "The Satanic murder charges didn’t quite stick. Thanks to your son, actually."

Eddie winks at Steve and now his father truly looks confused. They stare at each other for a moment and soon Steve swears he sees the moment a light bulb goes off in his father’s head. He leans forward with a warning finger at his son. He merely shrugs as John’s eyes narrow.

Eddie plucks a baked potato directly off his plate as Mr Harrington stares at Steve’s nailed baseball bat.

"Jesus Christ!" Steve says, amazed at the show and entirely forgetting that he is literally fleeing his home hand-in-hand with his boyfriend.

"Son!" his father warns before forcing an unconvincing smile. "Get this idiot out of here."

Steve shrugs again. He guesses he’ll intervene if he absolutely, one hundred percent needs to. But in the meantime…

Eddie licks the potato and places it back on John’s plate, making sure to smear it thoroughly through the obscene serving of gravy. He picks up another, examining it.

"So many things I want to say…" Eddie says, goading as he looms over John, who’s leaning so far away that Steve is sure he’ll topple off his chair at any moment. "... But I won’t. Come on."

He tugs on Steve’s arm as he chomps down on as much of the potato as he can get in his mouth in one bite. They exit the dining room, leaving murmurs and a bristling John Harrington behind.

"Moving in with Eddie, bye!" Steve says rapidly as he passes his mother standing at the foot of the stairs, white-knuckling the bannister.

"The potatoes are great, Mrs H!" Eddie calls, potato-spittle flying out of his mouth.

"Charming introduction," Steve laughs as they walk out the front door.

Eddie continues chewing and eventually swallows with a struggling gulp.

"Parents love me," he chokes. "Should I go back in and get on the table?"

#hating steve's parents: christmas edition #writing eddie terrorising steve's parents is a self-indulgent christmas present to myself #if this is carppily edited whoops im kinda drunk #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie christmas #lilys ficlets #harrington family TM

[fissions-chips]

health check

(day 6: 'let me see'- bad karma AU pt. 3, tw for discussions of drug use and violence)

   “Alright- let me see.” 

   The bathroom light shone harsh and stark against the tile, Butler leaning against the marble counter as he waited for the other man to limp inside after him. The first aid box sat beside him, opened and waiting. 

   Jon’s eyes narrowed as he entered, squinting in the sudden brightness- taking note, Butler looked towards the light switch. “I’ll turn those down in a minute… How’s your head?” 

   Sinking down onto the edge of the tub, Jon stared down at the floor. He shielded his eyes with his hands for a moment, still bound at the wrists- he glanced at Butler from beneath the edge of his fingers. The look he gave the bodyguard was answer enough. 

   It had taken a while to coax the other man out of the corner he had wedged himself into- both he and Butler had come to the conclusion that waiting out the last of his high was better than trying to get anything done when Jon was still so jittery and panic-stricken. Slowly, minute by minute, the shivering had lessened, and Jon’s expression had shifted from one of miserable fright to that of exhaustion. When Butler had finally offered him a hand to pull him upright, his hands shook, but the man managed to make it onto his own two feet.

    “…Smaller than I expected.” Jon muttered, after a moment. Lowering his hands, he bowed his head and sighed, pointedly ignoring his reflection in the mirror opposite him- and refusing to meet Butler’s eye. “Woulda expected something fancier, for the Fowls.” His tone shifted on the last word, spoken through his teeth, but there was none of the expected bite behind it, and Butler’s hands loosened their hold against the edge of the countertop.

   “This isn’t the Fowls’ residence,” Butler sighed. Crossing his arms, he watched the other man cautiously, taking note of his posture, his expression- you could learn a lot about the state of someone from such things, Butler had learned. “It’s mine.”

   When Jon paused, lifting his gaze to meet the bodyguard’s own, Butler continued. “You’re in the Fowl dojo- the name is no longer accurate, as it’s under my possession.” He gestured to the rather plain surroundings around him. “I don’t spend much time here, so an excess of appearances isn’t necessary.” 

   Jon hummed something unintelligible, visibly turning the information over in his mind. His hands fidgeted in his lap, fingers twisting together and apart again, a nervous habit. While Butler watched, he began to chew on the edge of one nail, eyes falling shut as he swayed slightly. “S’ understandable.” He muttered. 

   Pushing himself away from the counter, Butler crouched down in front of the other man, carrying the first aid kit with him. He was unsurprised when Jon leaned back, hands pulling up against his chest as he narrowed his eyes. “This building is surrounded by acres of open fields and several cameras,” the larger man explained. “So it’s in your best interest not to do anything impulsive, okay?” 

   Like have me shot in the fucking chest. 

   When Jon didn’t respond, lip curling slightly, Butler bit back a brief flash of frustration and reached for the other man’s hands. He anticipated the sudden flinch, Jon nearly tumbling into the empty tub as he slipped- a hand closed around his wrist and he was pulled back upright, Butler pulling out a pocketknife and flicking it open, his expression unreadable.

   “Don’t-“ Jon bit back a yelp at the click of the blade, panic seizing him as he tried to wrench himself out of the other man’s grip. It was a pointless effort- his hands curled into fists as suddenly, he found his wrists freed, Butler pocketing the knife almost as quickly as it had appeared as the rope fell away. For a moment, something softened in his features- then, they fell back into the same stoic air as before.

   The smaller man stared down at his hands, eyes wide with shock. 

   “Don’t do anything stupid,” Butler warned, turning Jon’s wrists over in his hand and running his thumb over the worn skin beneath. “I’m going to check you over now. The sooner this is over with, the sooner I’ll leave you alone, so it’s in your interest to cooperate. Answer my questions to the best of your ability- there’s no point hiding an injury I’m going to find anyways, and I’d like this to be as stress-free for both of us as possible.” 

   Noting the way Jon’s teeth had begun to bare slightly, he added. 

   “I know you don’t want me touching you- I don’t like it either, but this is standard for a health check, so if I’m about to do something that’s going to make you… I don’t know, bite me or otherwise lash out, just tell me. We can find a workaround.” 

   With that, he let go- Jon immediately pulled his hands to his chest, rubbing at one wrist for a moment. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion. 

   Butler ignored it, gesturing for Jon to bend forward. “I’m going to check your hair now.” he explained, surprised when Jon actually leaned into his touch. A thorough search revealed no open wounds, though the smaller man had a nasty bruise on one temple, and his hair had become gnarled and tacky with the wine that had been poured onto his head.

   He thought back to the other man’s disgust from before, staring down at his stained suit. A man of appearances, he thought, unsurprised at the unwelcome pang of sympathy that surfaced in the back of his mind. Butler knew how uncomfortable and upsetting it could be, to be forced into a state of dishevelment and disrepair- it was a popular torture tactic for a reason. 

   “After this, you can get cleaned up,” he muttered, nodding to the shower. “I doubt there’s any hope for your suit, though.” 

   Under his hands, he felt a slight bit of the tension dissolve from the other man’s frame- in relief, he realized. Pulling back for a moment, Butler wiped his hands against his trousers, Jon tiredly dragging his fingers through his hair to sweep it back. He winced. 

   That wince, however, turned to a full-fledged flinch as Butler then reached towards his face- the man tumbled backwards, letting out a shriek as he kicked out, the bodyguard knocked back an inch by the motion. Only a massive hand suddenly fisted in his shirt kept Jon’s head from clipping against the opposite edge of the tub, the smaller man dragged in a heap to the floor. 

   “The fuck-“ Butler was cut off by a furious snarl, Jon cringing away from his touch and bristling at the other man. 

   “Don’t fucking touch me!” Jon spat- he was shivering violently, leaning back as far as he could go. When Butler sank back into his knees, hands retreating for the moment, the businessman’s hands creeping up to cover his face as he muffled a strangled sound behind them. 

   “…Sorry,” Butler muttered, eyes wide with shock. “Sorry. I should have warned you.” 

   “Yeah, you fucking should have!” The other hissed through gritted teeth. Slowly, over several moments, some of the tension lowered from his shoulders, though his hands didn’t pull away. After a few moments more, the bodyguard heard him mutter. 

   “Just… gimme a minute.”

   His voice had stretched taunt, like a wire pulled too tightly- unwilling to risk a snap, Butler let his hands drop to his sides, shifting back to sit against the floor. Fair enough. 

   “How’s your head, then?” He offered. 

   Jon’s fingers parted, one dark eye glittering between them to glare at the other man- then, his expression softened somewhat, edges both sharpened and smoothed by exhaustion. The dark smudging beneath his eyes wasn't lost on Butler. Letting his head fall back against the side of the tub, Jon closed his eyes. 

   “It feels like…” His words trailed off, the man’s brow furrowing as he visibly tried to drum up an answer. “Like I’m sorta drifting away somewhere.” He opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before continuing. 

   “Like I’m only halfway here in my head- hurts like a bitch too. I feel like I’m gonna… slip out the side of my skull.” He lifted a hand to cover his eyes. 

   Hmm. Butler wracked his brain for a moment. 

   “That might just be exhaustion…” He muttered. “Then again- do you know what you had taken, yesterday?” 

   “Benzos.” 

   Butler’s brows lifted at the immediate answer he received, the first of the entire conversation. Jon tipped his head forward, resting it in the palm of one hand. 

   “Benzodiazapines, ‘n something else.” Jon explained, eyes narrowing once more as he mulled the question over. “Don’t know what it was, though… Val liked ‘em cause they made me ‘manageable’.” For a moment, his expression twisted into one of bitterness- then, it fell away, the man pulling his knees to his chest and resting his head on them.

   Drowsiness, disorientation, lack of coordination, memory loss… Butler ticked off symptoms in his mind. That would make sense. “I’m… assuming you didn’t take them willingly?” He asked, voice gentler than he intended. 

   Jon looked away. 

   “…No. Not this time.” 

   Filing that information away for later, Butler nodded. “That’s a sedative, as I recall- I don’t think you’re in any danger by this point, but try to stay awake for right now.”

   With his eyes half-lidded and dull with tiredness, it seemed like that was going to be a difficult prospect- Jon nodded, however, forcing himself upright, somewhat. 

   Once the other man had straightened himself up, Butler raised a hand. “I need to look at your face now. At least to get it cleaned up a bit.” He gestured to the space beneath his own nose for a moment, emphasizing his point- on Jon, the same spot was covered in old blood, the trail beneath his lip dry and cracking.

   Jon took in a deep breath, eyeing his hands warily- then, he sighed, nodding once. While Butler grabbed a cloth and ran it under some water, the man dragged his hand across his face, sniffing. The bodyguard sat back down after a few moments, holding out the damp cloth first. He lifted a brow in question. 

   “…Just get it over with.”

   Slowly, Butler began to scrub at the other man’s face, trying to touch him as little as possible, only doing so to turn him left or right so he could remove as much blood as he could, peering into the other’s eyes or at his teeth occasionally. As the blood was wiped away, the bodyguard found marbled bruising beneath, Jon’s bottom lip having split, and the bridge of his nose was painted a painful-looking shade of bluish black. The other man's eyes were screwed shut, his hands white-knuckles against the tile as he fought to keep himself from flinching again. 

   The source of his discomfort revealed itself suddenly as Butler turned his head to the left, his fingers briefly running over a previously-unseen belt of reddened, raw flesh beneath Jon’s jaw. The man balked, his head snapping into the tub behind him as he hissed in pain- before he could flinch further, however, Butler caught him and held him still, peering at the wound. 

   “Where did this come from?” He asked- it looked like the kind of injury one might expect from manacles around a wrist. He couldn’t think of an explanation for it to rest beneath the other man’s jaw, however. The flesh appeared to have only just begun to heal, clearly picked at by nervous hands. 

   Stiffening, Jon froze for a moment- he mumbled something between clenched teeth, too quiet to make out. 

   “Where did this come from?” Butler repeated, his voice sharpening slightly. When Jon saw the look in his eye, he tore his head free from the other man’s grip, rubbing at the wound with the back of one hand. After a few moments, he looked away, muttering.

   “… A muzzle.”

   Butler blinked.

   “A muzzle? Like… for a-“ 

   “Yes!” Jon snarled, taking Butler aback- the bodyguard jerked away as if he’d been shocked, the smaller man curling in on himself against the tub’s side. His voice cracked sharply, and Jon swallowed thickly, spitting the words out like they tasted sick. “It was… it was his idea of a joke. Because of my ‘foul mouth’.”

   When Jon raised his head, he found the bodyguard watching him with wide, confused eyes. Butler’s brows furrowed, the man unable to keep a look of bewildered pity from his eyes. After a few moments, the other man seemed to collect himself. 

   “Jon-” Butler’s voice was firm, but horribly gentle. Jon looked away, humiliation glittering in his eyes, but the bodyguard persisted. “What happened to you?”

   “…At the party?” 

   “You know that’s not what I’m asking- what led to all of this? What did this ‘Val’ guy want?”

   Bristling, the smaller man looked for a moment as if he wouldn’t answer- then, his face slowly fell into one of resignation. Tucking his knees up to his chest, Jon dipped his head, pointedly ignoring the bodyguard’s gaze as he began to speak. 

   “Me and Valentine go… far back. Really far back. I’m not going to talk about that, because that’s personal shit, and I don’t feel like telling you personal shit right now.” He gave Butler a pointed look. “He’s the head of Phonetix- he was a big rock star, before that. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of him… then again, he’s not really from your circles. He’s ‘new money’, like me. A man of the modern age.” 

    Butler tried to recall the name in his mind. Valentine… the rock star. His face turned to one of horror. 

   I think Juliet has some of his albums. 

   The bodyguard was broken from his thoughts by Jon’s voice taking on a bitter note. “We used to work together a lot- we were close. But he had this idea of merging Fission’s Chips and Phonetix. Of course, I refused- like hell I was gonna do that, after all the work I put into that company. That’s when all the bad shit started… Our rivalry became ‘legendary’, Phonetix vs Fission’s Chips, the subject of so many fucking tabloids… but it wasn’t funny. I wasn’t laughing. We tried to kill each other a few times, worked together a few times, you know how the business is. It’s supposed to be no hard feelings, but…” His words trailed off.

   “The man is a bitch… Always has been. To me, anyways. That’s the weird thing.” Jon’s brow furrowed, the man tracing the tiles below him as he turned his gaze to the wall, eyes glittering with a look of sadness for a long moment. “He likes other people. He used to like me… God, maybe he never liked me. I don’t know anymore. Pissed him off one too many times, I guess.” 

   Suddenly, Jon slammed his fist down against the tile, Butler startling- the man hissed when he lifted his fingers, shaking them out. When the larger man reached out on instinct, Jon smacked him away, baring his teeth in a sudden show of fury. Bewildered, Butler blinked back at him as Jon sneered. 

   “That’s… that’s where your brat comes in. Phonetix, the break-in- I’m assuming he told you the little ‘trick’ he played? His disappearing act?” 

   “Don’t speak about my charge like that-“ 

   “He ruined everything!” Jon hissed. “He… he…” He paused, expression twisting for a moment as he struggled to sort his words out, eyes darting left and right. “He vanished, and he took that fucking Cube, and I was left holding the gun! The courts couldn’t find anything, everything just vanished like Artemis Fowl, and I was left holding the gun. When Val found out, he…” 

   Suddenly, Jon snapped his jaw shut. Falling silent completely, Butler watched as the man hunched in on himself for a moment, one hand reaching up to fist into his hair, nails digging into his scalp. Eyes screwed shut, the man visibly took a deep breath, let it out- and then repeated that process. The next time he spoke, his voice had steadied somewhat. 

   “God, he and the courts had a fucking field day. That’s the thing about liking people- people like you back, everyone’s always loved him, and he’s so damn persuasive… and to everyone else, he was right. I had snapped. Lost my mind. Gone completely fucking insane- he talked the judge out of jail time, but he talked me out of my job, everywhere except on paper. He talked every connection I had into turning heel, he talked my doctors into putting me back on fucking pills- and not the diet ones. Fucking benzos. Then, when everything else was gone, he tried to talk me into stepping down proper. And I told him to go fuck himself.”

   Butler tried his best to keep up with the other man’s rapid speech, unable to wrap his head completely around it. “How did that- where does the muzzle come in?” The bodyguard muttered. 

   Jon didn’t look at him. “When I told him that, something just snapped, I guess.” Lifting a hand, Jon held it up to the light, cigarette scars dotting the back of it. He blinked up at them ruefully. “He beat the shit outta me in my own damn office, dragged me out. Nobody did anything. When I woke up, I was in Silica- that’s where you went, for the party… and I’ve been Val’s plaything ever since. The muzzle, again, was his idea of a joke- I bit him, so he made me a dog. That’s how he is… that’s how he gets you.”

   Jon quieted after that, his eyes falling half-lidded and distant as he rested his head on his arms. Butler waited for him to keep talking, to explain further, something, but it seemed that was all the man had to say. Something warned the bodyguard not to question him further- the other man’s eyes were dampening in a way that threatened a repeat of Jon’s earlier breakdown back in the bedroom, and Butler wasn’t eager to repeat that (or the conflicting emotions that seeing the other man weep brought up within him). 

   Still, before he could bite the words back and curse himself for both ill timing and a lack of tact, he spoke. 

   “Jon… none of that is Artemis’s fault.” 

   The man didn’t stiffen or flinch, as he had before. For a moment, Butler wondered if the other had heard him at all, or if the exhaustion had finally sunken in enough to detach the other from reality completely- then, Jon looked at the floor, his voice quiet and thinned.

   “I know- Go, I know.” He whispered. “I just wish I didn’t have to lose my mind for it… Your lot got to walk away, unscathed. I didn’t.”

   Not all of us. 

   Butler’s mind filled with thoughts of Kevlar threads and his own beating heart- this time, however, he managed to hold his tongue. 

   The rest of the health check proceeded in near-silent and awkward fashion, though Butler had a suspicion it was more the fault of exhaustion and spent feelings than any bitterness- any emotion in Jon had seemingly dried up, snatched away by tiredness and his own thoughts. The man hardly protested when Butler carefully grabbed his arm to check the movement of his shoulder, or once more checked the chafed wound on his throat. 

   He showed slightly more reluctance when Butler had to ask him to strip out of his suit, in order to check the rest of him. The shucked-away jacket and shirt revealed countless bruises marbling a sharply-starkened ribcage and the point of his hips. His collarbone was similarly marked as to the back of his hands, and Jon’s entire body seemed to be stiff and uncomfortable, though that was to be expected. Thankfully, there were few open wounds to be found, the exceptions being where a handful of bruises had split under the force of the blows, though Jon didn’t seem particularly concerned by them. He refused to strip further, and Butler allowed it after a thorough interrogation about any potential injury to his lower body. 

   With that out of the way, Jon’s focus immediately shifted to getting clean, the man insisting he could make use of the shower on his own- such insistence proved useless when, not a minute later, Butler heard a toppling sound and came running back to find Jon drenched in the foot of the shower and thoroughly miserable, though thankfully still only partially undressed. 

   One stool placed in the center of the shower later, and Butler found himself hunched over the other man, showerhead clutched in his hand as he carefully helped the former criminal wash his hair. Dragging his fingers through dust-colored locks, he scrubbed it clean, surprised once more when the other man leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. The sight stirred another burst of uncomfortable emotion in his chest. 

   “You’re kinda good at this.” 

   Butler startled slightly at the sudden rasp of Jon’s voice, nearly drowned out by the patter of the spray. Turning it from the both of them for a moment, Butler blinked down at the other. “What?” 

   “For someone with no hair, that is.” For just a moment, the hint of a wry smile flashed over Jon’s face. 

   Butler scoffed, biting back the temptation to spray the other man in the face. He was shocked at the unprofessional urge- then, he decided he would give himself a pass for such things, after the past day he had had. “It’s not the first time I’ve done this for someone.” He explained, feeling Jon’s head tilt beneath his hands, curious. Rolling his eyes, he leaned it back again, so he could clean the last of the wine from the man’s scalp. 

   “Really?” 

   “You’ve heard of the Fowl Star?” 

   Butler could remember clearly those first few months after Artemis Fowl the First, Tim, had returned home- for all the joy his presence in the Manor had brought with it, the scars from such an experience had followed him. One such wound had proven to be a reluctance to shower, something Tim had been terribly humiliated in admitting, when he had first asked Butler for help. Not only on account of his injury- the memory of the cold Arctic sea (and his kidnappers’ ‘care’, or lack thereof) had left its mark. 

   Tim’s hair is thicker, he found himself thinking. And he made more of a fuss about it. Jon, for all his earlier venom, had seemingly melted under his hands, too grateful for the opportunity to be clean once again to complain when the bodyguard’s fingers accidentally snagged on a tangle, or turned his head too roughly.

   When the water finally stopped, Butler snatching a towel from the rack to dry the other man’s hair with, Jon suddenly spoke again. 

   “I wouldn’t worry too much about your invitation.” 

   Butler blinked. “Hmm?” 

   “I wouldn’t worry about that invitation-“ Jon repeated, sighing quietly when the bodyguard first began to tousle at his hair. “The one Val sent you.” 

   Lifting a brow, the bodyguard continued his work, now paying significantly more attention. “Why not?“ 

   “Val has this thing,” Jon continued, voice wavering with exhaustion as he closed his eyes, seemingly only partially paying attention to his own words as he focused on the feeling of fingers dragging through his hair. “He’s a people lover, remember? He likes meeting new acquaintances- most likely, he just… heard your fake name pop up somewhere, and got curious, wanting to meet you. He’s like that.” 

   “He sounds like a person I was lucky to avoid.” Butler answered, after a few seconds of thought. “Are you sure that’s what happened?” 

   Jon opened one eye, fixing him with a sardonic look. 

   “No. Not entirely. It’s also possible that he knew who you were, realized you’re associated with that brat of yours, and wanted to invite you cause of that.” 

   Cold unease suddenly rose in the back of the bodyguard’s throat, so distracting that for a moment, he didn’t realize that Jon had insulted his charge once again in the same breath. “What?”

   “He thinks, like everyone else, that Artemis Fowl was ‘never there’-“ Jon emphasized his point with air quotes, though his hands fell back to his sides almost immediately, the man rapidly losing the battle to keep alert. “But he’s not sure. So he wanted to ask a few of you, as I recall… but he probably wouldn’t hurt you guys.”

   Forgive me if I have my doubts, Butler thought, looking down at the small, soaked man in front of him and the state he had been left in. “That’s… good to know.” 

   The other man offered him a shrug, closing his eyes- he began to list sideways on the chair, and Butler hurriedly clamped a hand on his shoulder to stabilize him. “Okay- up we go.” He muttered, pulling the other man upright- Jon followed without complaint as Butler tossed a towel around his shoulders and steered him into the bedroom, gesturing for him to sit on the bed. Once the other man had done so, sitting on the edge of the frame and stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, Butler began to rifle through his dresser to try to find something for the other man to wear. 

   Nothing’s going to fit him… Butler’s clothes wouldn’t fit most people- the idea of Jon in one of his shirts was almost comical, given the other man’s small frame, but it was the best he could do for the moment. Pulling out a pale sweater that one of the Fowls had bought him (one that he had never worn), he tossed it in the bed’s general direction, hearing an indignant yelp moments later. 

   “Here- put that on.” 

   He continued to rummage around for a few moments, finding some exercise shorts and a few blankets, both of which he dumped unceremoniously in the other man’s lap. Jon had Butler’s sweater in his hands, peering at it- the sudden deposit of other fabrics on top of him, however, startled him out of whatever deep thought he was in, and Butler leaned against the doorframe and waited for the smaller man to get dressed. 

   The end result was sweater sleeves that had to be rolled up several times, and shorts that hung off of Jon’s hips and nearly slipped off of him entirely when he moved, but he seemed to be content with that for the moment, so Butler let it be. Maybe Tim has a few clothes that would fit him better… The bodyguard found himself thinking, before he furiously pushed the thought from his mind. I’m not going to steal from the Fowls for this. 

   The image was comical, in a way, but also highlighted how thin and worn the smaller man was. He needed to eat. 

   There’s soup in the kitchen… I could fix some for him, and then leave for the night. Sort things out tomorrow-

   “C’n I sleep now?” 

   Jon’s voice slurred slightly in his mouth, Butler glancing up to find the former businessman fighting back another yawn, exhausted. One hand reached up to tiredly scratch at his hairline, the other curled around his middle as Jon fought to keep himself awake and upright, rapidly losing that battle. 

   Taking pity on him, Butler sighed. He held up two fingers. 

   “Two hours- then, I’m going to get some food and water into you. I’ll wake you up then.” 

   Without any hint of decorum or warning, Jon toppled backwards- Butler shot up from his position against the wall, brow furrowing, only to find the other man giving him a shaky nod, already burrowing down into the blankets beneath him. 

   “Y’got it, boss.”

   In moments, he had passed out, and Butler was left alone.

#haha it’s done! i was SO close to finishing this last night but oh well. I’m still super proud of it though! #the longest one so far lol #Jon finally gives Butler something of an explanation- but some things he’s a little reluctant to talk about. #but he’s in a better state. for now. now I need to get started on the next gorgon AU one… #fission’s fics #bad karma AU #I’ll tidy up these tags later- for now I’m off to class

[dinogoose]

don’t blame me (love made me crazy)

He’s reckless, impulsive, careless- he can’t help it, it’s who he is. But seeing Eddie here, furious, makes Buck want to be better, he just isn’t sure he’s capable of that.

“God Buck! What about the people who are waiting for you to come home? Your family?” Eddie releases his fists, a defeated sigh escaping his lips.

“What about me?” Eddie whispers, eyes now burning holes into the floor.

(or, buck and eddie argue after the whole bike-car debacle.)

His front door slams shut, the force of it vibrating throughout the whole loft. Buck swears he can feel his teeth buzzing.

He knows it’s Eddie. Of course it is, there’s not many people Buck trusts with a key to his place. And there’s also not many people mad at Buck. Okay fine- this mad at Buck.

Throughout the entire ride back to the station Eddie wouldn’t even look at him, and when their legs brushed, he violently tore his away.

Buck knew he had messed up then.

After they returned, and everyone else had settled, even Bobby, who gave Buck a stern talk about safety protocols (While also telling him he’s never seen someone do something quite so stupid). Eddie didn't.

He brushed Buck off, ignoring his every effort to try and patch things up. He would leave any space Buck was in, not even wanting to see the younger man. It hurt, but Buck knew this was how Eddie got mad. Always letting it boil over, until he inevitably exploded.

While knowing this Buck still made one last venture, at the end of their shift, he had attempted to reach out an olive branch. He invited Eddie over to his place, to talk, to yell. Eddie however said nothing, just storming out. His footsteps are still echoing in Buck’s mind.

Which is why now is a little unexpected.

Buck knew, at some point, Eddie was going to chew him out. God knows he deserves it.

He just thought Eddie needed more time to bubble over. Simmer in his wrath.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Apparently not.

Eddie is standing hovering by the- now shut- front door. Fists clenched at his sides as if he was about to punch someone. Obviously that someone being Buck.

Buck opens his mouth to respond, possibly even throwing himself to the ground and begging for forgiveness. Eddie doesn’t even give him the chance.

“Didn’t you think about anyone else?” He growls out, stepping closer to Buck.

How could Eddie accuse him of that? "Of course I did- that’s all I was doing. Chim was in danger, I had to help him.”

The older man claws at his hair, yanking at the strands in complete frustration.

“Yes, at the expense of yourself. How could you do that?” The question is rhetorical. Eddie knows why Buck did it. Eddie knows he would do it again. Buck answers anyway.

“Eds- Eddie, I couldn’t just stand by and watch. I know it was idiotic- but I just saw an opportunity and took it.” Eddie says nothing. “The bike was right there, and I knew I could find a way to cut the car off. Chimney has a family, people counting on him to come home.” Buck finishes, panting. His nails dig into the palm of his hand, no doubt drawing blood.

He’s reckless, impulsive, careless- he can’t help it, it’s who he is. But seeing Eddie here, furious, makes Buck want to be better, he just isn’t sure he’s capable of that.

“God Buck! What about the people who are waiting for you to come home? Your family?” Eddie releases his fists, a defeated sigh escaping his lips.

“What about me?” Eddie whispers, eyes now burning holes into the floor.

The fight is gone, instead being replaced by heartbreak.

Heartbreak caused by Buck.

Buck rushes forward, taking Eddie’s hands into his own. He waits for a moment, just to see if Eddie will pull back. He doesn’t, his hands remain limp in Bucks.

“Eddie- please look at me.” Buck begs, tightening his hold around the brunette's hands. Eddie keeps his head bowed, not even acknowledging Buck.

He’s still panting, the uneven breaths hitting Buck’s face. His pulse thrums wildly underneath Buck’s fingers.

“Baby,” Buck says, the pet name slipping from his mouth, honey dripping on his tongue. He leans down, attempting to catch Eddie’s gaze. “Please.”

Eddie’s brown eyes meet his.

“I’m sorry. I do have a family to come home to, you and Chris are my family. I’m so sorry if you ever thought I doubted that.” He lets go of Eddie’s hands, reaching up to cup Eddie’s face. “What I did was impulsive, and I can’t promise you I’ll never do it again. But- I can promise you I will always fight to come home to you. To my family. Okay?”

Root-beer eyes burn into his own baby blues. Eddie explores Buck’s face, searching for something. He seemingly finds it when he huffs out a sigh.

Eddie’s hands shake as they reach up to grasp Buck’s wrists, holding them with an unyielding grip.

“You can’t do that. You can’t throw yourself at death every chance you get. There are people- ugh fuck this- I love you! I love you so much I can’t function most days, so seeing you launching yourself into danger, ruins me.” He closes his eyes, tears spilling down his cheeks. Buck swipes them away with his thumbs. Eddie’s face scrunches up, and he makes a move to back away, but Buck keeps hold of him.

“I love you too. More than you’d ever understand. I think you taught me how to be a person, I was nothing before you. And I’m sorry I ever hurt you, that was never my intention. I get tunnel vision whenever people I care about are in danger.” Eddie scoffs, and Buck smiles at him.

“Okay. Fine, whatever, I forgive you.” He says, rolling his eyes. His lashes are still wet, flinging moisture against Buck’s face. Buck knows they have more to talk about, more to argue about, they always will. For now though, he just wants to worship Eddie

He tilts Eddie’s face up, towards him, admiring every little feature. He kisses his eyebrows, his hairline, his nose, his jawline, the little freckle underneath his eye.

He pulls back to just look at this man. This petty, competent, incredible man. Who Buck will love until his dying breath.

“Please just kiss me.” Eddie breathes out.

Who is Buck to deny him anything?

Buck closes the gap between them, two souls uniting at last. The kiss begins tenderly, a barely there press of lips. It doesn’t stay that way long when Eddie begins to press harder, tongue poking out to lick Buck’s bottom lip.

Buck happily gives in, deepening the kiss. The kiss conveys years worth of pining and frustration. Longing looks, lasting stares, never wanting to cross that final boundary.

Eddie breaks away first, a little out of breath. Buck smirks.

“Am I forgiven?” He asks, facetiously. Eddie glares at him, folding his arms over his chest.

“Maybe.” Buck kisses him again. “Yes, you are, I already said you were.” Eddie sounds annoyed, but his soft smile displays how he truly feels. “I’m serious though, if you do that shit again I’ll hit you with my car.”

(more accurately love made him stupid.)

#buddie #buddie fic #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fic #911 fanfic #tv: 911 #fic #buck x eddie #buddie 911 #fanfic #911 season 6

[levans44]

Damage Control - Chapter 7

TW: Mentions of violence, death, panic attacks

Great.

Just peachy.

She’s back here.

Again.

After three whole weeks of doing anything and everything to avoid an HQ meeting, she’s somehow back in this eerily large conference room, sat behind a spotless glass table amongst a row of giant, black chairs.

She sinks down in her annoyingly comfortable leather seat and chews nervously on the tip of her pen, fiddling with the case file splayed out in front of her until Robin gives her a small slap on the arm.

She huffs, and gives her coworker a deathly glare before turning her attention to the rest of the room, desperate to channel her nervousness into anything else. She scans the last few agents filing in through the heavy glass door at the other side of the room, leg bouncing restlessly.

She feels Robin gives her another nudge, this time with her knee. Then, once more. She sighs, looking over exasperatedly at her coworker, about to roll her eyes and spit out something sarcastic. She halts at the expression on Robin’s face.

Robin’s eyes, widened in warning, were fixed to the seat next to her. She watches, confused, as her coworker jerks her head silently at an attempt at being discreet.

“Huh? What are you-”

Ohhhhh, shit.

The pen she was holding in her hand drops straight down to the glass table with a soft ‘clink,’ as her head immediately snaps back to face the front. She feels that familiar gut-wrenching feeling return to her stomach, body freezing over as a flash of blonde hair appears in her peripheral vision.

He settles down in the chair next to her, smoothing down the front of his black, collared shirt. If he recognizes her presence, he certainly doesn’t show any indication of it.

Once again, it looks like she’s got Ms. Karma to thank for this one.

Deep down, she feels awful about how they had last left things. But her stubborn gaze remains fixed in front of her, because some things were better left as they are. Before even more damage can be done.

Yeah, things are better like this, she convinces herself. Co-workers who barely see each other, and when they do, pretend to not know each other.

She tries to convince herself of this idea, ignoring Robin’s suspicious gaze as she forces herself to focus on the task in front of her: damage report for the attack on Times Square.

The procedure for emergencies like these were rather complex, but she’s had enough training over the years to read the room, gauge Fury’s reactions, and provide the rest of the company with just enough information to raise the right amount of of concern—too much attention and soon other departments would start to intervene with her division’s work.

Yeah, that’s all she has to do. Bullshit the report, assure everyone everything’s under control.

And get the fuck out of there before she could make eye contact with the guy sitting next to her.

That was exactly the plan she had set up in her head as the meeting starts up with the usual formalities—site assessment, emergency deployment, the works.

And soon enough, everyone had their attentions turned toward the screen at the head of the table to review the images taken from the incident.

The first picture came into view: a Chitauri vehicle that had crashed into a rather large display in the middle of Times Square.

A small click of Fury’s pen as the next image is brought up.

A Chitauri with a gun, threatening civilians who had their hands surrendered and heads bowed in fear.

Click.

A car crash near the incident, people fleeing to safety in the background as a young women lay through the cracked windshield of her car, lifeless.

Click.

A video, taken by a civilian on the scene. The sounds of collapsing buildings and crashing vehicles, barely audible over the torturous screaming of a women whose child had been taken hostage by one of the Chitauri.

She feels an overwhelming sense of nausea erupt in her stomach, fists clenching impossibly tightly as her nails dig blood-red crescents into her palms.

Shit, no. Not now. Not right now.

Her breathing quickens, cold sweat collecting on the back of her neck.

Click.

A second video, this time of an older civilian, with whom the Chitauri had no trouble knocking over with a blow to the stomach. The senior doubles over, falling to the ground to the gasps from a helpless audience.

Her breath gets caught in her throat, audibly so, and she coughs a second too late to try and cover it up.

“Excuse me.” she manages to gasp out, standing up in her chair and making a b-line to the door, maneuvering past the agents that were crowded near the entrance.

She stumbles into an emergency exit stairwell, all the way at the end of the hallway. As soon as the metal door clicks shut, she leans her back against the freezing cold concrete wall, sliding down to the floor as her fingers claw at the buttons on her blouse. She all but tears the whole thing open before she’s able to take her next breath, wheezing like she’s been submerged underwater.

But her lungs still feel trapped, breaths coming and going in quick, short pants. Soon, she starts to feel light-headed, the grey stairwell spinning in her vision as her heart pounds harder and harder.

She barely hears the distant sound of the exit door opening, barely feels the warm hand on her shoulder as a muffled voice attempts to get a hold of her attention.

Hey, hey, it’s okay, breathe.

There’s a roaring in her ears as the pressure continues to build in her lungs.

Out of the corner of her vision, she sees the source of the voice kneeling down in front of her, catching sight of a pair of black dress shoes that look vaguely familiar.

The voice calls out her name, forcing herself to look up through the hazy corners in her vision.

Hey, I need you to focus on my eyes, all right? It’s okay, you’re alright. Just look at my eyes.

When her eyes are able to locate those eyes, they lock into the blue—and for a moment they’re all she’s able to see. That kaleidoscope of blue-green, reflecting the lights of New York on the balcony of Tony’s apartment—and a feeling of warmth washes all over her, putting out the icy panic burning through her chest.

That’s it. You’re okay.

He repeats those phrases like a mantra, burns them into her mind, and she feels her breathing slowly return to the cusp of normality, vision a little less blurred, head spinning a little bit less.

He doesn’t look away once: she’s the first one to pull away from his gaze, pure desperation slowly molding into embarrassment as her cheeks burn red.

He breaks the silence before she can shrink into the wall any further, voice quiet and echoing through the empty stairwell.

“I used to get a lot of asthma attacks when I was younger. My mom always calmed me down that way.”

In her fuzzy memory, she remembers his infamously complex medical history—ailment after ailment after ailment—the miracle of the Birth of Captain America. She remembers thinking that it was inconceivable that a man of his strength could’ve been that sick and weak, but the understanding in those eyes confirmed everything she needed to know.

She’s had her fair share of panic attacks in the past, but never to this capacity. And never at work. Somewhere in her heart, there’s gratitude for the man crouched in front of her. But right now she’s just too eager to escape his gaze, the reality of their situation sinking in—that he had just witnessed one of the most intimate moments of herself.

“Captain Rogers, I-I’m fine. Thank you, but I… but I’m fine.” She mutters, stumbling up

“No, you’re not.” He stands up with her, eyes still persistently tracking hers, and she’s reminded once again of just how big he is. Just how wide those shoulders are, the way his stature naturally towers over hers.

“I need to head back, Robin—my coworker, she probably needs my help.” She mutters, barely audible to herself let alone to him. She brushes past his concerned gaze, reaching for the exist of the stairwell when his next words stop her dead in her tracks.

“It was the photos, wasn’t it?”

She freezes, fingers halted over the door as she stands with her back facing him.

She hears his broad footsteps as he walks up behind her before stepping between her and the door, forcing himself into her line of vision.

“That’s what triggered it, your anxiety attack?”

She frowns, a small bubble of frustration bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Who does he think he is, her therapist? He just happened to be there at the right time to stop it, that’s all. Everything else was anything but his business.

She remains silent, breathing heavy.

He starts again, more slow and hesitant this time, as he takes a small step toward her. “Listen, I apologize if I’m over-stepping here, but I-”

“Then don’t.” Her jaw is set firmly, fingernails digging into the raw flesh of her palm. She waits for him to move away from the door, but he doesn’t budge.

He tries yet again, voice more determined “You know there are people here you could talk to. People that can help.”

She lets out an audible scoff. “I need to get back to the meeting. Do you mind?”

His eyes scan her face before he lets out a tired sigh. For a second, he looks close to giving up, almost stepping aside and letting her through the door, before he decides against it.

“I just, I know—”

She lets out a sharp laugh, hand trembling near her sides. Jesus Christ. Did this guy just not fucking get it?

“—what could you possibly kno—”

“—I know how hard it is to lose someone.”

At those words, she audibly chokes, feeling like someone had strangled her. Somehow, all of the building anger subsides, replaced with a wave of heavy guilt, and sadness that weighs her chest down and suffocates her all over again.

How?

“W-what?”

He doesn’t respond, blue eyes simply staring into hers because she doesn’t need him to tell her what she knows.

She has to blink furiously to keep the tears from clouding her vision, but through all of the haze she notices the exhausted lines around his eyes, the concern in the tightly pressed corners of his mouth.

And she finally gives in through a rushed, quiet breath. Shaky voice barely audible, she lays down the weight.

“It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” He responds, and she doesn’t even need to explain herself. But she still feels the need to. She owes him that.

“It…” She sighs, realizing that it had been years since she’s had to recount the story to herself, let alone to anyone else.

“It’s my grandmother. I grew up with her. Always felt like she was the only person in my life who actually got me.” She smiles at the memory, remembering the sweet smell of the flowers in her grandmother’s garden, vibrant light shining over patches of lush green and bright yellow petals.

“She got… really sick when I was in high school. I didn’t want to leave her for college but she insisted that I live out my dreams of making it big in New York.” She lets out a bitter laugh. Steve only nods, patient and steady.

“She never got to see me on campus cause she was sick in bed. And I… didn’t go back home to see her once all for years 'cause I was killing myself with internships and jobs. And well, on my last day… she was gonna come see me. Watch me walk across that stage.

“God, she was so excited.” She manages to whisper out those last few words before tears start running freely down her cheek. She hastily wipes them away, clearing her blurry vision before continuing.

“On the day of my graduation, she never made the drive from the airport... Chitauri vehicle crash during the Attack on New York.” She pauses, pursing her lips. “Of course, I don’t even know if it was the vehicle ‘cause well…” she wiped her cheek with the her sleeve, letting out a sharp laugh.

“… they never found her body.”

She still remembers the memorial, the painstaking memory of not even being able to hold a funeral service for the person she loved most—just one life among thousands of others that were lost in the attack.

“After that it was really only Tony who got me back up on my feet. Wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.”

She reminisces Tony’s support in the aftermath, the only non-family member who showed up to the memorial service, despite all of the press trouble he was having with the Avengers.

Upon hearing her story, Steve is still silent. But, after a long pause, he manages to let out her name, voice deep and heavy.

“I’m so sorry.”

She nods, sighing.

“Sometimes I question why I joined SHIELD in the first place and… I guess I did it cause thought I could incite change from within.” She glances up gives him a bitter smile, noticing the deep crease between way his brows and the concerned lines around his eyes. “Maybe help build stronger designs, save one person’s life.”

“But back there I… I felt like I’d failed at my job again. All those people… gone.”

Then, a bit quietly, she mutters.

“Every time I see that I feel like I’ve failed her.”

“That’s not true.” He says almost immediately, voice suddenly much louder, echoing against the stairwell. She glances up, surprised, before nodding, voice much quieter.

“I know. Can’t help but feel like it though.”

He’s hesitant in his next breath, stepping closer to her as if to say something before closing his mouth. She breaks the intermittent silence instead.

“How did you know?”

He only shrugs.

“You mentioned the Attack on New York when we talked after that last meeting.”

A small pause.

“Guess I just had a feeling.”

When they exit the stairwell, silently praying that the meeting had not ended, they’re unfortunately met with a huddle of agents outside who had no doubt stuck around after the meeting to see if they had teared each other apart, as they had the last time they had disappeared together.

Robin is the only one brave enough to jump right up to her, eyes wide and looking furious.

“Where the fuck were you that whole time? And why the fuck is your shirt unbuttoned?

She looks down at the state of her blouse and realizes that it looks like it had been torn to shreds. Robin takes one glance between her and Steve, and her cheeks grow pink.

Shit.

“Hey are you… all right?” Robin questions, anger subsided but eyebrows till raised. She quickly steers her coworker away.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Fill me in on the meeting on the way back.”

“Well, ok, but-”

“—hey, one second.” Steve’s voice stops them both as she turns around expectantly, forcing Robin to start making her away toward the elevator as Steve approaches her.

“Do you uh… can I…”

She frowns—surely whatever this is, it couldn’t be less personal than the conversation they had just shared in there.

“I want to show you something. Can you meet me after work today?”

“I… sure, I get off at 6.”

Wait, what? Why did she just say yes to that?

“Great. Damage Control, 5th floor right?”

“Yeah, but don’t-” She stops herself from saying but don’t come up, on account of everyone already talking about her around the office without Captain America showing up and asking for her, but decides to rephrase her words.

“…I’ll just meet you outside. On the corner by 5th?”

Steve nods, pursing his lip.

“Sure, I’ll see you then.”

She turns back to walk toward Robin, waiting for her near the elevator, with an unfamiliar and strangely comforting level of relief.

Yet a myriad of questions start running through her mind. Where could he possibly want to take her? And why did it feel so easy for her to say yes?

How did it take so little for him to figure her out?

Her thoughts are shattered, of course, by Robin’s incessant badgering all the way down to the first floor.

“So, guess Hercules wasn’t enough for ya, huh? You’re seriously doing Captain America?”

And let’s just say Robin ends up with a mysterious bruise on her arm that she’ll feel for the rest of the week.

(or two.)

Damage Control Masterlist

#mcu #mcufic #mcu fanfiction #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #angst #hurt #trauma #hurt/comfort #eventual romance #eventual smut #smut #fluff #eventual fluff #panic attack #anxiety attack #steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #enemies to friends #enemies to friends to lovers #anxiety attack comfort

[fullofgutsndopamine]

“Look,” hasan huffs, his longs between his ear and shoulder, “i don’t fuckin know either.” he watches the water boiling that’s threatening to over boil and spill onto the oven any second, “but my girl all but asked for it, so-“

the person on the other line snorts, which makes hasan roll his eyes. they speak first:

“my girl,” the voice mocks, “i thought you hated valentine’s day-“

“fuck valentine’s day.” hasan confirms with a nod, even though they can’t see him.

“right,” the other voice, Mike, confirms, “So if it’s fuck Valentine’s then why in the world are we celebrating it, much less cooking. you’re a horrible fucking cook, actually-“

“thanks for the confidence, dude,” Hasan huffs, just as water pours over the side of the pan and bubbles onto the stove. “fuck, i’ll call you back.”

he doesn’t give him time to answer before chucking the phone on the counter, running over to turn the flame down.

“no,no, no, no. fuck, dude.”

he grabs the spoon, stirs around what’s left in the pot before groaning.

this was suppose to be perfect. this has to be perfect.

look, hasan doesn’t like valentine’s day. in fact, he borders on hating it, but when he met her, when she talked about how romantic the holiday was, the small gestures were so nice-well, she had a way to make people fall in love. hasan knows this first hand.

hasan knows she’s due to his door any minute. she was so fucking excited to text him-hasan hasn’t noticed he chewed his nails so low, was so anxious about getting it right for once.

he checks the flowers on the counter, with the obnoxious bow he re did again and again until his fingers ached and throbbed-thirty minutes ago, they seemed perfect-the most ideal flowers he could find. now, as shadows cast in the small apartment he imagines the leaves are more wilted, the browning spots

he grabs his phone, seconds away from cancelling, asking for a second chance (ignoring the part of him that aches at the idea of not seeing her, much less disappointing her, but he has to get it right, needs to)

the knock is quiet, but loud enough to set Kaya off, loud barks echo through his house.

“fuck!”

he wipes his hands at the apron around his waist, stained from the failed meal he tried to create-her favorite, something he had never heard before but mentioned on a date that he scribbled on a stained cocktail napkin and shoved deep into his jeans- he takes a second, checks his hair in the mirror by the door, messed form his hands running though it, opens the door before he can overthink it.

“Hey!” she smiles, standing straight when she sees him, “happy valentine’s day!”

she also looks nervous, a small bag in her hands that she has a death grip on. she invites herself further into the house before she can regret it, pulls him by his shirt for their lips to collide, crash into one another.

he giggles: “what’s that about?”

his face is bright pink and he fumbles with his glasses like he does when he’s nervous. she shrugs like it’s nothing, like she wasn’t thinking about it the entire drive over here:

“missed you, is all. it’s the best holiday after all.”

his hand is tangled into hers as he leads to the kitchen.

“listen,” he sighs, “i fucked dinner up-“

she immediately goes to the scene of the crime, grabbing the spoon and half empty packets of food, immediately going to work.

“it’s suppose to be valentine’s day,” he groans, “you aren’t suppose to do the work.”

she rolls his eyes: “valentine’s day doesn’t mean i can’t cook-and no, it doesn’t make you sexist for making me cook, before you say it.”

“grab some cheese,” she hums, turning the flame back on the stove and stirring the water, “you didn’t ruin it, i promise.”

hasan obeys, grabs the ingredients, comes back and carefully, slowly, the apron goes around your head, can feel as his hands grab the back of it and ties it for you.

“co chef.” you insist, “this is perfect.”

“this isn’t how i imagined valentine’s day.” he sighs, tries to hide how disappointed he is.

“really?” she says carefully, “this is just how i imagined it. this is perfect.”

“you’re just saying that.”

instead, his hand snake around her waist, his head fits right in the crook of her neck, peppering kisses there.

“happy valentine’s day.” it comes out quietly, unsure, from him.

she reads his mind:

“it’s perfect.” she smiles instead. “happy valentine’s day.”

#caroline writes #hasanabi #hasanabi x reader #hasanabi x y/n #hasanabi x you #hasan #hasan piker x you #hasan piker x y/n #hasan piker fanfic #hasan piker fanfiction #hasan piker imagine #hasan x reader #hasan piker x reader #hasan piker

[discodeviant]

HARRINGROVE WEEK, DAY 6: Twenty | Mature | 2.8k

Molly Ringwald’s Wish: To Be Happy

Gift Wrapped: Steve Harrington’s Jockstrap

That’s Not Frosting: Hidden Bites

Specific Dialogue: “So, did you get what you wanted?”

I don't know what to say about this one other than: Steve Harrington is the greatest gift Billy could ever receive. Please enjoy!

Read on AO3 @harringroveweek

The night hadn’t even begun when Steve told Billy to leave for an hour while he got his gift sorted out. Oh, but it didn’t matter, Billy didn’t need a crazy present, he just wanted Steve and Steve’s time and Steve’s love and Steve. But he left anyway and drove around for the entirety of that hour, listening to the mixtape he’d been given early in the week, biting his nails, chewing the end of three different cigarettes once each filter had worn out.

It was exactly an hour later when Billy stood at the front door, amping himself up to walk into a surprise party or other anxiety-inducing crowd of Steve’s friends that Billy didn’t know very well. It was always like that back home, being thrown into people he’d never spoken to, expected to get along when all he wanted to do was shrink away, but Steve knew him better than that. Steve wouldn’t hurt him.

With a deep breath, he walked inside to an empty, silent house. The only difference was that the curtains were closed. “Steve?” He put up his jacket and set his boots aside, walked further in to notice rose petals leading upstairs with fake candles lighting the way. “Jesus…” he said to himself, following the trail with bated breath. “What did you do, Harrington…”

Upstairs and to the door of the bedroom they’d been sharing for months, not quite one year but quickly approaching. It was open just enough to see a sliver of fair skin in faded streetlights, and he chuckled to himself before stepping inside, eyes still down while he tried to keep a straight face.

And then he saw what was waiting for him.

“Oh, Stevie…” He was walking on air.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Steve said, low and seductive, naked on their bed, save for knee-high gym socks, a brand new jockstrap, and a red bow around his neck. His hair was coiffed, body hair trimmed neatly but still laid on thick. There were a few petals on the bed around his hips, but he was the centerpiece to a royal display.

Billy stepped closer, one foot at a time, slow in case his heart gave out and dropped him to the floor. He whispered, gliding his hands from Steve’s toes to his knees, following the teasing movement of his legs. “God, look at you…”

“You like it?” Dare he think that Steve was shy about this when Billy had stripped him naked too many times to count, when he’d demanded Billy strip him so he didn’t have to do all of the work. Wide-eyed and pliant, pink lips that threatened to frown if Billy said no, Steve was a dream in a dream.

“Do… I… like it…” Billy knelt on the foot of the bed, one knee at a time, closer and closer between Steve’s legs, and toppled over him with both hands to his sides. Then he kissed him, slow and featherlight, enough for Steve to float up for more. “What do you think?”

Steve grinned. “I think you do, but I wanna hear you say it.” He toed at the bottoms of Billy’s jeans and slid up strong calves, holding him down.

“Yeah? That what you want?”

“Mhm.”

“Whose birthday is it, Stevie?” Billy asked, melting into hands that fluffed up his hair, eyes so tender that they made him fall apart.

In a voice so smooth, so devastatingly focused: “Yours.”

“What if I wanna show you instead, hm?”

“Show me what?” Steve asked, and he knew what he was doing. Billy laughed and leaned down to kiss him again, stronger this time, rendering Steve weak enough to fall back into the pillow.

Growling against his mouth, Billy said, “That I really fucking like it.” And then arms came around his shoulders, strong so he remained right where he was. “Can’t wait to mess your hair up again.”

“Better get to it, then, we don’t have all night.”

And Billy’s eyes darkened. “Oh, yes we fucking do.”

All smiles and teeth into deeper kisses, hips rocked against hips and into the mattress. Steve’s fingers crawled under Billy’s jeans, gripped at his skin with starving desperation. Billy’s chest rumbled with a rattling heart underneath; they were the only men alive.

“Is this what you were doing for an hour?” Billy asked, letting Steve dress down his bottoms.

He shrugged. “I had to get ready…” Belt buckle, brass button, a long zipper down. “Wanted to look good for you.”

“You always look good.”

“Smell good for you…” He’d put on that cologne that drove Billy wild, deep and woody with floral undertones.

“You know you do.”

Steve grinned. “Taste good…”

Another kiss; their tongues met. “Mmhm.”

“What’s left?”

“I like the way you’re talking at me, pretty boy.” Denim slid down over his ass, and he shucked them off the rest of the way. Soft cotton rode up his bare legs now, and he rolled his hips again, bit his lip at Steve’s quiet gasp.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good thing I like talking at you, sunshine.”

Billy was so hard that it ached, and he wondered if Steve was there too or far past it. Either way, his breath hitched when Billy teased kisses to his mouth and pressed them to his cheek instead, or his nose, his forehead, the corner of his eye. When their lips did meet again, Steve kept him there longer with the pull of his teeth and hands back in his hair again, but Billy was still stronger than him in some ways. Billy knew just how to unravel him.

Both thumbs rubbed just under Steve’s nipples, and, like a switch was flipped, he fell slack with a long sigh. Billy’s kisses moved from his mouth to his jaw, down his neck. Billy nudged the bow up with his nose and sunk his teeth into Steve’s Adam’s apple. “Not too high, baby, I’ve still got that interview tomorrow.”

Billy laughed, moving to his chest. “Fine, but I’m compensating down here.”

“Twenty?” Steve asked, and Billy looked up.

“Plus one for good luck.” Laying his cheek against Steve’s chest, weaker with every tug on the top of his head, he said, “Worked last year.”

Steve smiled. “Did it?”

“Mhm.” And Billy pressed another kiss between his pecs, dragged his teeth over and around one nipple before laying his tongue flat on top.

“What happened last year, hm?”

“You finally fucking asked me out,” he said, and they both laughed. “God, I thought I was gonna die every time I walked into that damn ice cream shop.”

“You could have asked me out.”

“I’d have died if you said no.”

“I wouldn’t have said no.”

“How would I know that?”

“I don’t know.” They laughed again, and Billy came back up to press his nose into Steve’s neck, breathe him in, cologne and hair product that reminded him of when they met.

“See? I got lucky.” He nibbled on Steve’s ear.

“I don’t know if that was luck. More like I got tired of pretending I wasn’t madly in love with you.”

“Yeah, well… I’m lucky it was you.” Back to Steve’s eyes, and their kiss sent them all the way back to the first, the second, the third and all the rest. “I love you so much, Steve.”

“I love you too.”

Soon Billy’s shirt came off one button at a time, one sleeve, one inch down his back until it was on the floor. Bodies rocked in waves of lust and amour. Moans slipped in between mouths. Steve pulled Billy harder against him, letting the drag of white briefs rub his ass, teasing his lover, teasing himself. He tugged them down and rutted against Billy, fingertips pressing hard into his glutes. Billy kicked his underwear off too. “Someone’s impatient.”

“I bought this thing two weeks ago, of course I’m impatient—hah…” Sharp suction on the weak spot of his collarbone sent Steve’s eyes rolling up, then closed and fluttering open again. Billy took his time. Billy held his breath and saved them for Steve’s lips when he returned from painting bruises on his torso.

“Worth the wait?”

“Mm… I don’t know yet,” Steve said, and there was that challenging stare of his. Billy took it and flipped him over onto his stomach, Steve gasping and laughing into the pillow. He pulled Steve’s hips up against himself with one hard thrust that made him moan and preen his head back. “Getting closer…” Billy laughed and shook his head.

“Brat,” he said, leaned down over Steve to bite his shoulder, steal his breath, swallow his tongue and croons.

Billy was stiff as a steel pole against him. Arousal tickled him from the inside out, made his cock throb against Steve’s ass when he looked down and saw white elastic squeeze around his thighs. It was a sight to behold. Lean and slender, long, speckled, fucking gorgeous by every stretch. The socks pulled up just under the bend of his knee, where Billy planted his own for Steve’s legs to climb him like a vine, and they rocked like the waves.

Already Steve was moaning into the air, light and sweet but pornographic in their resolve. Billy’s hand made way to his crotch, a heavy grip against his bulge that strained the fabric around itself. “Gonna cream your new jock for me, Stevie?” he asked, dick riding the surface of Steve’s ass.

“If you promise to cream yours,” Steve said, Steve bartered, and Billy gripped his cock even tighter.

With that, he slid himself back a bit, still with a hold on Steve’s waist. His ass was perfectly framed by a thick band around his back, two below each cheek and emphasizing their shape. Billy kneaded and pushed and squeezed like he’d never had the pleasure of holding something so tender in his life. Then he was all teeth, roaming lips, a curious tongue. Steve tasted like himself, homey and familiar. The only one Billy could ever want.

He was still impatient, pushing back against Billy’s face, harder into hands that kept him from arching his back too far. Thumbs pulled both cheeks away from each other. He spit, rubbed it in, poked in just the tip; Steve laughed, low and heady, said, “Fuck,” under his breath to nobody at all.

Unprompted, he leaned over to reach to the nightstand and into the drawer for the lube bottle that Billy took from him with haste. Right down the middle, it dripped to home base, and a thick finger helped it flow deeper inside. Steve hissed, pleading in his own wordless way. Billy had memorized him by then. Every inch in and out, every noise, every sound—

“God, Billy, please…”

—every declaration of love that he sent through passing glances. Billy slathered his own cock and rubbed against Steve one more time, teasing until he’d beg out loud. “Please what?”

“C’moooon, it’s rude not to open up your presents…” He looked over his shoulder with a smirk and daring gaze, then Billy hovered over him real close. Only one hand held him up.

“Oh, baby, I’ve never cared much for chivalry.”

His breath curled around Steve’s ear just as he slid the tip of his cock past the threshold of want and need. “Fuck…” It was almost too much. Grinding into Billy’s hand, squeezing around his cock and trying to pull it in deeper, Steve’s breaths were shallow. And he knew it was the jockstrap that made Billy so insufferable this time. Something they’d entertained in the past, half-joking, half-not, wholly enthralled with each other no matter the clothes on or off their backs. For that to be fulfilled, now, when Steve was his to take and love, he worshipped every inch of fabric that dared touch Steve’s body. “Billyyyy…”

“Shh… you know I like to be careful with the wrapping paper,” Billy said. He moved his one hand from Steve’s crotch to his belly, blunt nails scratching lightly against his happy trail. “Oh—I almost forgot.” Then up and around his side, flattening his fingers to slide up to Steve’s shoulder blades. Billy’s fingertips grazed the back of Steve’s neck, thumb creeping up and daring to hold on with a grip to remind Steve just how possessive he could be. Instead he reached around to the bow in front, which had slidden down past Steve’s Adam’s apple. In one slow, agonizing, long, long, long pull, the bow was unraveled and left to fall right under his chest. “There we go.”

Billy had pushed in a little deeper without realizing it, not that either of them would complain. Steve was putty in his hands from the moment he walked into the room, and now he fell through his fingertips. Slipped from any semblance of awareness into seeking pleasure and warmth and the burning hot of Billy’s breath, Billy’s touch, of Billy, Billy, Billy. At last, the final stretch was made, buried to the hilt and pulled out again. Rocking back and forth, steady waves on the open ocean. Steve rocked with him. Steve was the sea itself.

He strained against the white cotton terribly, cock too big for the cup now that he was erect and searching for air to breathe. He wished Billy were touching it again, but now that strong hand was on his shoulder, and he didn’t want it to leave there either. Back and forth, Steve counted in his fuzzy head—fuck, and fuck, and fuck, and fuck. Billy always knew how he liked it, fast then slow then fast again, and then slow for so long that he thought he’d combust. With Billy pressing into him from every angle, into the bed, into the pillows where dreams of each other lay dormant until the next night. His eyes shut painfully tight. He could barely breathe.

There were moments when Steve felt tensed knuckles against his ass in Billy’s attempts to keep his own body from unraveling. He could only get away with it so many times, which he knew, and which Steve figured once Billy told him to lay on his back again. “Fuck, baby, lemme see you,” he said, slurred and breathless. “There’s my pretty boy…” He whispered and leaned back, hands sliding along Steve’s body, over the least and most sensitive points. Steve chuckled when Billy’s fingers barely grazed under his arms, a sound that got both of them lost in shared rapture.

Billy came loose the moment those doe eyes opened again to look up at him, to lean into Billy’s forearm on his shoulder. Bliss-shaded lips searched for a wrist, then a palm to a finger to hold between glossy teeth. The jockstrap had long been soaked through. Neither watched—only felt, because they were enthralled in sultry faces—Billy’s cock strain its hardest to last a little longer. Steve’s whimpering didn’t help.

And, just to torture him, Billy rode the other hand down to Steve’s bulge for his palm to rut against. His name was muffled around his ring finger, drool finding its way down Steve’s chin. Agonizingly slow now—and fuck—each thrust in curled up against Steve’s prostate. His thighs tensed, knees hooked more forcefully around Billy’s legs—and fuck—stuck between cramping and falling apart. One hand gripped the sheets while the other held onto Billy’s for dear life, holding it against his face—and fuck—as he repeated Billy’s name like a mantra, “Billy, Billy, fuck”—and fuck, and—

Billy came first, but not by long, and rode Steve’s orgasm like a tidal wave. Focused and steady, balanced on both knees even while Steve pulled him forward, gasping and trembling when he creamed his jockstrap just like he said. Pearly white dribbled down the inside of his thigh, and his eyes rolled, and his toes curled, and Billy watched every pretty little expression on his face.

They smiled like loons by the end of it, and Billy took a nosedive into the side of Steve’s neck, kissing him without suction or teeth. “Happy fucking birthday to me, I love you, I love you, I love you…” Words melted into a medley of sweet, sweet nothings that were everything to Steve. Something like, “You’re perfect, you beautiful motherfucker,” and his heart would have stopped if not for Billy to keep him there.

By the time their breaths were soft and slow, Billy’s hands were tugging at his hair. His head on Steve’s chest, eyes on him like he was the brightest star in the dim Hawkins sky, a warmer blanket than the one they’d pulled over themselves to relax under for a little while. He was so sleepy, so worn out. Steve scratched gently up and down his back, the base of his neck and through the bottom of his curls. “So,” he said, “did you get what you wanted?”

Billy laughed. “Baby, I’ve had it.”

#harringroveweek #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #one shot #fanfic #.discowrites #ao3 meta

[direwombat]

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton for wip wednesday and @poetikat a day or two ago to share some of a wip!

taggin: @natesofrellis​, @thomrainer​, @adelaidedrubman​, @strafethesesinners​, @strangefable​, @funkypoacher​, @harmonyowl​, @schoute​, @aceghosts​, @confidentandgood​, and anyone else wanting to share anything they have (but no pressure, as always)

i just published ch 5 of fragile creatures and i don’t really work ahead, so everything i have for ch 6 is super rough, but here’s something that’s polished enough to share. it still needs a lot of work lmao but it’s better than the skeletons and single lines of dialogue/description or notes that are my other wips...

“So,” he sniffs. “Put any thought into how you wanna die?”

Pratt doesn’t look at him, or answer.

“No? You don’t give me any input and I’ll have to decide for you. And I gotta say, Peaches, whatever I come up with, you’re not gonna like.” He slices a piece of apple and pops it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

He watches for any reaction, but Pratt gives him nothing. Just a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. Disappointing. Jacob thought he’d be a wreck by now. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a choice,” he continues. “One of two options. Either A,” he holds his index finger up, “I crucify you. Hike you up somewhere into the mountains and nail you to some trees and leave you up there all by yourself. Someone may find and save you. Or you’ll die a slow, agonizing death.”

Still nothing, save for the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Or,” he says, holding up his second finger. “You’re shot. Back of the head. Executioner’s style. Hell, I’ll do it myself if you want. Nice and quick. Comparatively painless. Caveat is you gotta dig your own grave first -- assuming you want one. I’m not making my men waste their time putting your body to rest. Otherwise your body’s being fed to the wolves. Might be the only useful thing you’ll ever be good for.”

And Pratt still remains a statue, huddled in his little corner of the cage. The deputy isn’t a resilient man. He bows and bends at the slightest hint of pressure. Getting him to break had been easy. But for some reason, it’s here that he’s found some resolve. If Jacob were a more charitable man, he might even find his newfound conviction admirable. Pratt has only known Deputy Rook for only a few months, yet he’s confident she’ll put her neck on the line just to save him.

But Jacob isn’t a charitable man, and he thinks Pratt is naive and a fool.

“She’ll be here,” Pratt rasps, his voice rough from pain and thirst.

Jacob gives him a look. Amused but pitying, the same kind of look one gives a child who failed entertainingly at whatever task they were attempting. “Whatever helps you get through the day, Peaches,” he says.

annnnd here’s a snippet from the charlie/paola pre-ship fic that i’ll finish someday....no paola in this particular scene, but have some fun old fashioned heist planning with charlie + the lost legacy trio

He raises his hand. Chloe nods at him. “Yes, Charlie?”

“What are we gonna do about the provenance documents?” he asks.

Sam scoffs. “Provenance documents,” he parrots. “Lookat you using big boy words.”

“Fuck off, it’s a legitimate question,” Charlie bristles. “This guy’s a scumbag, but he’s by the book, right? Technically he bought the piece legally, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says slowly, and he’s suddenly a little uncomfortable with how everyone’s eyes are on him now.

“Then there’s gonna be a paper trail. It’s not gonna matter how long we sit on it, the second we try to fence it, alarm bells are gonna go off somewhere. And if it can get traced back to us…”

“Bad news bears,” Sam finishes.

Charlie points at him. “Exactly.”

Chloe chews thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. “Okay, so we steal the provenance documents too. Easy.”

Charlie shakes his head. “Won’t be enough. We’ll need to get the digital files too.”

Chloe pulls a face, puffing her cheeks out and exhaling heavily. It’s so much easier to steal from other criminals. Nadine frowns, working her jaw as the cogs turn in her head, and Sam drums his fingers against the counter. Then he says, “I can do it.”

“Are you sure?” Chloe asks.

Sam nods. “You’re sending me in through the front door anyways. We’ll pick up a USB or something at the airport and I’ll figure out a way to get into his office. Easy peasy.”

They all know it’s anything but, but there’s no way to hash out a more concrete plan without actually getting eyes inside this guy’s mansion.

“What do we do once we have the documents, then?” Nadine asks.

Charlie shrugs. “Find someone who can forge them?"

“Do we know any forgers in Italy?” she asks the table. Both Chloe and Sam shake their heads.

Charlie awkwardly clears his throat. “Well, there’s Miss Orsini, right?”

The silence that follows his question drags on for an eternity.

Then Sam bursts into laughter. “You’re joking, right?” he says, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “After last time, I don’t think she’ll be too keen on the idea of working with us again.”

“Naw, mate, she just doesn’t want to work with you again,” Charlie responds. He doesn’t know much about the history between Sam and Miss Orsini, but he does know that the events of the previous job working with her put him squarely on her shit-list. But she seemed to still be on professionally amicable terms with both Nadine and Chloe last he heard.

“She’s a civilian, Charlie,” Nadine says dismissively.

“One who specializes in the preservation of both digital and paper records.”

“I have seen her literally pull ink off of paper,” Sam says quietly.

Nadine sighs. “Alright, I’ll talk to her. But I won’t make any promises.”

#wip wednesday #wip: fragile creatures #brain hasn't been good for writing recently but here's some stuff

[orcabouttown]

This week: Archery, and why I do not respect it. As with the handheld weapons post I will reiterate that debate will not only be discouraged but actively punished via combat.

Long long ago we had a simple means of settling our disputes - grab a large item and beat the fuck out of each other with it. This started with the humble rock, then a club, a primitive axe or hammer, then not so primitive axes and hammers, then swords, maces, flails, spears, battlehammers, nunchucks, just about anything really.

Two parties with a score to settle would square up and beat the shit out of each other until one or more could no longer continue due to death, dismemberment or similar impairment. This method of conflict resolution was also a great means of procuring food from larger animals in our territory, specifically by using those weapons to turn them into food. Strength matched strength, skill decided the fate of a warrior, and then some pussy invented archery.

Don’t get me wrong, I know projectiles have always been a part of our repertoire, before we used a stone to bash we probably tried to chuck it as well. If you can chuck something at someone and do some damage then fair play to you, that’s a spur of the moment gamble that could have panned out really badly and you’re lucky it didn’t.

Archery, however, is the conscious decision to remove yourself from the battle as much as possible while taking potshots like a dick and acting like you’re contributing.

Picture this, you spend years training for war, mastering the sword, spear, and axe, riding day and night to practice horseback fighting, training to be strong enough to run in your armour and fight like a demon. You pull up to the battlefield ready to bring pride to your homeland, and then THUNK. Some prick a quarter mile away and his buddies decided to just launch a bunch of pointy sticks up into the sky like Retro Lawn Darts and played a numbers game as to who would hit you.

I ask you, how is that fair? How can you face your ancestors in the next life and tell them, “Well I honestly have no clue how well I was going to do because someone rolled a D20 and sniped me before I could do any damage.” Answer: it’s not fair at all! It’s the equivalent of playing Mortal Kombat 9 with your girlfriends roommate who always picks Noob Saibot and always spams his teleporting move which is basically impossible to block, and she acts like it’s a mistake but really, who makes a mistake the exact same way 30 times in a row? Who I ask you? Her, and archers.

And yeah, fine, it looks coooool or whatever when you see an archer nail a sick shot because it’s a sKiLl tHeY’Ve MasTeRed but all they’ve mastered is being a top tier shitter and ruin everyone else’s fun time on the battlefield.

“But Mr Orc!,” you’ll whinge, “orcs use bows too! I’ve seen it!” And you’re right, some do. The term for them is Cowards. You’d think when Bolg struck Kili with a morgul shaft I was cheering him on wouldn’t you? Nope. Kili, unlike Bolg, actually had some balls and was tearing it up with a sword and dropping bodies like a clumsy mortician. Bolg only solidified his cringe status by wussing out and shooting him rather than run up on him with a blade.

You owe your opponents a fair shot in equal combat, and if you think it’s acceptable to half ass it by shooting at them from out of stabbing range you have all the honour of a Republican. Archers are guys who sleep with socks on, enjoy pineapple pizza, say shit like, “You’ve got a case of the Mondays!”, repost art and crop out the artists name, restart a game when they’re losing, and generally they chew with their mouths open and wear crocs. These are objective facts and not up for debate.

Remember, if you rock a quiver, I’m stealing your liver.

Until next time Brethren.

#orc #fantasy #medieval weapons #archery #the hobbit #kili #bolg #legolas #I want to make clear these are probably not objective facts and archers probably aren’t all mouth breathing foot scratchers #probably #but most likely