#kids t-shirt combo

[fellametshirts]

Coding is my Superpower! 💻 Unleash your Programming Prowess with this Stylish T-Shirt! 🚀 Embrace the World of Algorithms and Debugging in Style! 💡 Wear it Proudly, Geek it Smartly! 🤓

#ProgrammingTshirt #CodeGeek #TechNinja #NerdyFashion" #family tee #family t-shirt #family t-shirt for 3 #family t-shirt for 4 #father and son t-shirts #father-son t-shirt #father t-shirt #friendship day t-shirts #group day t-shirt #holi family t-shirts #holiday t-shirt #kids t-shirt combo #matching family shirts #matching family t-shirts #mom-daughter t-shirts #mom-to-be t-shirts #mom-to-be t-shirt #superman dad #rakhi t-shirts #raksha bandhan t-shirts #raksha bandhan t-shirt #matching t-shirt #same shirts for family #same t-shirt #same t-shirt for family #same t-shirts for brother and sister

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

DP X DC AU Danny & The Little Dead Girl

(title pending lol, Danny and Curare adventures pt 2!) Pt 1 here My AU art

__________________________________________

Monday comes, as it is won't to do, and Danny has to go to school which means the baby halfa has to come to school too.

" ok, so, one rule for today, big rule, you gotta be quiet in class. Uh-"

Danny pulls his phone out of his pocket as their bus hits a pot hole. Sitting right at the front means they catch the momentum first and he has to hold Curaré against his side lest she go flying into the aisle.

A couple voices grumble behind them at the jostling as Danny gets his text to speech open.

" Necessitas ser quieto en clase. ¿Entiendes?" The Google robot lady voice translates for him.

Curaré blinks at him from behind her little paper face mask and looks from the phone to him curiously.

This is the game they've been playing since last night, Danny says something in English robo lady repeats it in Spanish.

Danny doesn't know if Curaré understands how the phone speaks or even that it does but she's giving him her favorite little blank expression so he assumes she gets it. At least, she hasn't really disagreed or disobeyed anything he's asked of her yet so...not gonna look that gift horse in the mouth Danny boy!

..

School goes well, mostly.

They get through the metal detectors and bag checks at the front entrance just fine. The security guards barely glance at Curaré once they confirm she isn't hiding a Glock or something under her shirt. Which it's kinda sad to know gun control is a cross-dimensional American problem but it's on brand if nothing else Danny thinks.

They get to first period without stopping at Danny's locker and settle down in two desks by the back door. This is Danny's usual spot, well usual as of a month ago, it's mostly empty back here now but Danny used to have a seat partner.

(A seat partner who had a kind of shady tweaker vibe that Danny would have been worried about but that kid went home early one day and never came back so....it's Curaré's seat now.)

The little dead girl looks even littler sat in the desk-chair combo, she can barely see over the top. Danny stacks three dictionaries under her for a boost then he gets her set up with some pencils and paper and the single highlighter he found on the floor his first day here.

Curaré seems vaguely interested in his offerings ,after Danny shows her how to use them to mark the page, and starts creating cautious marks of her own.

She keeps glancing back up at Danny as if to confirm that this is still fine? And he nods his head every time trying to be encouraging as it becomes obvious that nobody taught this kid to write inside Fosters Home for Real life Assassins. Which Danny thinks is poor planning on there part because really? If your Assassin can't write how the fuck were they supposed to leave ominous threatening warnings? Or fake suicide notes? Or any number of written props to flesh out a cover story.

Whatever, obviously the assassins raising Curaré sucked ass all around so he can't say he's surprised but he is majorly disappointed.

As the bell rings for first period a whole slew of teens rush in ahead of the teacher Mr. Berk. Simple guy, grey beard, coke bottle glasses, smells like Vics vapor rub, the works.

He's like the most chilled out version of Mr. Lancer ever so he's alright in Danny's books. Plus he only has one "rule", as long as your butt is in your seat by the time he calls your name for attendance he won't mark you late. In Gotham, where everyone and their brother has enough late marks from shitty public transportion to get detention, it's a pretty sweet rule.

So Mr. Berk takes attendance like usual and only pauses on Danny and Curaré in the back for a brief moment.

Curaré stops drawing and stares down Mr. Berk like he's the T rex from Jurassic park. Frozen in place and without breaking eye contact. He stares back at her completely unphased.

" A small visitor then?" He says.

Danny nods. " My sister"

" Mhm" Mr. Berk says already moving on to the next student on his roster.

Danny breathes out huge sigh of relief, that was so much easier then he expected.

They more or less repeat this exchange the whole day. Mondays suck ass because it's one of the only days Danny actually has all 6 periods, but they make it through 1st, 2nd, and nutrition unscathed.

By lunch time Danny thinks they might actually be home free, if no one is gonna bring up the whole freaking child tagging along with him then he can probably just bring her with him everyday.

Maybe he can find her some work books and she can learn the alphabet? And addition? That's like on track for 4 year olds right? Danny can't remember being 4 but that feels right to him. He will educate the child in his care like the responsible almost adult he is. She will go to college!

At lunch Danny sits them at the back of the school right next to the teachers lounge because it's mostly deserted.

In Danny's exprience the best place to hide is in plain sight. He's been sitting here everyday since he enrolled himself and the teachers have never noticed him. Their way too busy trying to get any kind of break from teaching high schoolers to be concerned.Which Danny is greatful for because he has broken the rule about using his cell phone at lunch 50 times at this point.

Listen he has to do universe research when he has access to wifi! Which he only does at school. The administration should be glad he's using his lunch period to educate himself really.

So they eat by the lounge. Danny has Curaré face away from the door so she can take off her face mask and eat unencumbered.The cut on her face is still gnarly, it looks an almost enflamed purple as it tries it's best to heal.

Danny had given Curaré a little immuno-boost with his own ecto the night before to try to speed up her healing factor. But like any Halfa, basically just Danny's personal experience, you have to nourish the ghost half and the human half in equal parts to heal all the way.

It's not until home room, period 6/7, that the metaphorical straw breaks the metaphorical camels back. or the real straw to the metaphorical camel? Did camels even carry straw? where would it go? Between there humps? Not important Fenton!

Home room was a grade A disaster.

Mr. Perez, Danny's kind of ancient home room teacher, who was for almost all intents and purposes blind, had a freaking nose for trouble. It's like he could sniff out vapes and cell phones as soon as they hit the stale class air. Danny thought this would be the easiest class by far, Mr. Perez wouldn't even see Curaré let alone smell her.

And at first it seems like he doesnt, Mr. Perez takes attendance and skips right over Danny and Curaré with no fanfare.

Danny thinks that's the end of it and starts to breathe easy until 15 minutes before the final bell when Mr. Perez' TA asks him to step into the hallway with her for a second.

Danny generally liked Mr. Perez's TA, her name was Sabrina Kahn and she was the kind of girl Jazz would have hung out with.Straight laced, wore argyle cardigans, read books, the smart sort. She looked Jazz's age too, maybe 21ish and she always rolled her eyes when people gave dumb answers in class.

She looks a little embarrassed to be speaking to Danny which immediately sets him on edge.

" It's okay that you brought your little sister today but, I'm sorry, you won't be able to do that again. A bunch of your teachers made complaints with the front office and Mr. Perez got a call about it ..."

Sabrina had always been nice to him and now she was about to ruin his whole week.

" But Ms. Kahn-" Danny started.

She gave him a sympathetic look " Lemme guess, your parents can't take her to work so this was the next best option?"

Danny closed his mouth and nodded, that was actually a much better lie then he was gonna tell, thank you Ms. Kahn. ( But also Boooooo curse you Ms. Kahn!)

" Here, I know it can be hard to find childcare for metas, especially ones as ah-vibrant as your sister. My brother had the same trouble with my nephew."

Sabrina hands Danny a flyer, it's still warm from the printer, it looks like it's just a screenshot of an email.

"Thanks?"

The TA rolls her eyes, wow a lot like Jazz then.

" It's the address to that daycare and a referral. They only take kids by word of mouth, they're kind of... off the books. But their good people! I hope they can help you Danny."

The paper is on off yellow, as Ms.Kahn heads back into homeroom Danny feels all his hope go with her. Shit, what was he gonna do now? He looks through the little glass window in the door to the back where Curaré sits, she's already watching him. He tries to smile at her, be reassuring, he's not sure it works.

......

When the bell finally rings Danny picks Curaré up and puts her on his hip to avoid her being crushed by the rush of high schoolers who stampede out the door in front of them.

The flyer from Ms. Kahn feels like it's burning a hole through his pocket as they ride the bus towards the Narrows.

Danny cased the house from the flyer with maps street view as well as he could. It showed a skinny sublet house across from a small strip mall and laundrymat.

Inconspicuous sure, maybe even innocent looking but well...you could never tell in Gotham, all the buildings looked sort of evil by default. It was probably because of the gargoyles and the general low level stink fog that seemed to always be out.

The big city™ really made Danny miss the suburbs of Amity Park more then just the regular gut wrenching home sickness. Oh what'd he'd give to take a deep breath of air and not inhale the smell of piss when he walked down the street.

They get off the bus at the corner a block from the daycare.

Danny holds Curaré's hand which makes for slow going but seems like the right thing to do. She's never wandered off but Danny didn't want to give her the opportunity to either.

As he helped her climb the three short stairs up to the house Danny was suddenly hit with a wave of panic.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I really gonna take care of this freaking Halfa ghost baby for the next 18 years? Im not even an adult! I work weekends at BatBurger for minimum wage WTF?

Danny's hands began to sweat and his stomach cramped. Oh fuck, here was the existential crisis he'd been waiting for since he first decided to take Curaré from the leagues super secret baby basement.

Oh shit he couldn't breathe, what was he gonna do! OH fuck think!

What would jazz do? Call child services and offer psychological support. Not Uber helpful in this case Danny didn't know the first thing about psychology and Gotham CPS was actual prison.

What would Sam do? Assassin babies are hella counter culture but maybe find a cool rich eccentric family to adopt them? Nope, not gonna work Danny only knew one eccentric rich girl and she was a whole dimension away. FUCK THINK FENTON!

What would Tucker do? In this situation ask Google, homeschooling is big these days so maybe if you leave her in the apartment while your gone with an iPad-

" Hey you alright there dude, can I help you?"

Danny choked on the end of his anxiety panic badbadbad spiral and looked up.

The front door to the house was open and just inside the threshold stood a younger teen, maybe 16? With the kind of fade haircut Tucker always whined he couldn't pull off and a bright yellow hoodie.

Danny held his breathe for a moment making sure he felt it burn up his lungs and throat before letting out a big sigh.

" Yeah, yeah sorry kinda zoned out there I'm just uh kinda nervous I was told to come here for Daycare help for my little sister?"

Curaré looked at the stranger in the doorway with the same wide eyed blankness she stared at everything with. Funnily enough she was still holding Danny's hand, had held on through Danny's entire mental meltdown too despite the ecto sweat. Danny felt oddly touched by the gesture, even if it was more likely that the little girl wasn't bothered by his crisis then her being sympathetic.

The teen in the Yellow Hoodie raised an eyebrow at Danny as he fumbled the paper from Ms. Kahn out of his pocket to hand over.

Yellow Hoodie took it and looked between it, him, and Curaré.

" You're not a cop right? You have to tell us if you're a cop"

Danny made a face, " no, I'm not a cop! I would never be a cop, cops suck."

" Right." Yellow Hoodie said still suspicious " So you wouldn't mind if I called your referral up?"

" Be my guest dude."

The teen pulled out his phone and made sure to keep steady eye contact with Danny. Who could do nothing except not look away during this, the world's most impromptu staring contest, until Yellow Hoodie put his phone away.

" Just wanted to see if you were bluffing. Sabrina called earlier said she'd sent someone our way but you can never be too careful. Come on in. "

Danny felt the wind go out of his sails for the second time that day, what was with people and making him anticipate the worst.

.....

The inside of the house was old, homey, but old. It had very obviously been well lived in by a few generations of children, easy to see from the scuffed floors, chipped crown molding, and the sheer number of framed photos that hung on the walls.

There were signs of new life about too, some toys scattered on the floor, walls that were covered in butcher paper and crayon as high as little hands could reach, and oddly enough some scorch marks. Although, Danny's supposed that an unlicensed daycare for meta kids worth it's salt ought to have a least a few burn marks. For posterity if nothing else.

" I'm Duke, I volunteer here when I can but the place is run by the Mariscos, Mrs. Marisco specifically. She's been in the game for a long time" Duke nee yellow hoodie said as he stopped them in front of a closed door.

The hand made sign on the door said Office in nice scribbly lettering and it was hung on with a peg and twine. Real kitschy.

Danny could just make out the sounds of kids playing in another part of the house and was a little impressed that Duke had managed to keep Danny from seeing even one tiny tot during the impromptu house tour.

" I gotta go help Izzy with the kids, this is Mrs.Mariscos' office just knock before you go in, she might be on the phone."

Duke nodded to Danny, smiled down at Curaré and disappeared down the hallway.

Leaving Danny and Curaré alone in front of a closed door once again.

Danny looked down at Curaré and she looked up at him, she was characteristically silent.

" This feels like a job interview, did you bring your resume? "

Curaré blinked.

" Yeah, me neither. But I think if we both give her puppy eyes maybe our combined under aged-ness will activate her maternal instincts and she'll be forced to accept us?"

The nerves were back, they had never really left but now they had settled like a rock at the pit of Danny's stomach.

He couldn't bring himself to knock on that office door just yet so he fussed over Curaré instead. Kneeling down he straightened the collar of Curaré's hooded jacket and moveed her little backpack strap back up her shoulder where it had slipped.

" We got this. It's you and me now remember, even if this blows and you have to come to school with me for the rest of year it's you and me." Danny rested his hands on little shoulders and hung his head. " Jeez, I sound like my mom"

"No need to be so nervous Mijo! My Chiqis never met a kid she could turn away."

Danny's neck had never snapped up so fast in his life.

Curaré hadn't been looking up at him at all. No, Curaré was staring up towards the elderly woman floating near the ceiling.

Which was not great, because Danny for all the time had spent in Gotham had never seen another ghost. Not a single one.

Which was unsettling on its own but not bad per se, he'd thought maybe this dimension was just different, not enough spectral energy to manifest a ghostly body.

But no, again nope, this was so much worse.

No ghosts was easy enough to reationalize but one ghost? One ghost meant there was enough spectral energy, one ghost meant something was really really wrong with Gotham.

Because if there was only one ghost in a crime ridden pissed off city like this where the shit were all the others?

--------------------------------------------------

Yo! Just wanted to say thank u for all the support on part 1, did not expect people to like or care about it lol. Anyway back on bullshit, I've had this written for a while but didn't have the insp to post it until now.

Might write more, might not, you get one bat cameo for reading this time ur welcome.

Forgot to add this to the first post, it's in the reblogs, but TLDR Curaré is an assassin from batman beyond.

Note: if you wanna see cool art for this AU check the Danny and the little dead girl tag on my blog!

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc au #dpxdc #dc x dp #DP x DC #batman #Curaré #batman beyond #duke thomas #danny and the little deadgirl au #i really gotta think of a name for this AU if its gonna be a thing #do i have a plan for this? no no i do not #i have a vague idea about what happens in this universe and no real motivation to write it #batfam

[another-lost-mc]

taking the boys to see barbie‼️‼️🔥😫💯🤩🫨🫶🏻

A/N: I just got home from seeing Oppenheimer so this is like, perfect timing. These are some general movie outing headcanons for the group!

Going To the Movies

THE DEMON BROTHERS & THE DATEABLES

0.8k words | SFW | gn!Reader

Content: Luke is mentioned in a platonic sense only, the other relationships can be read as platonic or romantic.

You suggest a matinee show time because you figure it'll be less disruptive and chaotic for everyone.

Levi and Satan are the only ones that bother to look up the movie beforehand.

Levi wanted to read the early critic reviews, but he's careful not to complain about how stupid the plot sounds because he knows you want to see it.

(If it's a pop culture franchise Akuzon sells, Levi will order a t-shirt or sweater to wear on the day of the movie outing.)

Satan looked up the film's plot/backstory because you've been eager to talk about it.

(He likes knowing more about your interests than Lucifer his brothers do.)

Diavolo caught wind of your plans somehow (probably from Lucifer) and managed to convince Barbatos that they could both use an afternoon off to have some fun in the human world too.

When you show up at the theatre, Solomon and the angels from Purgatory Hall are already waiting near the concession stand.

(Barbatos admits to you that he might've told Luke about the movie plans in passing.)

Ordering food at the snack bar is interesting.

Lucifer orders himself a drink but no snacks. He opts for wine if the theatre sells it, or coffee if they don't serve alcohol, and he finally settles on bottled sparkling water if nothing else is available.

Mammon orders a popcorn combo that comes with a bag of candy. He asks you very casually what kind you like best before he just happens to choose that for himself.

Levi orders the popcorn combo that comes with the plastic collectible cup, and he browses the small display of plushies and toys near the snack bar too.

Satan orders popcorn and a drink and reminds you that there's plenty if you want to share with him.

Asmo buys a bottle of vitamin water and says he doesn't want anything to eat.

(Later he'll sneak some popcorn or nachos and candy from whoever he sits beside.)

Beel just points to all the popcorn poppers behind the counter and says he'll buy all of it.

(He grabs bags of candy off the display and drops those on the counter too.)

Belphie clarifies to the poor staff working behind the counter that they'll take two large bags of popcorn with lots of butter—and two bags of candy each, and two of the largest soft drink size they have...

Barbatos heads to another part of the concession stand to look at their frozen yogurt flavours and toppings.

While Barbatos is distracted, Diavolo orders the kid's popcorn combo because he wanted the collectible cup and toy it comes with.

Simeon buys a kid's popcorn combo for Luke and a frozen yogurt cup for himself.

(He gets two spoons so Luke can share it with him.)

Solomon orders popcorn with butter for himself, and everyone is relieved that he didn't try to sneak in any of his own homemade snacks.

He pulls out a salt shaker filled with something he claims he made himself and sprinkles it all over his popcorn.

(Unsurprisingly, no one else wants to try any when he offers it.)

Your entire group could fill an entire row of the theatre, and seating arrangements are the next big hurdle.

It surprises no one that Mammon, Asmo, Belphie, and Solomon all want to sit beside you.

(You absolutely forbid them from playing rock-paper-scissors in the theatre to solve that squabble.)

There are some obvious allowances in the seating arrangements: your BFF/lover(s) naturally claim the seats beside or closest to you.

If the seat's not already taken, Lucifer wants to sit on your right hand side.

(He smiles when you offer him some of your own snacks during the film.)

Satan and Belphie are not allowed to sit in the row behind Lucifer's seat—he already knows they'll kick the back of his chair (or his head) if they do.

Beel and Belphie usually sit next to each other. If Belphie falls asleep, he'll lean on Beel's shoulder so he doesn't disturb anyone else.

Levi complains that he's not in the seat that will give him the "best viewer experience," whatever that means, but he will sit close to you or Mammon if he can.

Solomon, Simeon and Luke move up a row and sit behind you if they can't sit beside you.

(Luke will tap your shoulder during the movie and offer you some of the candy from his kid's combo.)

Diavolo likes to sit beside or close to Lucifer.

(You can hear Diavolo comment excitedly about things throughout the movie while Lucifer reminds him to hush, which leads to both of them bickering loud enough for everyone else to hear.)

Barbatos likes to sit near Satan because they both enjoy watching the film quietly and won't bother each other.

(Barbatos doesn't mind sitting apart from Diavolo because he's always mindful of what his Young Master is up to.)

m.list | Taglist: @l-d-8 @mithrakira @your-next-daydream @haezen @xpixie @meggsngrits @flemmingbamse @tortibomb @amberrskiies @a-hidden-gem @lust--on--my--lips @meiloorun-tea @beelsjuicytitties @goldenglow149 @callmesaya @cosmicstarlatte @alexxncl @sirimirihiro @i-am-empress-irish @ezraiix @bizarrebankai @devildomd0ll @todothedodo @gaychaosgremlin @alexxavicry @moon-i-v @ablondehoe @thewisteriarchives @vinsmouke @kiirschtein @halaxia @bookoffracturedescapes

#obey me #obey me demon brothers #obey me dateables #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #simeon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me luke #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x you #x reader #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #gn!reader

[strawberriemarswrites]

Ok ok I love Kid, but I also love Killer so why not BOTH

any relationship hc crumbs I can lick off the table for a kidkiller and afab reader? (idc pronouns or if they’re are any)

OOOOHOHOHOHO yes yes. I can do this. I probably should put in my header that I take headcanon requests. I'll remedy that.

General Relationship Headcanons w/ AFAB Reader/SO - Kid, Killer

SFW and NSFW (18+ only) - 569 words

K I D

In public, he’ll sometimes act in ways that make it hard to believe he likes you. It’s no intentional, he just doesn’t think about it. He’s a ruthless pirate after all, and he’s gotta show it.

In private he’ll give you a little extra attention. Mostly teasing, definitely a physical-touch-as-love-language type of guy, and it’s mostly behind closed doors.

There is the rare occasion when on deck he’ll have part of his furry coat draped over your shoulders with a hand on your waist while he’s barking orders to the crew.

If anyone seems like they’re coming onto you or posing a threat, he will make it known that you’re off. Limits. Acts first, thinks later (if ever).

(Which has led to more than one instance of you just being looked at in a way that Kid didn’t like and him just going straight for the throat).

Kid prefers having you ride him. He likes watching you squirm a little trying to make him feel good.

Notably, this carries over to eating you out, but only if you’re sitting on his face and he’s got both hands on your hips to keep you there. Again, he likes watching you squirm.

K I L L E R

Quieter in the ways he shows affection. He’s also a physical touch kind of guy, but leans pretty heavily on acts of service, too.

In fact, he combos that shit. Brushing your hair out of the way when you’re cooking together. Bandaging you up after a rough battle. Pulling his button-up shirt you keep stealing right off your back so he can launder it and conveniently leave it out for you to steal again.

He especially likes just sitting with you and letting you talk his ear off. If you’re brave enough to start idly braiding bits of his hair, he’ll leave them in.

Not as quick to anger as Kid, but he’ll still loom behind you if you’re interacting with anyone he thinks will cause trouble. You have frequently had moments where you’re talking to someone only to have a shadow cast over you mid-conversation because Killer’s rolled up.

In somewhat of a contrast to his more reserved attitude, any position where he’s bending you a little out of shape or to your limits is a plus. He likes posing you like a little doll — but mating press is his favorite.

Face-down-ass-up is a close second however. He can get a little carried away and feral when he just needs to get it out of his system~

B O T H

The definition of “scary dog privilege”

You up front and them tailing close behind, both of them effortlessly exuding the most menacing aura.

Both are protective of you in their own ways when they have you alone, but together? If Kid’s throwing hands, Killer’s throwing hands.

Unless Killer can identify whoever’s involved isn’t a threat. In which case Kid will still do a little fake-out lunge just to watch them piss their pants a little.

Kid is surprisingly willing to share you with Killer when it comes to the bedroom. Though he will taunt you the whole time, asking if you like being so full, how it feels being spitroasted, whose cock is better and you better not lie.

Afterwards you’re sleeping smushed right between them with Kid’s deafening snores and Killer’s human furnace body. You still somehow manage to get the best sleep at night like this.

#askbox #tulipps-maehem #eustass kid #killer one piece #kid pirates #one piece x reader #headcanons #eustass kid x reader #kid x reader #killer x reader #kid x killer x reader #AFAB!reader #AFAB!s/o

[johnwickb1tsch]

Yandere Tex x Reader x John Wick WIP Part 5!

Ready evil geniuses? @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake

John lets you rest after wrecking you for the umpteenth time, disappearing off somewhere. You put off leaving the bedroom for as long as you can, but in the end you can't stand it anymore. You rummage in the closet for a new shirt. Your choices are black, black, and you'll never guess... black. 

This house must belong to John.

How many safe houses does that man have?

When you walk out of the bedroom in your new getup you find Tex in the living room watching TV. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“We have got to get you some clothes, baby girl.”

You shrug. The boxer t-shirt combo is actually pretty comfy.

You think you might make your way to the kitchen, but Tex snaps his fingers at you as you try to walk past.

You turn to look at him with a raised brow. 

“Can I help you?”

That was the wrong thing to say, obviously. 

His grin is that of a hungry wolf. 

“I bet you can. C'mere, darlin'.”

You sigh, but after your little lesson with John, you're not quite so inclined to defy him. 

Yet.

You're going to have to get smarter about how you expend your energy. 

Easier said than done. 

You pad over next to him. He pats his thigh in invitation, but you opt to sit next to him instead. This lasts for about two seconds, before he hauls you into his lap with his big hands and his strong arms.

Goddammit.

“That's better,” he says with a sly grin, holding you close. 

You take a moment to look at him—really look at him, from up close. The sweep of his almond shaped eyes, his high cheek bones and the short scruff of his beard. He stares back at you, unabashedly. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes at you, bumping his forehead with yours. You wish it wasn't adorable. Fucking man child, making you feel things.

“Wanna watch tv?”

It beat anything else he could dream up, so you agree. You hadn't forgot that he still owed you for your flipping of the bird earlier. You're sure he hasn't either. 

He turns on some stupid gratuitous action flick, and you kind of zone out. Your thoughts drift to John, and the things he told you in-between fucking you silly. 

He'd said that he and Tex would not take on the FBI just for a plaything, or a whore. Deep down, you knew what that meant. 

It meant, they had no real intention of letting you go. The thought filled you with equal parts dread—and wonder. 

Why the fuck would not one, but two fine ass men like this want you, for keeps? It's beyond your comprehension—and if you're honest, kind of flattering. Bat shit fucking crazy, but flattering.

Either that, or it's just...convenient. Your circumstances created a perfect storm from which to snatch you without a trace or a person to care about getting you back.

"Want to see somethin'?" asks Tex, interrupting your reverie.

"Okay?"

He clicks play on the remote once he has your attention. You watch as a 1970s muscle car jumps an impossible ramp, then lands roughly on the other side of a canal. "That was me."

You lift an eyebrow, looking back at him. "In the car?"

"Yeah."

He's grinning like a little kid, clearly proud. 

"You were a stunt man?"

"Uh huh."

You tilt your head, trying to put pieces together and failing. The square block is not fitting in the circle hole. 

"Then why...?"

"Killin' people pays better, believe me. Less dangerous, too."

A chill runs down your spine. 

"Oh."

Your gaze drifts away, but he turns it back to him with a hand on your chin. Those jet black eyes bore into yours, like he can see into your soul. His eyes flick down to your mouth, a moment before he leans in to kiss you. Your first instinct is to offer teeth, before you remember if you have to have sex one more time in the next twenty-four hours, you might literally die. You slip your tongue into the seam of his lips, and feel him smile against your mouth. 

"Mmm. A man could get used to this."

He slides his hand up your thigh, fingertips sneaking past the loose hem of your boxer shorts. 

You wrap your fingers around his, praying. "Tex, please."

"Like the sound of that," he says between kisses, outmuscling you to move his hand higher.

"I'm so sore."

"Sounds like an excuse to me. John gets you to himself but I don't?"

"It's not my fault you're both hung like horses."

This appeal to his ego makes him grin. "Ain't you a lucky girl?"

"Only if you don't hurt me."

He has the gall to give you a pouty face. Again, it should be fucking ridiculous, but somehow it's cute. He cups the side of your face, pushing his thumb between your lips. "How sore is your mouth?" he asks, eyes glittering.

It's not high on your list of things you want to do, but you're having to weigh your options these days. You suck his thumb, and you swear you watch a fire ignite in his eyes.

"Also sore," you say around his digit, sounding ridiculous as he presses down on your tongue. Your jaws hurt. Even your mouth is bruised from kissing. Jesus. You're not a goddamn python.

You try to retreat, but he forces his thumb deeper.

Absolutely out of instinct to defend yourself, you start to bite him.

Maybe you stop yourself before it can hurt or you break skin, but for the wicked gleam in his eyes you know it doesn’t matter. Suddenly you find yourself flipped on your stomach over his lap, as though you are nothing but a doll.

“You are a nippy little thing, you know that?” When he wrenches down your boxers, propping your ass in the air with his trunk of a thigh beneath you, you’re afraid you know exactly what he has in mind.

“No—”

His hand between your shoulder blades pins you down. “You’re just going to make it worse for yourself,” he says in a sing-song tone, almost as though he hopes you will fight him more. His fingers fanned out over your butt cheek rub lightly, soothing over your copious bruises. It feels so good that the first stinging smack makes you jump sky-high.

“Hey!”

“Hush and take your licks, little girl.”

“I hate you!”

“I was gonna say five, for flippin’ me off, but now it’s six. Comprende?”

You whimper, but for the first time since this whole fiasco started, you do the smart thing and shut your dumb fucking mouth, hanging your head in the pillows with resignation.

He’s just spanking you, you reason. How bad can it be?

He has a hand like a catcher’s mitt and arms corded with muscle.

Bad. The answer, is bad.

Yet he doesn’t lay into you immediately, soothing you with featherlight touches over your buttocks and the backs of your thighs. That part feels good, actually, and fuck you if you don’t start to feel the stirrings of desire between your legs.

What. The ever loving. FUCK. Is wrong with you?

“So pretty,” he says, toying with the bend of your knee. It makes your toes curl, and he offers up a deep chuckle that you almost feel more than hear. “You like that?”

“Yes,” you answer meekly, closing your eyes.

“See, I can be sweet, if you’re sweet to me.”

The next smack on the other cheek makes you jump again, but this time you do not protest.

“Ahh. She can be taught.”

You whimper, but keep your expletives to yourself. This is not exactly what you would call sweet…but the contrast of the stinging blows with his featherlight touch afterwards is doing things to you that you do not understand.

“Take this off,” he demands, lifting the hem of your shirt up your back.

For once, you obey him the first time, squirming in your awkward position on your belly and pulling it over your shoulders, leaving you bare and totally exposed upon his lap. He runs his fingers up the curve of your spine, making you shudder upon him. You can’t see his smug grin, but you know, you just fucking know it’s there.

Smack.

You can’t help but cry out, but the pleasure and the pain is strangely starting to meld together. Your treacherous, stupid little cunt has begun to throb, and as his fingers caress dangerously close to your crease you find that you wish he would touch you there.

By the time he’s finished with your licks you are a finely trembling, aching mess on his lap, your fingers like claws in the throw pillow, your ass in the air as though begging for it of its own volition.

Finally he does dip his thick fingers into your weeping slit, groaning to himself for the wetness he finds there. He circles your bud with the thick tip of his finger, making you moan and arch into him like the stupid little hypocrite you are.

“That’s a mighty nice little pussy you’ve got there,” he says, his voice turned pure gravel with desire. “Too bad you’re too sore.”

He withdraws and shoves you off his lap as he stands, leaving you in a heap of pliable naked limbs on the couch. The frustrated sound that escapes your throat is barely human, and the grin he pays you is the baring of teeth from a predator to a rabbit across the wood.

“Now don’t let me catch you touchin’ yourself,” he warns, looming over you. “You won’t like what happens next.”

 On that note he struts off, and you watch him go with a glare, unable to stop yourself from thinking he has the nicest, tightest little butt this side of the Mississippi river.

Bastard.

#wicked johnson fic #yandere john wick #yandere tex johnson #john wick #tex johnson #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader

[rileysluvr]

simon riley loves to spoil his girl because i say so. nsfw!!

He made up for his absence by spoiling every bone in your body with what he could best offer: sex and money. It sounds conceited, he knows, but he just loves to spoil you.

You, in your pretty, sunflower-yellow mini dress, practically leading him everywhere you go like a little kid at the fairgrounds. His hand tightly laced with yours as if he’d lose you if he let go, your various shopping bags in his other hand. He’s not far off from being perceived as your bodyguard whenever you go out together, and if it’s sunny and he’s opted for the cap and sunglasses combo, you’d better expect to get a few stares.

Him, in his usual blue jeans and black t-shirt that hugged his muscles tightly and made him stick out like a sore thumb in the high-end stores he’d urge you to go in when he would catch you eyeing a mannequin’s piece in the window. He almost turns into the little kid in that sense, stopping in his tracks and refusing to budge until you give in and see if it suits you. And he knows it will. He’s got an eye for those things, and he knows nothing could look bad on you, anyways.

All of his focus on you as you take your time, watching your every move as he’s seated on the dressing room bench, fighting to keep his hands to himself rather than cupping one over your mouth and fucking you right there. How you’d do a spin for him in every dress you tried on and he’d give his opinion, knowing he’d be the one stripping it from you in time to come, very soon.

What d'ya think? you smiled, hands clasped together behind you as you rolled forward on your toes.

I think it looks perfect, he stated, reaching his hand out. You stepped forward and took it, and his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer. You want it?

You bit down on your bottom lip and nodded coyly, leaning into his touch before bending down to kiss him with joy. Then it’s settled.

His job paid well, and being a man of little needs and a taste for simplicity, he never knew what to do with all of it; if it wasn’t going towards his diet, or the 1969 Mach Fastback sitting in his garage, it was being saved, stored, waiting to be used for something good. That something, finally being you, no matter how many times you’d insist you could pay for your own. It felt good for him to put his money towards something worthwhile, and the eye-candy that comes along with it is certainly indisputable. He’s got a horrible sweet tooth; he has to satiate it somehow, even if it means bending over backwards and running his wallet dry to keep you all dolled up.

Money had never looked so good on a person. In the form of flowy little dresses and glossy pink nails that reflected you so well, new necklaces and hair appointments that always brought a bright smile to your lips. The flowers he’d buy you just so they could go in the vase on the coffee table by the couch, right alongside the book you both are working on as you’re sat on his lap, back against his chest. But his giant frame is just so damn comfortable, and his voice is so fucking soothing in that eased tone he’d use on the occasion you ask him to read aloud to you. Most times you end up falling asleep before you’re even a chapter in, and he notices immediately, setting the book down and settling into the couch with you in his arms because he always decides that being with you heavily outweighs any back or neck pain that will surely come. He is older, don’t you forget it, and he doesn’t think you’re ever going to get through the novel at this rate.

He would never lie and say he didn’t get equal amounts of pleasure from it all. He promised himself to have you bathing in it for as long as you’ll let him, and even if that ran out, you’d quickly learn that his doting would still be quite difficult to get rid of.

Then, after a long day of splurging and satisfying your every want, he takes you home, handles you like you’re nothing of weight as he strips you of your dress, and fucks you silly. Fucks you how only a princess deserves, or like you were his first and final true love, the only one to ever matter on this green and corrupt planet because every day he spends with you he’s getting closer to believing both of those to be more than true.

Your fingers pulling tight at the short hair on his head as he buries his face in your cunt. Heavy, big arms, one inked and the other blank for the time being, holding you down by your plush thighs because he knows how sensitive you can get after just your first round. And there’s no way in hell he’s stopping after one. It’d take either a million men or merely your sweet begging to pry him from you once he’s delved his tongue in. You can’t possibly blame him; you just taste so heavenly, he can’t help it nor his insatiable appetite. His groans grow to be louder than your own when he feels and hears you finish, and he’ll come up with a dumb and cocky smile, your cum coating his lips and the stubble around it when he pulls you in to devour your mouth next. Allow you to get a taste of exactly how good he treats you, as if you reminding him of it every day wasn’t enough.

Head hanging off the corner of the bed, the necklace he bought you tickling your jaw and behind your ear in the particular position. Your hips meeting his lap as he fucks himself into you so gently, calloused palms refusing to leave your tired body. He eventually pulls you up with a laugh, not wanting to go another second without looking into those pretty, drunken eyes of yours, or for you to wake with a sore neck the next morning. He doesn’t want you to ever hurt, or long for anything different. He wants you shaking, trembling in his arms with a blissful look on your face and asking, writhing for more so he can grant it. He’ll hug you as tight as possible to his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck to support yourself with the sudden change in position, giggling into his shoulder due to the titillating sensation his panting into yours causes.

However you want to be fucked, he’d do it for you with unending honor, and then some more, until you’d forget your own name, and his real one. How rapidly his next deployment was approaching.

He wrings you both dry and exhausted, still he takes the time to bathe you, fully on display for him as his soapy hands repair whatever damage he may have dealt you. Swaddle and coo you to sleep for a much needed afternoon nap, in his arms and the comfort of your shared bed. Watch you fall asleep, listen to your breathing slow into pure bliss before allowing his own to follow, and all that. He was in deep, and if Simon from a mere year ago saw him like this, he wouldn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Laugh at the sheer absurdity of his behavior, or would it be the idea of having something, someone, so perfect?

Cry because he must’ve fully lost it, entirely unable to recognize himself, or because the image was so beautiful?

Whatever it was—despite its utter unbelievability and domesticated feeling he thought he was allergic to—he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut

[cod-dump]

Your teen au has me in a chokehold so I thought I would add something to it

Gaz, Ghost, and Farah steal each other’s clothes all the time like one day Gaz could walk in wearing Ghosts favorite band tee or Farah wearing Gaz’s iconic hat or ghost stealing a pair of socks from Farah

They also do this with price and Nikolai

At some point everyone has worn price’s fishing hat (I think it might be more of a bucket hat) ghost has worn Nikolai’s combat boots (they’re the same shoe size) Farah wears price’s T shirts and Gaz like to do a combo and wear price’s pants and Nikolai’s shirts

Nikolai at first didn’t like his stuff being stolen until one day everyone was wearing something from Nikolai and he just chose defeat.

(P.s ghost has accidentally wore one of Alex’s shirts because he thought that’s it was Gaz’s and when Price questioned him about it he said the first thing that’s came to mind and it’s was that’s the shirt belonged to soap.)

-🫠

Thief (teen!Ghost au)

———

Living in a house of three teenagers meant no one’s clothes were safe. They mostly stole from each other, sometimes out if spite, sometimes because they couldn’t find anything they wanted to wear. Or because they simply just want whatever it is that had caught their eye.

“SIMON THOSE ARE MY SOCKS!”

“YOU LEFT FUZZY SOCKS UNGUARDED AND YOU’RE SURPRISED I GRABBED THEM?”

Nikolai was used to the yelling over stolen clothes given the kids were starting to gravitate towards stealing John’s clothes… which meant his were next. He just knew one of them were going to grab something of his, he’s seen Simon eying his bomber jacket.

“Simon, no.”

He’s thankful for being practically immune to Simon’s tactical puppy eyes by this point, much to the kid’s annoyance. Unless he was genuinely upset, nothing he could do would get Nik to bow.

“Niiiiik, pleeaaasssseeeee— I wanna look good for Johnny on our date!”

Nik snorts, “You could be covered in horseshit and that boy would still look at you like you hung the stars.”

Simon tries to argue but Nik reached over and flicked his nose, the boy jerking away and shutting his mouth in response. The glare that followed made Nik remember who he was dealing with: Simon Price.

Simon said nothing more as he stalked away into the house, Nik certain he just invoked the boy’s wrath. He wasn’t scared but he was worried because Simon could get creative… and spiteful. So he was sure to tuck his jacket away in his SUV before settling down with John in bed that night to watch a movie. Nik was close to falling asleep, John was already tucked into his side, completely oblivious to the movie by this point but refusing to fall asleep.

If it had happened a moment later, he wouldn’t have caught it. It wasn’t a noticeable sound by any means, but Nik noticed. He knew what it was too— His car door being shut as quietly as possible. He felt his eye twitch, eyes looking over to where his keys rested on the dresser.

That brat broke into my car.

Nik, of course, was angry that someone broke into his SUV… but he was also a bit proud that Simon was the one to do it successfully without setting off the alarm.

Nik carefully slid out of bed, John grumbling at him leaving before he flopped over where Nik was laying and almost instantly fell asleep. Nik just snorts before he went to slid his boots on, quickly discovering that they were missing. He blinked before he realized where they were.

“Oh, so we raised a thief,” John made a curious grunt at that, a sign that he heard Nik say something, but the fact he just went back to sleep showed that he didn’t register any of Nik’s words.

He ended up grabbing some tennis shoes before leaving, determined to figure what Simon was up to. He had to grab one of John’s jackets considering he knows his bomber had been snatched. He went out to his SUV, glaring at the apparently undisturbed vehicle. Simon was nowhere in sight and Nik had no choice but to wait for him to come back… Well, he did have a choice but he didn’t feel like tracking down the kid.

So he returned to bed, deciding that he’ll have a chat with Simon in the morning.

Nik was the first up, heading straight to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He noticed that his boots had been returned so Nik assumed his jacket had also been returned. A second time Simon had managed to get into Nik’s SUV without setting off the alarm. Where did he learn to do that? From his friends?

Nikolai was deep in thought, glaring at the brewing coffee pot as John walked into the kitchen with a yawn. He was greeted with a kiss to his shoulder before John went to grab mugs for the coffee.

“What did that brewer do to you?” John joked as he slid Nik’s favorite mug on the counter in front of him.

“Hm? Oh, nothing I’m just thinking.”

“Well, don’t think too hard or you’ll scare the thing into not wanting to work.”

“Eh, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“… On a second thought, break it. I need a new one, anyways… especially after the ramen incident with Simon.”

Nikolai snickers, hearing someone come down the stairs with a light yet heavy step. Farah, barely awake, walks into the kitchen a grunts a ‘morning’ before sitting down into a chair.

“Is the coffee ready?”

“Farah-“

“I’m an adult!”

Nikolai could hear the boys moving around upstairs, knowing that they probably won’t come down until they smell food. Nik hums before he pours himself a cup of coffee, blowing on it as he steps away from the coffee maker.

“I need to check my email.”

No one said anything as he left, heading upstairs to have a talk with Simon. He knocked on Kyle’s door as he passed, “Go help your dad with breakfast.”

A tired whine was his immediate response, “Niiiik-“

“I could do it, and burn everything. Or Farah can do it and make it spicy-“

Kyle liked spice, Nik liked spice and so did John— Farah’s spice tolerance was terrifying. John handled it better than the rest of them but it would be a lot for breakfast. Kyle left his room rather quickly, almost slipping down the stairs in the process.

“Slow, Kyle!”

“I’m fine!”

Nik makes sure Kyle gets down the stairs safely before he moved on to Simon’s room. He knocked on the door, a muffled grunt and Riley barking answering him a moment later. Nik opens the door and there was Simon, buried under his mountain of blankets and Riley in his play pen, jumping around with his tail wagging when he saw Nik. Nik closed the door and sipped his coffee before he set it on the TV stand.

Simon poked his head out from under the blankets, hair poking everywhere and worn eyeliner that he clearly forgot to wipe off smeared around his eyes. He stared at Nik in confusion while Nik just leaned on his door with a knowing smirk. Simon blinked before his eyes widened, sitting up quickly and throwing a few blankets to the floor as he did.

“M-morning, Nik…”

“Late night?”

Simon’s eyes flickered to his closet before he forces himself to look at Nik, “No…”

“Hmm… You sure?”

Nik moved towards the closet and Simon scrambled off the bed to grab him. Nik groaned when Simon grabbed him around the middle, when did he get so big? He used to be just a tiny boy, where did this guy come from?

Nik wrestled Simon for a moment, trying to pry him off so he can get to the closet. He managed to throw Simon back on his bed, freezing for a moment because he was certain Simon was going to bounce off and into the wall. Thankfully he didn’t, stunning him and allowing Nikolai to swing open his closet door.

“Oh? What’s this? My jacket!?”

Nik grabs his bomber jacket, presenting it to Simon. Simon was pale, eying his door and window. Nik tucked his jacket under his arm before he made a face at Simon, waiting for him to start talking.

“I snuck out last night to go to a party with Johnny.”

Nik blinked, “A party?”

Simon was not a party kid. Sure, he hung out with Alejandro and their friends but Nik couldn’t recall them ever partying.

“Yea— I wanted to look cool so I borrowed your jacket!”

“And my boots.”

Simon gawks, truly horrified that Nik knew about the boots, “I-I brought them back! Please don’t tell Dad!”

Nik stares at him, looking to the whining Riley before he steps over to Simon, “Fine, I won’t tell your dad… if you tell me where you learned how to break into cars.”

“I-I-“

“Was it that hooligan friend of yours?”

Simon lightens up, “Ale doesn’t like it when you call him that.”

“Well, that’s what he is so he should get over it.”

Simon snorts, “No, it wasn’t Ale… Uh-“

“Simon-“

“… It was Johnny.”

Nik makes a face, “Johnny? Your good little Catholic boyfriend?”

“His dad’s a mechanic so he knows how to poke around cars.”

“And he taught you how to do it?”

Simon wouldn’t meet Nik’s eyes, fear in his eyes. Nikolai just huffed, truly impressed, “That’s a keeper.”

Simon blinked and looked up at Nik, “What?”

“That boy managed to get you to sit down and learn something new! You’re so hard to teach new things, let alone wiring and car mechanics! He’s a keeper!”

Simon bites lip, holding back a big smile. Riley finally let out a loud, high pitched bark, tired of being ignored. Nik reaches over and tries to smooth and tame Simon’s hair before his grabbed Simon’s ear in a pinch.

“OW! NIK!”

“That’s for stealing my shit. Now go take Riley out before he explodes.”

Simon jumps up and goes to get Riley, Nik opening the door and letting the boy run through with the squirming puppy. Simon went down the stairs at a nerve-racking speed before he took Riley to the back door to let him into the back garden. Breakfast was almost done, Kyle and John just waiting for Nik and Simon to join Farah at the table.

“What was with the thumping upstairs?”

Nik just grinned, “Waking up Simon.”

#🫠 #call of duty #modern warfare #teen!ghost au #simon ghost riley #cod nikolai #john price #kyle gaz garrick #farah karim #soapghost #ghostsoap #pricenik #drabble #ficlet #ask #thanks for the ask <3 #dad price #dad john price #dad nik #dad nikolai #later nik takes simon shopping

[bratphilia]

nsfw alphabet: mike schmidt

note: i am a nsfw alphabet virgin so please be kind ^-^ also the wild card was so self indulgent byeskdj

taglist: @dilfity

a = aftercare

mike checks up on you, during and after sex. he brings you water and anything sweet. will also take a shower or bath with you that sometimes ends in round two.

b = body part

doesn't have one tbh. he's obsessed with your boobs, big or small, he likes to make the peaks harden with his fingers while the other is in his mouth. he loves clutching at your chest when you're riding him and looking at your pair while you suck him off. but he's also an ass man — again — big or small. loves to smack it, grab it, knead it, or finish on it.

c = cum

only comes inside when he's pussy-drunk and forgets to pull out. he doesn't want kids but he'll entertain the idea of coming inside if you have a breeding kink, then he'll just buy you a plan b. again, loves to pull out and come on your chest or ass.

d = dirty secret

wants you to tie him up when he's feeling needy, OR wants you to call him daddy.

e = experience

a lot of mike's experience comes from random occurences, such as high school flings, but since he's been taking care of his sister he hasn't had much of his adult life to explore sex that much. he watched a lot of porn to cope with the sexual frustration and it's hard for him to build relationships with women outside his family. it's complicated.

f = favorite position

LOVES IT WHEN YOU RIDE HIM. he gets to see everything, from your pretty little reactions, the way is cock disappears inside and reappears outside your pussy, and he gets to play with your tits

g = goofy

sometimes he'll laugh at some of the things he says when he's dirty talking to you like he can't believe he just said it. he also sometimes can't keep a straight face if you two are roleplaying. other than that, sex is no laughing matter to him.

h = hair

his hair is as messy as the hair on his head. enough said.

i = intimacy

varies based on the context leading up to sex. sex used to mean a lot more to him meaning he would always make it romantic, passionate love making, but he's getting used to more rough sex and quickies.

j = jack off

his favorite way to get off is either you telling him what you want to do to him, or just masturbating to photos of you, purposefully sexy or not.

k = kink

i've included this in two fics so far and i'll say it again: he has a huge voyeurism kink. he doesn't necessarily want to watch someone else fuck you... but if he did? fuck, it would get him hard. he moreso wants someone to watch you guys.

l = location

bedroom but sometimes he can't just help it!! there's no time for when or how, he'll just have to have you right then and there. this is where he really gets annoying because the public teasing goes crazy with mike.

m = motivation

i kid you not he is literally like a wild cat that goes into heat every now and then. however, if you're wearing something of his (especially the classic big t-shirt + panties combo) he just can't contain himself. he's also very much motivated by his anger and stress.

n = no

would never do something that you guys didn't talk about first. he MIGHT entertain the idea of cnc, but you guys would have to go through every explicit detail of what you want him to do to you.

o = oral

blowjobs are fine. they get him off. but mans is the biggest munch that ever munched. he will literally come in his pants while you're riding his face, no stimulation required.

p = pace

again, depends on the mood and the context leading to sex. if he's in a needy mood, he's practically humping your leg and thrusting in erratically and babbling incoherent words. when he wants to be rougher, he'll push your face into the mattress and just pound into you.

q = quickie

king of quickies. they tend to be the most efficient way to fuck when he's a caretaker at his age.

r = risk

things have to be discussed beforehand, in very explicit detail. he honestly wouldn't know what to do to you otherwise. he just wants to satisfy you!!

s = stamina

he'd honestly just be happy as long as he can give you head and make you orgasm at least twice. that's enough for him.

t = toys

would never personally buy a toy but would use the fuck out of them to tease you with if you had any. but vibrators ONLY. he hates anything being inserted into you that isn't his cock, tongue, or fingers.

u = unfair

loves to tease and edge, but it depends on how much time you have and the situation. if it's out in public, he's teasing you and there's a twenty percent chance he'll actually let you come.

v = volume

has surprisingly trained himself to keep quiet for the sake of his sister, but a whimper escapes him every now and then. he loves to tell you to "shut the fuck up" when you need to be quiet.

w = wild card

if you dated him before and during the events at freddy's, you would be right there with him at his career counselling appointment, where he caught his counselor raking his eyes up and down your body. he decided, intrigued, he wants to try a threesome.

x = x-ray

average but very girthy. maybe about 5 inches?? i don't really see him as a grower.

y = yearning

he literally has two moods: in heat or dom. literally the definition of a switch.

z = zZz

he takes sleeping pills after you guys fuck, but tries to stay awake until you've fallen asleep first.

#fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut

[cherrychilli]

MDNI, NSFW, AFAB reader, divorced Dilf! Steve, Babysitter reader, oral sex(M), cum play, age gap (Steve is in his early 40's, reader is in her early 20's)

A/N: This takes place before the events of my first Dilf! Steve drabble. I'm also working on another drabble about the first time they did the deed so look out for that!)

You scrutinize your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you fix your hair and dab on a fresh coating of scented lip balm over your lips. You'd much prefer your signature shade of lipstick and an outfit different to the t-shirt and skirt combo that you're currently dressed in but this is the best you can afford to do without raising any suspicion. You needed to be careful. You didn't want to be made the subject of the latest small town scandal and you knew people would start to ask questions if they ever saw you getting all dolled up to babysit at Steve Harrington's house.

You saunter into his study once you're ready, closing the door gently behind you and turning the key for good measure. You find him at his desk where he's been for the past few hours, looking both pensive and deflated as he poured over paperwork. You'd been sneaking glances at him all day, growing resentful of the work that held his attention. That wasn't all. Feelings of sympathy tugged at you too. It was hard to ignore when seeing the stack of thick files piled next to him and the empty coffee mug with World's Best Dad blown up in big black lettering now cold and pushed aside after several refills. He looks up from the handful of important looking papers fanned across his desk when you enter, assessing you over the rim of his reading glasses. He notices how your skirt appears shorter now than it did earlier thanks to some intentional adjusting when you readied yourself in the guest bathroom.

He knows now. Steve looked forward to your "surprise visits" but he never failed to get the formalities out of the way first.

"The kids?", he asks, expression neutral.

"Asleep. Completely wiped out after playing with the Donovan boys", you inform him, leaning over his desk to let your cleavage show. He allows his gaze to fall to your chest now that the two of you are alone, something he tried very hard (and sometimes failed) to keep from doing when others were around, Not that anyone had noticed, thankfully.

"And Martha?"

The kids were one thing but Steve's housekeeper was the one who really kept you on your toes, unbeknownst even to her. There was always the chance she might notice a lingering look or subtle touch and realize something bigger was going on right under her own nose. She'd also have more credibility if she were to tell people that there was something going on between Mr. Harrington and the pretty babysitter nearly half his age. The kids on the other hand who although were the sweetest, were much less likely to be believed. They were still in that phase where they spouted the occasional harmless yet wildly imaginative lie in the hopes of impressing friends and grownups.

"Out shopping for tonight's dinner", you assured him with a coy smile.

You walk around the corner of his desk, hips swaying as he turns his chair to face you. Martha may be gone for now but she had proved she was worth the money she was paid. She was efficient, reliable and punctual above all else, meaning you wouldn't have as much time as you would have liked to be alone together. Foregoing any kind of buildup, you drop to your knees, hands reaching to toy with Steve's belt. "Wanna suck your cock, Mr. Harrington", you announced. It was blunt, you knew and gathering from his widened eyes you were certain he thought so too.

"Please, can I?", you begged, voice sticky like honey and dripping with urgency.

You can see the traces of fatigue starting to fade from his features as he cups your cheek with a large palm, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, all soft and plush from the balm. You're already undoing his belt, popping open the button on his pants and pulling at the zip. "You've been so tense lately" you cooed. "Working so hard. All those late nights", you reminded. "I Just want to help you unwind."

You reach inside to rub him over his boxers, parting your lips at the same time to lick at his thumb. "Shit", he hisses. He'd only fucked your mouth once before - and just barely because that tryst was cut short when Martha had come back home after forgetting her purse one night. You hid behind the kitchen island when you heard the front door open, crouched down by Steve's legs with your lips all puffy and slick with spit and precum. You cowered while he pretended to have come in for a glass of water as he so explained, or more so stammered, to Martha who hadn't asked because why would she? it was his house. What was so unusual about wanting a drink of water in your own house? She might have suspected something if she didn't already think you had been sent home for the day, not knowing that you were staying over after hours when she was off the clock and the kids had been put to bed. As she politely collected her purse and left for the second time the both of you agreed, no more fooling around unless it's behind locked doors.

His length was already growing stiff as he watched you on your knees, begging to have his cock in your mouth like some naughty fantasy come to life. Maybe you were right, he thought. Maybe he had been working too hard lately. Maybe he had been sifting through files and contracts for a few hours too long and the exhaustion had numbed him momentarily because why the hell hadn't he started unzipping his pants himself the moment you got on your knees for him?

"Fuck- alright", he relented, suddenly feeling more enlivened than he had been the entire day as he helped you to pull his boxers down. Your expression turns glassy as you stare at his cock when it bobs free, saliva pooling in your mouth. He was bigger than anyone you'd ever been with before and you found that you were still getting used to it. You wrap your fingers around his impressive girth as best you can and lap at the blurt of precum weeping from his tip, catching it on your tongue and sucking it into your mouth in a filthy display. "Jesus Christ" he groans, balls feeling tight at the sight of you like this. A distant cry from the reputable young woman people thought you to be. "Tell me how you like it", you request, breath fanning over his cock as you pant softly. "I wanna make you feel good, Mr. Harrington". He curses again under his breath because how can you look so sweet and sincere when you're begging for something as indecent as having your mouth full of him.

"Okay I-uh, I like it a little messy", he admits. "Can you spit on it? 'want you to get it really wet for me, sweetheart".

You do as he says, first spitting into your palm to wrap around him again and then leaning closer to dribble some spit onto his tip and rest of his shaft to help coat him.

"Little more- Yeah, just like that...start moving your hand, baby- squeeze it a little, okay?"

You pump him just as he instructed, only speeding up when he tells you to. It's still on the slower side - a steady, rhythmic schlick that fills your ears and makes your belly burn. You don't put your mouth on him. Not yet because he hasn't given you permission. You're trying to be obedient, not knowing that he's getting off on the desperate look on your face as your eyes flick back and forth from his erection and his face. You work yourself up even more at the taste the fruity balm when you bite your lip, wishing once again that you'd been able to dress up for him just so he could ruin your pretty lipstick till his cock bears messy traces of your favorite shade. You're growing more needy as you listen to all the noises spilling out of him, deep throaty groans and half restrained moans that have you rubbing your thighs together in search of some kind of friction. You don't want to divert from the way he's guiding you but you can't hold off wanting to taste him any longer. "Mr. Harrington, please, can I suck it? I want to feel it in my mouth again", you whimper meekly.

You've got his cock in your hand and you're the one begging? He chuckles softly at that. "Go ahead, get your pretty lips on me", he finally grants.

You're on him quick, popping his fat head in your mouth and wrapping your lips around it. You suck gently at first, hand still stroking his base and when you begin to bob your head you moan around him like you've been starved for this. "That's it, baby- shit keep going", he encourages you. You grow bolder when his hand weaves into your hair and you take him in further and further until you feel him bump the back of your throat. Tears gather in your eyes then as you choke, throat clamping around him when you gag, squeezing his cock. "Fuck", he tightens his grip on your hair. "Do that again", he watches you with half lidded eyes, tears spilling down your face as you struggle to take it.

You can feel the spit and precum seeping out of the corners of your mouth and trail down your chin. It's messy, just as he asked for and he praises you again and again. "You're doing so well, baby- making me feel so good", hips bucking up lightly into your mouth. Every time you pull off for air, spit and precum web from his throbbing length to your panting lips. You lick up the underside of his cock hungrily after you catch your breath, following the gentle curve of it, feeling the veins pulse and throb when your tongue glides over the sensitive skin. When you reach his ruddy tip again, you swirl your tongue around it, eyes never leaving his.

"Want your cum", you puff out desperately, voice hoarse from having having him fuck your throat. "Please?"

You see his expression shift and you're just about to ask him if he's close when he cuts you off with a curt command. "Get up".

You worry you've done something wrong until he's flipping you around and pressing you against his desk. He hastily pushes the fanned out papers to the side, letting them flutter and strew on the floor.

"Hands on the desk", he growls. You plant them there without question, whimpering when you feel him pull at your skirt. He holds the material up with one hand, yanking your soaked panties down your thighs with the other.

"M-Mr. Harrington?" you stutter, never finishing the question but he knows what you mean to ask. Are you going to fuck me?. You want him to. Desperately. But you know there's no time. Martha would be home any minute now and you couldn't risk having her wonder where you were. There'd be no way to hide what you'd been doing if she caught you sneaking out of Steve's study, looking like this.

"Not this time, sweetheart", he answers, kicking your legs apart as he strokes his cock between your thighs. "'Gonna give you what you asked for."

You gasp when you feel it, ropes of his cum catching on your inner thighs and the gusset of your panties. You quiver in place when he pulls your panties up, pressing his hot wet release right up against you. He fixes himself behind you as you process the mess between you legs, circling your hips experimentally so you can feel it spread between your folds.

"You've got an hour left, right?", he breaths low against your ear. You nod your head when your voice fails you, feeling spent. "You're going to wear these home today", he commands, his fingers snaking under your skirt to circle your clit over your soiled panties. "Want you to think of me while you drip", pressing a kiss against your tear stained cheek. "And tomorrow you're going to come in early so I can fuck you proper, understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Harrington", you manage to answer this time, tone taking on a pitiful whine.

"Good. Now go get cleaned up".

#steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington #stranger things #dilf! steve harrington #dilf! steve harrington smut

[crazyunsexycool]

My little love

Thanksgiving Day

Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning: fluffiness!!

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: here’s a little Drabble for our favorite family. I wasn’t so happy with how it ended but I’ve only slept for 6 hours in the last 48👍🏻🥺😴

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Henry had his hair pulled back and his apron on. Big beautiful blue eyes followed your every movement. From his place on the step stool he helped you work. You needed to get back to your normal routine and what was more normal than cooking with Henry?

With a smile on his face he does as you ask. Music plays softly from a speaker and you ask him what he was up to while you were gone. It’s a sweet back and forth as you both move around the kitchen. Henry’s found a love for cooking and you’re more than happy to encourage him. Sometimes Lottie helps but she makes more of a mess than anything. Those days were fun too but Henry was taking this very seriously. You watched as he focused on the task in front of him. Furrowed brows and his tongue poking out as he made sure his job was done perfectly.

“Is this good mama?” He looks up at you.

“It’s perfect. Now we have to get everything in the pot.”

You spend the rest of the morning working on a few different dishes. Lottie and Bucky walk in every so often, mostly to be taste testers. When it gets closer to dinner time everyone gets ready to head to the shared dining room.

****

You were grateful that Sophia had bought the kids an outfit for thanksgiving dinner. There were so many things going on that it was the last thing on your mind but it was their first major holiday and they deserved something special. Lottie wore a shirt and skirt combo with her hair half up and a bow to finish off the look. While Henry left his hair down, his outfit was a t-shirt and jeans. You and Bucky went with sweaters and jeans, something simple but comfortable.

It was good that Tony decided that this year would be family only. Your dad was in the living room watching football with Sophia, Steve, Tony, Joshua and Clint. Bucky joined them after dropping off some of the dishes you’d made. Sam, Sarah, Laura, Pepper, Molly, Luke and now you were going back and forth in the kitchen while the kids ran off to play.

Once everything was ready everyone gathered at the table, even the kids. Everybody got a chance to say what they were grateful for and Henry was next. He kneeled on his chair so that he could be seen.

“I-um,” he looked over at you and Bucky, the nerves getting the better of him. “I’m thankful that you’re my family.”

Some awed at his words.

“I’m thankful that you found me and I don’t have to be with the bad men anymore.” He looks over at Lottie before his eyes settle on you and Bucky. “And I’m thankful for having baby back and that you’re my daddy and my mama.”

Henry gets off his chair and stands between you and Bucky so that he can hug you both. Then he gives Lottie a kiss on the cheek and settles back down on his chair.

Lottie, having picked up what everyone was saying, stands up on her chair. She gets shy for a moment but with some encouragement she speaks up.

“Am tankful fo’ bubba.” She says first and then she lists all of her aunts and uncles and gwandpa, “an am tankful fo’ Steebie.” She gives him a big smile before turning to you. “Am tankful fo’ habing mama home. An habing dada, I lobe dada.” She gets a bit tearful at the end and she reaches for you and then Bucky.

By this point you’re wrecked emotionally but you speak anyway.

“Well,” you clear your throat. “I’m very thankful that I have you all in my life. I’m grateful for being here today, which wouldn’t have been possible without all of you. Most importantly I’m so thankful for you.” You turn to look at Bucky. “Bucky, you make me so happy and I love you so much. I’m so thankful for Henry and Charlotte. I’m so happy to be your mama.” You turn to them to find them both teary eyed. “You two are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Everyone turns to look at Bucky and he rolls his eyes. You chuckle and elbow him lightly.

“Fine.” He huffs before smiling. “Everything Y/N said.”

Sam throws a bread roll at Bucky which causes everyone to laugh while Sam boos.

“Say something.”

“I’m grateful for everyone except Sam.”

Again everyone laughs.

“But really, I am thankful for all of you. You helped me and the kids during one of the hardest times for us.” Bucky turns and takes your hand. “I’m thankful to have you in my life. I love you so much and you are the best mother to our kids. After being freed I never thought I’d find someone that could love me or want to have children with me and here you are proving me wrong. I’m so lucky to be a father to two of the sweetest kids I’ve ever met.” Bucky leans forward and winks at Lottie and Henry. “I love you two so much. Finally I’m thankful for Ed. You’re a great man, I wouldn’t have made it through the last three months without you.”

“Now that’s a speech.”

“Hey pops, why don’t you carve the turkey?” Tony says as he hands the knife over to Eddie.

“Everyone pay attention. I’m gonna show you how it’s done.”

Dinner was great. Everyone laughed and talked amongst themselves. Henry was praised for the food he helped cook. You could tell how proud he was and you’d told him as much.

After dinner and the clean up everyone moved to the shared living room. There was some dancing, games were played and tipsy karaoke happened. During most of this you and Bucky had taken the love seat. Bucky had one leg stretched out on the couch allowing you to sit with your back resting against his chest. His arms kept you safe and close as your hands intertwined with his. Bucky would press kisses every so often against your temple or he’d comment on whatever was happening. Both of you happily watched the others joke around or sang along. The kids couldn’t contain their happiness as they kept running up to the two of you and expressing how much fun they were having.

Later when the kids were in bed, falling asleep easily from all of their excitement over their first thanksgiving and you were in Bucky’s arms, you couldn’t help but think back at what you survived. It was over and you were back home in the arms of the man you loved and your sweet little ones.

There were so many more firsts the kids would be experiencing and you were thankful that you’d get to be there with them.

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[sequinsmile-x]

Haze

Their toddler is sick and sleeping in their bed, so Aaron and Emily have some...alone time in the shower.

-x-

Hi friends,

It's been a little while since I wrote some smut so here we are. This is very much a combo of smut and family/domestic fluff - so I hope you enjoy it <3

This is a little gift for my bestie @cloudlessly-light!

Please let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: Smut, 18+, their kid throws up but it's not in any detail

Words: 3.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron steps out of the ensuite into the master bedroom and smiles when he sees his wife and youngest son snuggled together in bed. Emily smiles up at him as she runs her fingers through Elliot’s hair, slowly lulling the two-year-old to sleep.

“He still has a fever,” Emily says, briefly pressing her palm against Elliot's head and wincing at the temperature of it, “The Tylenol helped, but he still feels rough,” she presses her lips together and sighs sadly, her heart aching as it always did when one of the boys were sick, “He told me his stomach feels icky.” 

Aaron smiles as he climbs into bed with them, “When I spoke to his teacher at Daycare she said it’s been going around for a few weeks,” he says, leaning in to stamp a kiss against her lips before he pulls back, settling onto his side of the bed, “He’ll be okay in a couple of days.” 

“I know,” she says, biting the inside of her cheek as she looks down at her son, the sight of his flushed skin making her stomach churn, “Doesn’t make it any easier to watch.” 

He shifts closer, careful to not disturb Elliot as he loops his arm around Emily’s shoulders. He remembered the first time Jack got sick after they got together, how she’d immediately become his son’s place of comfort. It had always been the case with Elliot too, the little boy had always been all about his mother since the moment he was born. Aaron couldn’t blame his sons for it, he knew it was one of the many things they got from him, her comfort and embrace something he craved, something he can’t remember living without. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he says sympathetically, “but he’ll be back to his normal self in-”

Aaron is cut off as Elliot suddenly sits up, just lifting his head from Emily’s chest far enough to throw up, taking him and both of his parents by surprise. Emily grimaces as it gets all over the sheets and she feels some of it land on her t-shirt, but she puts her own discomfort aside and rubs her son’s back as Aaron stands up and quickly steps into the bathroom to grab the trashcan and he brings it back out, placing it in front of his son.

“You’re okay, sweet boy,” Emily says, rubbing his back as he finishes, sniffing as he looks up at her, his face sticky with tears, “You all done?”

“Sorry, Mama,” he says as he nods, his eyes shining as his chin trembles. 

“Oh, it’s okay baby,” she says, smiling up at Aaron as he nods in agreement with her, “You didn’t mean to get sick. Why don’t we get you cleaned up?” 

Elliot nods and she smiles at him, cupping his cheek for a moment before she stands up and lifts him onto her hip. She turns to look at Aaron and sighs gratefully when she sees he’s already got fresh bedding out, that she was lucky enough to be married to someone whom she didn’t need to ask to help. 

“I’ll take the opportunity to give him a lukewarm bath,” she says, walking towards the ensuite, “Try and get his fever down a little more.” 

“Okay, sweetheart,” he replies, “I’ll get everything sorted in here,” he can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was barely holding herself together because their little boy was sick. The kids had always been her Achilles heel, the chink in her anchor. He smiles at her, “Remember when we used to change the sheets before bed for fun reasons?” 

She laughs, shaking her head at him as she does so, “Feels like a long time ago right now.” 

He winks at her, “We still have a lot of fun.”

She smiles gratefully at him for cheering her up a little, for knowing her well enough to know how to. 

“We can have some fun when someone is back in his own bed,” she says as she turns into the bathroom and places Elliot down on the closed toilet seat. She kneels in front of him and smiles encouragingly as she starts to help him out of his pjyamas. “You’ll feel better after a bath, Eli,” she says, pulling his pyjama shirt over the top of his head and tossing it towards the hamper, “And then we’ll get back into bed.” 

“I made mess,” he says, his eyes still shining up at her, and she swears she can hear her heart break. She wishes she could make him feel better, that she could take the sickness away from him and endure it herself, but she settles for what she can do - provide the comfort he needs.

“It’s okay, you didn’t do it on purpose,” she says, repeating what she’d said in the bedroom as she stands up and starts running a bath, “And Daddy is cleaning it all up,” she smiles as she leans down, making a point of winking at him to try and make him smile, “He’s always clearing up my messes.” 

Elliot giggles, the sound briefly warming her chest until it turns into a cough. She lifts him, carrying him over to the bath and gently lowering him into it. She gives a bath, smiling to herself as he starts to get sleepy even though he’s sitting in lukewarm water. By the time she’s done and wrapping him up in a fluffy towel the door to the bathroom opens and Aaron pops his head in, smiling softly at Emily.

“The bed is all done,” he says, stepping into the room, “And I got some fresh pjyamas for him out of his room,” he watches as Emily lifts Elliot onto her hip, the toddler snuggled up in the towel she’d wrapped him in. Emily had always been beautiful to Aaron, even long before he had a right to think it back when he was married to someone else. She’d only got more beautiful over the years, impossibly more gorgeous to him as time went on. He’d seen her in designer dresses and tailor-made suits, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen her more beautiful than she was right now - standing in their ensuite, their youngest son wrapped up in her arms and vomit stains on her t-shirt. He smiles as he steps towards them, his arms offered out towards Elliot, “Want me to take him? I can get him ready for bed and you can jump in the shower if you want,” the corner of his lips turn up into a smile, “You definitely got the worst of it.” 

She nods, the feel of her t-shirt sticking to her skin was driving her crazy, and she knew she couldn’t get back into fresh sheets without washing her hair. She presses a kiss to Elliot’s head before she passes him over.

“You go with Daddy, okay?” 

She’s grateful when the toddler doesn’t argue, simply resting his head against Aaron’s shoulder in a way that lets her know he’ll be asleep in minutes. She blows out a breath as she walks towards the shower, stripping herself of her pyjamas and dumping them in the hamper alongside Elliot’s. 

She relaxes as soon as the hot water hits her skin, immediately easing some of the tension in her back and shoulders. She washes her hair twice, humming softly to herself as she does so. She smiles when she hears the door to the bathroom open again, and she peers out of the shower, her smile getting wider as she watches Aaron close the door behind him. 

“Is he okay?” She asks, and Aaron nods in response.

“Already fast asleep,” he replies, the heat of the bathroom cloying, the steam flowing through the room letting him know his wife had the temperature up high just like she always did. He can’t bring himself to care as he watches droplets of water running down the soft valleys of her skin, freckles and scars and curves he was intimately familiar with almost shining in the low light of the room. He feels his sweatpants get a little tighter and he steps towards the shower, already taking his t-shirt off as he speaks,  “Need help in there?” 

She chuckles as she turns to look at him, her expression turning incredulous as she sees that he’s serious, standing in front of her as he reveals that he’s already half hard as he takes off his sweatpants.

“Are you serious?” She asks, shaking her head at him, ignoring how she can feel the heat building in her belly, “I’m literally showering because I had to get our kid’s vomit out of my hair.” 

He smiles at her as he steps into the shower, “When will you learn I always want you?” He asks, his voice rough, choked full of desire in a way that makes her stomach flip. Her mouth goes dry and she licks her lips, her gaze fixed on his as he stares at her.

“Maybe you should show me again,” she says, all pretence that she didn’t want this too gone in a second as he steps even closer, guiding her out of the stream of water and pressing her against the wall. It makes her whimper, the contrast between the heat of the air and him sharp in comparison to the cool tile wall, “Remind me.” 

He’s kissing her before she’s even finished speaking, his hard firm on her jaw as he holds her in place. She moans and he takes the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth as his other hand drifts to her waist, pulling her closer as they continue to kiss. She pulls away when the need to breathe takes over and she smiles at him, her eyes glazed over and her lips already swollen. 

“We’ll have to be quick,” she says, licking her lips to chase the taste of him, “There’s a toddler in our bed.” 

He smirks at her, leaning down to press his lips against her ear, sending goose pimples across her skin, “I think we both know I don’t need much time to take you apart, sweetheart.” 

She narrows her eyes, a challenge already on the tip of her tongue that dies as he reaches between them, his thumb delicate and fleeting against her clit. She grasps his arms, her short nails digging into his skin as he smirks against her neck. He starts to rub circles against her and she groans, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. He kisses along her neck, licking droplets of water from her skin as she tightens her grip on him. 

“Aaron,” she breathes out, his name trapped in her throat, “I need-”

He already knows what she needs, he always did, and he slips his hand between her legs, encouraging her to widen her stance as he slips two fingers inside of her, pride flashing in his chest as she immediately clenches around him. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, kissing down her chest as she rests her head back against the wall of the shower, “Let me make you feel good,” he licks over one of her nipples, smiling as she involuntarily thrusts her hips against his hand, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

“Holy fuck,” she grits out, rolling her hips against his hand again, silently asking for more. She trails her nails down his sides, taking some satisfaction in how he shivers when she reaches his hips. 

He wraps her hand around him, smirking as he groans against her breast as she starts to pump him up and down. He kisses his way back up to her mouth, swallowing the moan she lets out as he changes the angle of the fingers he has pumping inside of her, his palm pressed against her clit. She clenches around his fingers and he feels her thighs start to shake. He pulls away from her lips, pressing a kiss to her cheek and then her jaw, his words muffled against her skin. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he says, nipping at her throat as she does just that, her hands shifting to his back as she pulls him closer, fire burning through her veins as she leaves red trails on his skin, “That’s it,” he croons, “You’re so fucking perfect.” 

She pulls him in for a kiss, desperate to feel his lips against hers as she comes down from her high, every nerve ending sparking as she sighs into his mouth. He places his hand on her hip, his skin slippery from her and the water still falling around them and he pulls back from the kiss, his forehead against hers as he smiles.

“Turn around,” he says, kissing her again, his teeth briefly sinking into her lower lip as she nods. 

He helps turn her, his skin hot against her skin, making her shiver as he presses her against the wall, her breath catching in her chest as her nipples press against the tiles. He’s warm and pressed right up against her, the feeling overwhelming as he reaches between them, guiding himself into her. 

She gasps at the familiar stretch, her palms against the smooth wall as she tries to grasp at something. Aaron places his hands over hers, linking their fingers together as he rests his forehead against the back of her neck, grinding his teeth at the tightness of her, at the way she clenches around him. 

“You feel so good, Em,” he chokes out, sinking his teeth into her shoulder, “So fucking good.” 

“You do too,” she replies, breathless, feeling so full, so surrounded, by him that she can barely breathe, “You need to move, please move.” 

He’d never been able to deny her anything, so he starts to move, slowly moving his hips back and forth, purposely dragging pleasure out of her, well aware that it drove her crazy when he took her like this. She pushes her hips back against him, chasing him, silently asking him for more. He was huge, stretching her almost to her limit every time. 

The first time they’d done this, years ago now, he’d put off sleeping with her for weeks, eventually leading her to yell at him, her own insecurities peeking through until he admitted he was worried he’d hurt her. He was always exactly what she needed. Desperate and rough when she needed release that way, or soft and gentle, hands delicate on her skin, when she needed to be reminded of how much he loves her. 

The angle of him combined with the press of him behind her, the steam in the air that makes it harder to catch her breath, makes her orgasm build up quickly. She’s not even sure she came down from her first one entirely, her body still twitching against his. 

“I’m close,” she grits out, and he smiles against her cheek, encouraging her to turn her head enough to look at him. 

“I can tell,” he says, kissing her fiercely, “You get so tight when you’re like this,” he says, moving one of his hands down, gently circling her clit, knowing it was the last push she needs, “Come for me again, sweetheart.” 

She kisses him as she tips over the edge, her scream of his name muffled against his lips, something she’s grateful for because she’s not sure the sound of the shower would have covered it. 

He isn’t far behind her, his hips starting to stutter against hers as she rests her forehead against his temple, encouraging him with soft and filthy words as he tips over the edge, coming deep inside of her with a growl. 

They still for a moment, content in their embrace against the wall in silence until she chuckles and shakes her head, “You really are insatiable.” 

He laughs and kisses her again before he pulls back, raising his eyebrow at her as she turns to look at him, “You’re one to talk.” 

She narrows her eyes at him but kisses him quickly before she steps back into the stream of the water, “Come on, we actually should shower now.” 

They wash each other, hands soft and gentle where they’d been desperate and grasping only minutes before. She laughs as he carefully lathers her soap on her skin, pressing his lips against her shoulder as the bubbles wash down the drain.

He steps out of the shower first, reaching for a towel for her and passing it to her before he gets one for himself. 

“I got some clean pjyamas out for you,” he says, kissing her cheek as he wraps his towel low on his hips, watching intently as she starts to dry her skin, “They’re just on the bed in there.” 

She groans appreciatively and walks over to kiss his cheek, “You’re the best husband I’ve ever had.” 

“I’m the only husband you’ve ever had,” he replies, kissing the corner of her lips, catching the chuckle she lets out, “I’ll meet you in there.” 

He makes quick work of changing back into his pjyamas, and he picks up the clothes from the floor that had missed the hamper and places them in there, making a mental note that he’d add them to the washer in the morning once the bedding was clean. 

He walks into the bedroom and smiles when he once again finds Emily and Elliot cuddled up on her side of the bed. 

“He didn’t even wake up when I moved him to get into my side,” she says quietly, “Poor little thing.” 

Aaron climbs into bed and kisses her before he kisses his son’s forehead, “His fever is down a little though, so the bath helped.” 

She hums, the sound turning into a yawn as she looks at him, “I guess being thrown up on does have its advantages.” 

He scoffs, faking offence as he shakes his head at her, “I thought what just happened in the shower was an advantage.” 

She smiles, but is cut off from saying anything when there’s a knock on the door before Jack walks in, a slightly dazed look on his face as he walks in, clearly half asleep. 

“Mom, Dad, I feel sick.” 

They both sigh internally and exchange a look, having a brief and silent conversation before Aaron lifts the covers on his side of the bed, “Come on buddy, come sleep with us.” 

Jack crawls into the bed and gets in between them, curling his arm over his little brother, “Love you guys.” 

“We love you too, honey,” Emily says, reaching out and pushing some of his hair off his forehead, smiling when she sees he’s already half asleep again. She looks up at her husband, “We’re never going to sleep in here alone again, are we?”

He shakes his head, “No sweetheart, we aren’t,” he smirks at her, “But at least we’ve got the shower.” 

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss fan fic #aaron hotchner smut #emily prentiss smut #hotchniss smut

[jackwolfes]

oh oh oh!! could I please request a wesper drabble for 5/6/73? any or all or a combo if any of those call to you in any way! love your writing <3

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” / “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” Prompts: [1] [2]

“We shouldn’t be doing this—”

Wylan snorts into the curve of Jesper’s throat, unable to help it. Jesper whines at him for it, but (Wylan notes this with complete pleasure) he doesn’t take his hand off of Wylan’s waist. Under the thin fabric of his t-shirt, his palm is warm.

“Merchling, I mean it—” 

Wylan nips Jesper’s throat just to be petty, then pulls away. “Ghezen’s hand, Jesper, why else are you naked in my bed?”

Jesper gives him a flat stare. “I already told you.”

“Well, I spilled kvas on my shirt is not a very good explanation!” 

Jesper takes the time to readjust where he’s lying flat atop Wylan’s mattress, leaning into the weight of his elbow and taking his hand off Wylan's waist so he can lift his fingers one at a time where Wylan can see. “First, it was a dress. Second, it was a lot of kvas. Third, I don’t think that you would have liked finding me in the middle of your bedroom with my dick out any more than you liked finding me under your bed sheets. If I were you, I’d be grateful that I bothered to hide instead of flashing you.”

It takes Wylan pressing his lips together tight enough to pinch for him to keep quiet. He imagines that he would have liked finding Jesper standing fully naked and unabashed quite a lot, actually. Then again, he did also like finding out that Jesper was naked under his sheets, too, once he was sure that he was on his own and hadn’t snuck away from Wylan’s birthday to shag someone in his bed. 

Too curious for his own good, a dozen more questions buzz for attention in Wylan’s head. Where are your tights? Why didn’t you go to the bathroom? Did you really come to my birthday party without wearing any underwear? Can we put all this behind us and take this further, please? Why don’t you think we should be doing this? 

Much to Wylan’s dismay, that last one rings loudest in his head. He sits back just far enough to give Jesper a little bit more space, although Jesper doesn’t sit up properly. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

“Saints, no,” Jesper blurts out. A look of concern flickers in Jesper’s eyes, blink and you’ll miss it quick, but Wylan sees it anyway. “Unless you want to—”

“I don’t,” Wylan interrupts. “You seemed like you wanted to stop!”

Jesper groans. “Oh, Nina’s going to kill me for this. There’s meant to be a surprise. In about—” He glances at the little alarm clock on Wylan’s nightstand, then winces. “— two minutes ago. Saints, I’m dead.”

Wylan’s eyebrows raise. “A surprise?” 

“It’s your birthday, kid. We weren’t just going to not surprise you.”

Gently, Wylan’s cheeks heat. “You did surprise me. Pretty spectacularly, Jes.”

He can’t say that he ever expected his birthday party to culminate in his best friend completely naked in his bed, or for that discovery to devolve into them senselessly and desperately rutting against each other, but he hardly minds. Jesper has been the object of his affections for months, if not years, and the idea that he would ever feel even slightly the same is quite possibly the best birthday miracle Wylan could have hoped for. 

Jesper doesn’t say anything, but he does get that grossly smitten look in his eye that makes Wylan’s stomach flip. He gnaws a little nervously at his bottom lip. “So you want to keep kissing me?” 

“Of course I do,” Jesper says, as if the notion of thinking otherwise is perfectly ridiculous. “I just don’t want you to miss out on your birthday gift.”

Affection blooms spectacularly in Wylan’s chest, which makes it incredibly difficult for him to pull away, but he manages — somehow. “Okay,” he finally says. “I still have questions—”

“When don’t you.”

“— but I suppose they can wait for later.” 

Jesper blows out a breath, looking a little flushed. “Later. Sure.” 

Privately, Wylan smiles. He sits up, willing the flush on his cheeks to calm. Jesper’s dress is hanging by the window to air out — and, in his defence, it does look like there was quite a lot of kvas. Wylan can just about spot Jesper’s fishnet tights on the back of his desk chair, too, which at the very least answers one question. 

He turns over his shoulder to look at Jesper, lying flat in his bed with a blanket haphazardly pulled over his crotch but not doing much to hide the fact he’s half-hard, or the beautiful expanse of dark skin from his bare chest. Wylan gives Jesper a happy little smile. 

“Later,” he confirms. “After you’ve given me the rest of my birthday gift.” 

Jesper lifts his eyebrows. “Who says I got you a present?” 

Wylan’s smile grows. He reaches behind himself and trails one finger slowly down the middle of Jesper’s chest, delighted by the way his mouth falls open and the sound of his weak, breathless little moan. He stops right before he gets to the edge of the blanket, and all it barely hides. 

“You little minx,” Jesper says weakly. “I changed my mind. Nina can wait. Stay in bed.”

“No, Jesper.”

“But—”

“Later.”

Jesper groans. “Oh, I hate you.”

Wylan laughs. “It’s my birthday!” 

Before he can stand Jesper shoots mostly upright, grabbing hold of Wylan around the waist and pulling him into a deep, dirty kiss. Sparks fly in the corner of his eyes and make him dizzy. This is the best birthday he’s ever had. 

“Alright, birthday boy. Ever had a birthday spanking before?” Jesper mumbles against his lips. Yeah, Wylan thinks, the best birthday he has ever had.

#thank you!!! i skipped 5 bc someone else req'd that one but enjoy the others :> #wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #six of crows #soc #wesper fic #soc fic #fics #asks #anon

[kerubimcrepin]

Exploring dofus-le-film.com and talking about movie-related events. [PART 1]

This will not go into the goldmine that is the interview Tot and Xa give about Joris. This is just a little, self-indulgent post. I hope you will enjoy it nevertheless.

The first silly action I took was extracting the site's icon and enlarging it in Aseprite, so here's your daily dose of cute official Joris pixel art. Anyway.

I love how the movie blurb literally lies about Khan being Joris's life-long idol.

CHARACTER BIOS.

Most of them include the information we already know, so I will only be pointing out things I personally find interesting.

For example - this art here depicts Joris's bald head under the hood as very round. Very useful info for us joris enjoyers. Reblog to slap his bald head, like to slap his bald head.

(Hacks up blood) Deeply caring in nature... papa poule... It is the second time, when Kerubim is called that, in his character bios, and I would like you to remember are these different explanations of this word combo:

I'm insane. I love him a lot.

Bakara is a pleasure to have in class :)

Anyway, I love how non-specific and non-alarming these character bios are. We can't scare the hoes by saying that beneath her cool exterior she wants to kill people around her and also drink 20 gallons of vodka, so "shy and stuck up" it shall be.

Again, it's hilarious how non-threatening these character bios are, considering Lilotte's whole parent thing is basically: (substitute "women" with "kids with families")

Coloring pages + Crayon Contest

A part of me wanted to be "haha, I colored all these coloring pages, for the Full Understanding of The Experience of this movie."

Then I realized that, as a person who is making a Joris painted music video, and had drawn at least 1:07 minutes worth of artwork of him and some other characters of this movie, I would rather-- [remembers that suicide jokes are bad] take cactus for a wife, than draw him for this blog too. I'm sorry.

Not much to be said about the contest, though this is epic:

This little Joris can be found at the bottom of the "win some crayons" page. It's cute.

BLOGPOSTS

This image was drawn for MIFA.

I want to unpack what is occurring here:

Goultard is holding his dragon boyfriend rather gayly on the shoulder. Interesting.

One of the candles landed in Nox's face?

Atcham, Joris, and Lilotte were holding the cake together. Lilotte is sitting on Yugo's shoulder, while Joris is standing on Kerubim's arms. It is reasonable to assume that Yugo turned to the camera, which made Lilotte turn as well, which made Atcham fall, which made Kerubim step away, and the only people carrying the cake who are still even a bit happy are Joris and Yugo.

Adamai is getting ready to catch Joris when in like 5 seconds all of them are going to be tumblring down Atcham-style.

Incredible. But this illustration is not the only gem that Annecy has brought us!

It also brought us more of Atcham being cool and awesome.

I'm insane.

There's more rare art here: these t-shirts featuring designs from a fan contest.

They were made in limited numbers. I'm including them here because we don't exactly have copies of the artwork, and I am insane about preserving art. It might be somewhere — but that somewhere is probably 2016 french facebook, so as far as I'm concerned, trying to seek these out is a lost cause.

Exclusive Merch

There were playing cards, and I am happy to report we DO have artwork for them in HD:

And also, here's a slightly higher definition little game sprite esque Joris:

This is the future crepinjurgenites want.

Kerubim VS Atcham Rigged Pet Contest

I am sad to report that Atchamheads have lost again, in this rigged contest. Imagine asking:

Would you like a fluffy guy you have watched an entire series about, or this bald guy who appears twice in the franchise?

At the very least, this gives us a canonical kitten Atcham design.

(Also, both of them were added, jsyk... Still salty though.)

Maliki Art

Maliki is a webcomic not made by Ankama, but with a long relationship and connection to Ankama due to being published by them in the past.

It's cute, really.

#dofusexploration #ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being Nekoma’s Emo Manager

Nekoma x Fem! Manager (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: probably swearing 🤷🏻‍♀️ idk if that’s even a warning

AN: this is an anon request! I realized I had it labeled from Spooky Anon but it wasn’t signed from Spooky anon 😅 so idk who it’s from.

*aggressively hits G note on piano and stares into your soul*

If you unaware of the song that made an entire generation, please google it

Also I will not argue this point because I have both age and vintage Emo on my side 😌

Now for a mini history lesson, the Emo I’m going to be referring to today was popular from the late 90s to late 2000s and into the 2010s

This means heavy black eyeliner, hair that defied gravity, neckties being used as anything but neckties

Black with hints of accent colors such as, but not limited too, pinks, orange, white, etc.

The days when TRL and MTV were the way to “stream” new music and hot topic was the source of all band t-shirts

Now that I’ve covered a small history lesson, let’s strap in shall we!

So get your check board belts and fingerless gloves ready kids!

Because it’s time to get EMOtional 😂

N E Ways- let’s just say, you classified yourself as an “Emo kid”

It wasn’t super unheard of to be different fashionably in school but you, well you were definitely a sight

Your hair was teased to the rafters, bows of every color along with skulls littered your hair

Your eye liner was the blackest black, and you skin looked like you hadn’t seen sun in decades 😅

You wore fishnet tights with vans or perhaps another skateboarding shoe

You looked pretty intimidating to most people who didn’t know you

I mean, your style doesn’t exactly scream approachable

However, the people who did know you, knew that your style of “dark and brooding” didn’t measure up AT ALL to your personality

You were a complete sunshine ☀️

A literal sweetheart and absolute Angel!

Unfortunately a lot of kids didn’t get to know you ☹️

But luckily, there was one guy who didn’t care about looks

He really didn’t care about much actually 👀

And that happened to be our favorite setter Kenma!

Because Kenma honestly does not care about looks or superficial things like that

Actually, when you first got teamed up with Kenma to work on a project, a lot of kids thought it was a strange combo

But somehow, you two managed to make it work and in fact, you got the best grade in the class

After that, you and Kenma became partners for every project

There was just something he enjoyed about you

Probably your weird similarity to Hinata honestly 😏

Soon you and Kenma started hanging out after school

You both loved video games as well as had similar styles in music

Look at me and tell me Kenma wouldn’t be into Emo rock 👁️👄👁️

Fall out boy, Paramore, Taking Back Sunday, THE USED!!!!

Anyways, soon Kuroo joins and he’s confused about your friendship with Kenma

Like you and Kenma are complete opposites but you get along super well

Eventually Kuroo starts taking a liking to you as well

Kuroo has natural Emo hair so it’s fate 💅

Kuroo soon figures out why Kenma enjoys your company as you are a literal dark ball of sunshine

Eventually you start accompanying out kitty cats to practice in order to hang out with Kuroo and Kenma

Upon entering the gym, everyone stares at you

You low key kinda scare the first years, Inuoka and Shibayama

Yaku and Kai are super interested as in why you are there

Yamamoto is just dead because there’s a girl in the gym 🙄

And Lev, well Lev can’t keep his mouth shut

“Hey you’re that weird chick that wears black and has crazy hair. I’ve heard a lot about you!” Lev screams

Yaku please 😌

“LEV SHUT UP!” Kuroo yells as Yaku kicks him

You just giggle, a sound nobody was expecting, as you say, “I’m Yn! I guess I kind of do get a little bit of a reputation but I promise, I’m not evil or something!”

“She’s actually kind of cute in a different way,” Kai says as Fukunaga and Yaku nodd in agreement.

Soon, you are coming to every practice and helping where you can

Setting up chairs, filling water balls, handing out towels

The boys quickly adore you and soon you just naturally become apart of the team

Kuroo officially asks you the teams manager which you gladly accept

It’s hard finding a club with your specific tastes and since you could still express your style and personality, volleyball club seemed perfect!

You enjoyed playing music, listening to music and writing which were all supported by Nekoma

Our progressive Kings 👑

Honestly they were so supportive of their Emo scene queen!

They loved when you added little touches of red to your outfits and even made a hair bow that specifically said “Nekoma” on it 🥹

Of course, they were still boys so they all found you super cute and adorable

Yamamoto was your personal body guard for everything

It didn’t matter what, he always walked you to every class and if anyone made any comments about you, he would challenge them to a “rumble”

Language you later learned, was picked up from Karasuno 🙄

You had heard about Karasuno and you were honestly so excited to meet them!

Kenma had told you about Karasuno’s tiny middle blocker

On the way to training camp, our sweet boys let you play the music

Honestly Coach Nekomata was way into it 😂

He was such a hip coach and he knew you kids were into some weird stuff

Please he was too 🤚🏻

Anyways, he’s just happy you bring so much joy to the team

And honestly you match Nekoma’s cat-like mysterious vibes

So when you showed up, the other teams just kind of stared at you

Obviously you kinda stood out like a sore thumb Yn, sorry to say

But don’t worry, Yamamoto is on the case 🫡

“WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT? HAVENT UOU EVEN SEEN A GORGEOUS GIRL BEFORE?!?” He screams

You rn 👉🏻😐

Yaku 👉🏻 YAMAMOTO STOP BEING AN IDIOT

You just roll your eyes and smile, bowing to the teams and greeting them

Almost instantly, they melted 🥰

Because like how are you both adorable and scary???

Literally Emo culture mkay

“Come on Yn, let’s go,” Kenma says as you wave and walk away

Eventually you get introduced to all the teams, including Karasuno

You end up making eye contact with Hinata several times as he observes you

Finally, he makes his move

“Hi there! I really like your style! I see your friends with Kenma and the pretty girl manager for Nekoma! I’m Shoyo Hinata and I’m a middle blocker!” He shouts

You smile back and greet him, “Kenma had told me so much about you! It’s so great time finally meet you!”

Kuroo and Daichi watch you both and shake their heads

“Boy short stuff really can make friends with anyone can’t he?”

“You new manager looks super sweet and outgoing, albeit a little interesting,” Daichi says as Kuroo nods

Soon you and Hinata, and by consequence Bokuto, become besties

Honestly you really enjoy hanging out with Akaashi but we won’t tell Bokuto that 😶

You share your knowledge as well as your unique style of cheering with the boys

You wrote cute little cheers and even inspirational poetry to share with the boys

Bokuto and Hinata loved your fancy words : D

And even when Bokuto went into his own Emo modes, the teams knew exactly who to call!

“YN HALPPPP!” Akaashi would silently communicate to you with his eyes

You 👉🏻 NEVER FEAR OUR SCENE QUEEN IS HERE 🦸🏻‍♀️

“Bokuto would you like to listen to some music or maybe we can talk about your feelings?” You say as you rub his back

“I could use a hug,” Bokuto 🥺

You 👉🏻😌🥰 of course-

Akaashi doesn’t get it, Nekoma doesn’t get it but they appreciate it!!

#nekoma manager #hq nekoma #kai nobuyuki #kuroo tetsurou #yaku morisuke #kenma kozume #yamamoto taketora #fukunaga shōhei #lev haiba #inuoka sō #shibayama yuuki #nekoma x female reader #female reader #nekoma x manager #nekoma x reader #haikyuu nekoma #nekoma high #nekoma headcanons #haikyu headcanons #haikyu x female reader #haikyu x manager reader

[owomon]

i'm submitting this idea to...

Hasbro - Kika Goods - Takara Tomy - Hot Topic

y'all lmk if you can think of any other toy manufacturers that may be interested!

-------------------------------------------------

more coming soon, this is the start of my concept for a line of jackalope toys! i'm still conceptualizing it. please don't steal, if you're interested and want to make these a reality that would be much preferred :')

i want to make plush and little flocked figures that come in blind boxes, so you never know what kind of antlers and color combo it's going to have! (idea i need to add: glitter in the antlers) (or maybe make them out of soft, hollow rubber like pokemon kids?)

i want to make stickers and flat goods too, like keychains, tote bags, t-shirts, etc.

think my little pony but with jackalopes! available in plush form, as figures, and then the "taxidermy plaque" ones hang on the wall!

#my art #my concepts

[johnwickb1tsch]

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 5 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and now featuring @tammykelly

Original Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

Lovely Readers! You can now follow the tag # Wicked Johnson Fic to follow along more easily! ❤❤❤

Johnwickb1tsch:

John lets you rest after wrecking you for the umpteenth time, disappearing off somewhere. You put off leaving the bedroom for as long as you can, but in the end you can't stand it anymore. You rummage in the closet for a new shirt. Your choices are black, black, and you'll never guess... black. 

This house must belong to John.

How many safe houses does that man have?

When you walk out of the bedroom in your new getup you find Tex in the living room watching TV. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“We have got to get you some clothes, baby girl.”

You shrug. The boxer t-shirt combo is actually pretty comfy.

You think you might make your way to the kitchen, but Tex snaps his fingers at you as you try to walk past.

You turn to look at him with a raised brow. 

“Can I help you?”

That was the wrong thing to say, obviously. 

His grin is that of a hungry wolf. 

“I bet you can. C'mere, darlin'.”

You sigh, but after your little lesson with John, you're not quite so inclined to defy him. 

Yet.

You're going to have to get smarter about how you expend your energy. 

Easier said than done. 

You pad over next to him. He pats his thigh in invitation, but you opt to sit next to him instead. This lasts for about two seconds, before he hauls you into his lap with his big hands and his strong arms.

Goddammit.

“That's better,” he says with a sly grin, holding you close. 

You take a moment to look at him—really look at him, from up close. The sweep of his almond shaped eyes, his high cheek bones and the short scruff of his beard. He stares back at you, unabashedly. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes at you, bumping his forehead with yours. You wish it wasn't adorable. Fucking man child, making you feel things.

“Wanna watch tv?”

It beat anything else he could dream up, so you agree. You hadn't forgot that he still owed you for your flipping of the bird earlier. You're sure he hasn't either. 

He turns on some stupid gratuitous action flick, and you kind of zone out. Your thoughts drift to John, and the things he told you in-between fucking you silly. 

He'd said that he and Tex would not take on the FBI just for a plaything, or a whore. Deep down, you knew what that meant. 

It meant, they had no real intention of letting you go. The thought filled you with equal parts dread—and wonder. 

Why the fuck would not one, but two fine ass men like this want you, for keeps? It's beyond your comprehension—and if you're honest, kind of flattering. Bat shit fucking crazy, but flattering.

Either that, or it's just...convenient. Your circumstances created a perfect storm from which to snatch you without a trace or a person to care about getting you back.

"Want to see somethin'?" asks Tex, interrupting your reverie.

"Okay?"

He clicks play on the remote once he has your attention. You watch as a 1970s muscle car jumps an impossible ramp, then lands roughly on the other side of a canal. "That was me."

You lift an eyebrow, looking back at him. "In the car?"

"Yeah."

He's grinning like a little kid, clearly proud. 

"You were a stunt man?"

"Uh huh."

You tilt your head, trying to put pieces together and failing. The square block is not fitting in the circle hole. 

"Then why...?"

"Killin' people pays better, believe me. Less dangerous, too."

A chill runs down your spine. 

"Oh."

Your gaze drifts away, but he turns it back to him with a hand on your chin. Those jet black eyes bore into yours, like he can see into your soul. His eyes flick down to your mouth, a moment before he leans in to kiss you. Your first instinct is to offer teeth, before you remember if you have to have sex one more time in the next twenty-four hours, you might literally die. You slip your tongue into the seam of his lips, and feel him smile against your mouth. 

"Mmm. A man could get used to this."

He slides his hand up your thigh, fingertips sneaking past the loose hem of your boxer shorts. 

You wrap your fingers around his, praying. "Tex, please."

"Like the sound of that," he says between kisses, outmuscling you to move his hand higher.

"I'm so sore."

"Sounds like an excuse to me. John gets you to himself but I don't?"

"It's not my fault you're both hung like horses."

This appeal to his ego makes him grin. "Ain't you a lucky girl?"

"Only if you don't hurt me."

He has the gall to give you a pouty face. Again, it should be fucking ridiculous, but somehow it's cute. He cups the side of your face, pushing his thumb between your lips. "How sore is your mouth?" he asks, eyes glittering.

It's not high on your list of things you want to do, but you're having to weigh your options these days. You suck his thumb, and you swear you watch a fire ignite in his eyes.

"Also sore," you say around his digit, sounding ridiculous as he presses down on your tongue. Your jaws hurt. Even your mouth is bruised from kissing. Jesus. You're not a goddamn python.

You try to retreat, but he forces his thumb deeper.

Absolutely out of instinct to defend yourself, you start to bite him.

Maybe you stop yourself before it can hurt or you break skin, but for the wicked gleam in his eyes you know it doesn’t matter. Suddenly you find yourself flipped on your stomach over his lap, as though you are nothing but a doll.

“You are a nippy little thing, you know that?” When he wrenches down your boxers, propping your ass in the air with his trunk of a thigh beneath you, you’re afraid you know exactly what he has in mind.

“No—”

His hand between your shoulder blades pins you down. “You’re just going to make it worse for yourself,” he says in a sing-song tone, almost as though he hopes you will fight him more. His fingers fanned out over your butt cheek rub lightly, soothing over your copious bruises. It feels so good that the first stinging smack makes you jump sky-high.

“Hey!”

“Hush and take your licks, little girl.”

“I hate you!”

“I was gonna say five, for flippin’ me off, but now it’s six. Comprende?”

You whimper, but for the first time since this whole fiasco started, you do the smart thing and shut your dumb fucking mouth, hanging your head in the pillows with resignation.

He’s just spanking you, you reason. How bad can it be?

He has a hand like a catcher’s mitt and arms corded with muscle.

Bad. The answer, is bad.

Yet he doesn’t lay into you immediately, soothing you with featherlight touches over your buttocks and the backs of your thighs. That part feels good, actually, and fuck you if you don’t start to feel the stirrings of desire between your legs.

What. The ever loving. FUCK. Is wrong with you?

“So pretty,” he says, toying with the bend of your knee. It makes your toes curl, and he offers up a deep chuckle that you almost feel more than hear. “You like that?”

“Yes,” you answer meekly, closing your eyes.

“See, I can be sweet, if you’re sweet to me.”

The next smack on the other cheek makes you jump again, but this time you do not protest.

“Ahh. She can be taught.”

You whimper, but keep your expletives to yourself. This is not exactly what you would call sweet…but the contrast of the stinging blows with his featherlight touch afterwards is doing things to you that you do not understand.

“Take this off,” he demands, lifting the hem of your shirt up your back.

For once, you obey him the first time, squirming in your awkward position on your belly and pulling it over your shoulders, leaving you bare and totally exposed upon his lap. He runs his fingers up the curve of your spine, making you shudder upon him. You can’t see his smug grin, but you know, you just fucking know it’s there.

Smack.

You can’t help but cry out, but the pleasure and the pain is strangely starting to meld together. Your treacherous, stupid little cunt has begun to throb, and as his fingers caress dangerously close to your crease you find that you wish he would touch you there.

By the time he’s finished with your licks you are a finely trembling, aching mess on his lap, your fingers like claws in the throw pillow, your ass in the air as though begging for it of its own volition.

Finally he does dip his thick fingers into your weeping slit, groaning to himself for the wetness he finds there. He circles your bud with the thick tip of his finger, making you moan and arch into him like the stupid little hypocrite you are.

“That’s a mighty nice little pussy you’ve got there,” he says, his voice turned pure gravel with desire. “Too bad you’re too sore.”

He withdraws and shoves you off his lap as he stands, leaving you in a heap of pliable naked limbs on the couch. The frustrated sound that escapes your throat is barely human, and the grin he pays you is the baring of teeth from a predator to a rabbit across the wood.

“Now don’t let me catch you touchin’ yourself,” he warns, looming over you. “You won’t like what happens next.”

 On that note he struts off, and you watch him go with a glare, unable to stop yourself from thinking he has the nicest, tightest little butt this side of the Mississippi river.

Bastard.

Sweetwolfcupcake:

You sit there for a good few minutes--- letting yourself just feel and realise what has happened.

No, because you realise it now-- so much has happened, you have sort of developed a temporary immunity to it all. A coping mechanism for your mind.

That is what it does when things go very wrong very quickly-- bolt out of the blue? Worry not, you won't even register it properly.

That is how your works, you realise as you slowly begin to dress yourself again. The slick between your thighs is hard to ignore but the ignited desire begins to subdue as you focus on making yourself aware-- really aware of what has happened.

John's words regarding Bradford felt like a promise and as you realise that he is gone, you fear he has gone after the agent.

You hope and pray that he is not as impulsive as you consider him to be because, with your time spent with Bradford, you have come to know of two things-- one, he is very resourceful, and second, he is no fool. He is an exceptionally intelligent, stubborn man-- whom you considered to be moral, almost idealistic. So, his betrayal has come as a shock to you.

You can't swallow it, somehow-- and his actions are not helping either. If John has bribed him and he accpeted-- why is he still messing with them, then?

What does he really want?

He has a family--

You blink.

Teenagers, he said. He isn't that old. Until...

Until he was a college dad or something. He never even mentioned a wife.

You lick your lips dress yourself as quickly as you can and rush out of the room. Finding Tex in the kitchen, you almost call for him.

Almost because you stop.

Baffled at your own instincts.

What are you doing? Don't you miss your previous life? Don't you want to be free again?

You realise you still do but you can't see them hurt. You don't want them hurt, in any way, under any circumstances.

They make you feel like a battlefield-- a battlefield for your mind, heart and body. You just stare on, lost in thoughts and questions. But Tex senses your presence.

"Sit down, accidentally added an extra egg to my omelette." He says while plating an omelette and bringing it to you-- it does not look like an accidental extra, but you chose not to comment. "Why aren't you sat?" He asks with a tilt of his head, but amusement is dancing in his orbs.

And he's back at his assholery again, just when you begin to think of him as 'not too bad'.

You sigh, too many thoughts running around to even try wiping off that annoying smirk out of his unfairly gorgeous face. You simply steel yourself and sit down-- refusing to give him the satisfaction of any reaction from you. You grind your teeth in silence, tensing up at the ache when you feel the cushioned surface against your clothed rear-- at least it isn't only wood-- that would have been way more painful. But it still hurts. Yet, you don't show it.

You've had enough of their games. Whatever they are doing, you realise that they are, perhaps winning at it. You were going to warn Tex about Bradford? You don't want John to go after Bradford-- and the first reason you think of is 'What if it's a trap'? And not 'What if Bradford dies?'

This change concerns you. You still haven't decided what you wish to do. Tell them that Bradford's actually too young to have teenagers? Are they foolish enough to not cross-check? You decide on a different approach.

"Where did John go?"

The question comes off in low, uncertain whisper, but Tex is already seated beside you with his own plate.

When did he even do that?

Tex raises an eyebrow and scoffs but holds your gaze for a moment.

"You're not worried about that agent, are ya?"

His ability to guess your thoughts (partially, to your fortune) catches you off guard and of course, it shows on your dumb face as he smirks. This time though, it does not seem as playful as before. This time, it puts you on edge as you let out a measured breath, feeling more alert than you have been in John's silent presence before.

"No--I...." You almost spill out the truth, before breaking the eye-contact and getting some hold on yourself "I was just...wondering."

"Don't worry, he went to get you somethin' to wear, so that you don't keep dirtying ours."

Your hold on the spoon tightens at that jab. It's lighter than most of his earlier ones but it somehow irks you to a certain point of burn.

You assume he is clever enough to not give you a fork because, at the moment, you want to poke him with one.

"I'm done."

You declare curtly before letting your spoon fall on the plate and pushing it away. You need some time away from their overpowering presence, you need your sanity, your rationality intact, after all.

Rising from your seat, you rush towards the bedroom with the hope of some solitude. You need that.

Tammykelly:

You barely get to the bedroom on the second floor, the forever lingering ache between your legs and anger in your heart not letting you think about anything else but a much needed distraction.

This bastard is fucking diabolical, you think to yourself, hoping the negative energy of your denial will give strength to your knees and outweigh how much your body is screaming at you to take care of the little, annoyingly loud problem created by Tex. God, they’ve trained you well.

After you’ve freshened up in the master bathroom, you sit down in a big armchair, next to the bed, still feeling frustrated, though mostly at yourself and the hopelessness of your situation.

You glance around the room once again, remembering where they’ve locked their tools, including knives that you’re pretty sure are sharp enough to cut through anything with ease. You lean back, lost in thoughts, letting your back rest against the soft cushion. You close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing pattern, after a while feeling like your body reflexes have started to calm down and the blood in your veins has acquired breath of its own, as you begin to watch yourself, as if from the third person pov.

The shrunken space of your focus seems to have been expanded, simultaneously, the room seems to have been sealed in a vacuum bubble, it’s just you and the memory of where the knives lay. You get up with determination, feeling confident enough to try anything within the boundaries of what’s allowed but timid enough to be mindful about possible consequences.

You can surely just look at them, they won’t punish you if you don’t use them.

You think about an array of ways how you’d break the lock before opening the cabinet, and run your fingers over the blades that you know could easily cut you in half through the application of force necessary to do so. You take one out, studying it, as if trying it on, wondering how much this razor-sharp knife has seen and will witness. You twirl it around, pondering whether you’d be brave enough to use it if the opportunity arises. You feel almost mesmerised by it, neither hearing anything, apart from the ringing in your ears, nor seeing anything, apart from your reflection on the blade.

“You’re sure you know how to handle it?” - a deep breathy voice comes from behind. You jump, almost dropping the knife, your eyes meet John’s obsidian ones, boring into you, making you feel like you’re being poked by the needles that lay in the cabinet next to the knives.

“Be careful not to cut yourself, rattlesnake”, - an amused voice adds and you watch Tex step into the room, as your cheeks flush red. “We were wondering how come it’s so quiet up here”, - he adds, not breaking the eye contact.

“I was napping” - you blurt out, quickly putting the knife down, nervously watching John walk closer in a lazy, almost calculating manner only a predator uses when the prey has been caught in a trap.

You catch his movements until he’s standing behind you, his chest touching your back, his arms on either side of you, capturing you in a cage that is his strong body against your frozen one. You look over to Tex and notice him leaned against the wall, watching you two with curiosity.

Fuck

John picks up the knife you’ve previously chosen and holds it in front of you, his lips close to your ear, his voice so dangerously low, you swear he sounds like he’s about to devour you in one bite.

“Want me to show you how to use it?” he nonchalantly whispers, sending cold shivers down your spine, his lips inch closer, “since you’re so curious about it”. You pray he doesn’t feel the deafening thumping of your heart.

“I was…just…uh…”, - words barely escape your dry throat. You hear Tex walk over and it makes you feel even more on the razor edge that is a mouse trap of your relationship with these men. You feel Tex’s fingers under your chin, when he pulls your face to look up at him.

“Isn’t it what you wanted?” - he clicks his tongue. His glimmering eyes shine with built-up darkness lay beneath, a hint of disappointment flashes through it when you don’t reply, “all talk, no action?”

Tex is akin to a fiery pit, predictably unpredictable in the sense that you have an idea of what to expect of him - stand too close and you get burned, bite too hard and you get splashed back with fire. But when you watch the flames, especially when he doesn’t notice you studying him or pretends not to, there’s a strangely comforting warmth to him, flickering through the coal cracks of his man-child nature. John, on the other hand, is akin to an abyss, swallowing you whole with his presence. He’s dangerous in a way that a calm untamed tiger is, for even domesticated, it still remains a threat at all times. You don’t see what’s beneath all the layers of what he masterfully conceals and you’re not sure you should want to find out how much of a predator he actually is.

“Make your choice” - you hear John’s raspy voice bring your attention back to him.

“What?” - you blink, your mind going over multitude of possibilities this could play out. Tex takes the knife out of the other man’s hands.

“Who do you prefer show you how to use it?” - he explains, but his expression says anything but teaching you about self-defence. You feel John protectively wrap around you and you don’t need him to say it. If Tex does anything out of line, this playground will become everything a human would fear to step into. You can see that the feeling’s mutual, in the way Tex glares at John.

Maybe this is the code to freedom, let them prey on each other.

Tex’s eyes move to yours, seeing the way you lean into the man behind you.

“Oh, you think Johnny boy will save you?”- he chuckles darkly, “dream on”, he tells you before motioning for John to bring you over to the bed. Your heart drops.

They sit you down on the bed, both of them circling you, akin to eager hawks, ready to rip apart and devour anything in their sight. Suddenly, you feel John’s hands lock yours in a tight grip behind your back, which makes panic arise in your chest.

“The fuck you’re doing?” - you want to sound mad but the voice that comes out of your mouth sounds like it belongs to someone else caught in a web of pretence and lies. Tex waves his hand for you to keep your mouth shut.

“You forget your place, rattlesnake”, - he laughs, though not an ounce of warmth strikes you, just sharp fire burns.

“You’re a fucking asshole”, - you growl lowly, looking him right in the crazed eyes, while John shifts to a more comfortable position to hold you still.

Bastard

“Touché”, - Tex brings his face close to yours, his hot breath on your skin making you flinch, “Biting won’t help, darlin’, you’re forgetting who you’re up against”, he finishes, placing the cold blade on your cheek before you start protesting, and moving it down your jawline, throat, collarbones and stopping at the hem of your shirt, tantalised, watching the way your chest rapidly rises and falls. He’s so gentle with it, though, but his eyes tell you he could switch up in a heartbeat.

“Sorry, John”, - Tex breaths out and doesn’t wait for either of you to reply, grabbing the fabric and making the blade slide through it with lightning speed like butter. Your wide open eyes look at him with shock, only now noticing John pressed up against your back, like an unmoving statue. You lean back, wiggling your body, seeing how hard it is for Tex to resist touching you with his hands. He extends his arm to place the knife onto your skin.

“Don’t fucking touch me”, - you glare up at him, which makes a loud bark of a chuckle escape his lips, though he doesn’t stop. You begin to shake your head and move your body, knowing he won’t do anything in this case, as not to hurt a single strand of hair on you, for John might kill him right then and there with that said knife, otherwise. Abruptly, your body freezes when Tex’s calloused hand find its place around your neck, urging you to hold your anger in and to look up at him.

“You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?” - he growls, his fingers tight around your throat, “you can’t keep playing the game you can’t win”, he smiles, placing the blade in the centre of your breastbone, the coldness of steel arising goosebumps throughout your body. Your eyes lock on his, studying the way he’s holding back the desires that will leave him hanging onto the thread of life had he acted upon them. You want to believe he’d never hurt you but you never know how far his self control and possible feelings for you can contain the boundaries of his flames.

Is it your or John’s power over him?

Tex’s knee moves in between your legs, inching closer to where you needed him when he bent you over downstairs what feels like an eternity ago. But your body responds in raging flames, lit up by the myriad of matches that are the manifestation of his power over you.

His fingers inch the razor-sharp steel closer to the centre of your neck, so infinitely slow you think you might die just from waiting for what comes next.

And what comes next is John’s lips on your skin, your temple, behind your ear, on your shoulder, his tongue tasting the heat, engulfing your body, the effect of which comes off in a form of a shuddered breath that doesn’t go unnoticed. Tex moves the blade up until it reaches your mouth, keeping it there, until you get the hint. You stare at his darkened, ravenously glowing eyes. You feel one of John’s hands come up gliding over your body up to your neck, tilting your head up, as he’s shifting his weight so you can look up into his eyes. The look you’re met with is not the one you were hoping to see, for instead of a soft and gentle one, your gaze gets sucked in by a black hole that is a pair of nearly jet-black, hungry, unmoving and barely patient eyes.

“Sorry, baby”, - John rasps.

You open your mouth, falling deeper into his void, before closing your eyes.

Your eyelids flutter open, as your breath and racy heartbeat warn you to steady yourself before gradually coming back to a stable pace, as you lay in bed.

You listen in to the sounds of an awfully quiet house, making you wonder whether you’ve been left alone after all. The clock arms ticking rhythmically, blending in with the soft, almost faint whirring of the bedroom mini fridge where the boys keep cooled bottled water for you. The sound of electricity inside the walls and static in your ears suddenly becoming louder once you focus on it instead of the faint noise of the outside world. You look around, chasing the frisky sunset light, playing on the space around you through the cracks between the slightly moving curtains. You glance at expensive looking boutique shop bags standing near the wall. For the first time you pay attention to the way the colour palette of the place is almost seamlessly blended by the dreamy fog, though you’re not sure if it’s the floating in sunlight specks of dust or your own blurry vision, for you’d just woken up from your nap. You raise your hand to cover your eyes when the sunlight makes its way onto your face, then close your eyelids, folding your hands on your lap, letting yourself bask in the vague warmth. You take a deep breath in, your senses catching a very indistinct smell of the fresh evening air, when the wind outside blows through the trees, the rustling of which you can catch a sonic glimpse of, fresh laundry and the scent of your shampoo.

But the smell of two men pervades you the most, you can practically taste the last night with John and today’s morning with Tex on your tongue and skin. You’re sure you smell like them by now, akin to a cat acquiring the smell of its owners over time, becoming one with the small nuclear tribe. It’s shamefully intoxicating how well they’ve imbedded themselves onto your body and into your mind, molding a new, unrecognizable version of you, so perfectly suited for their needs.

And you’re sure they like everything about it, especially the way they can smell themselves off you, like you belong to them, cooped up in this place away from prying eyes, their $5 million secret, just for them to play with and ravish. You can feel it sometimes through the way they touch you when passionate waves are mercifully on hold, replaced by the monumental promise of another outburst. You remember the way their fingers linger on your skin a bit too long, the way they hug you close to their bodies late at night when they think you’re too fucked out to notice - John - in a protective embrace, Tex - more on the possessive side.

The way John gently brushes your hair after blow drying it and resists leaning in to smell your freshly showered self, for every time you can feel the heat of his body getting close to you and, regrettably to your disappointment, pulling away at the last moment. The way Tex traces his own bites and hickeys on your skin when you’re in the bathtub with him or glides his fingertips over them under the covers, thinking your blissfully unaware self doesn’t feel his surprisingly delicate leisure wandering. The way neither of them want to leave the bed in the early hours of the morning, too entranced by your warmth and the feel of your body against theirs. The way one day you made each of them sigh in surprise when you’d pulled them closer, praying they explain it as your sleepy subconscious making the decisions for you, when, in reality, it was you pulling the strings of blurry lines in between sanity and conscience mistake of trying to savour their comfortingly strong bodies. You couldn’t decide which one of the duo was worse. John, who treats you like a gentleman but often fucks you disrespectfully, or Tex, who annoyingly makes every particle of your body and soul boil in every sense possible.

You tip your head back, eyelids closed, taking deep breaths in to calm your heart and mind. You have no idea how long it’ll take for the masks of sanity to slip, revealing the true nature of those men. Whatever sanity means anymore in this situation. You start feeling like their influence on you begins to seep beyond physical form.

Suddenly, you hear John quietly calling out to you: “Y/n. You here?”

Your eyebrows slightly twitch, as your eyes open to the starry sky above the balcony where you and John are standing next to one another.

“It’s like you were just here and then you were gone”, - he chuckles, his voice soft and comfortingly deep.

Fuck, the mask’s slipping.

You take a long look at him before smiling, his eyes so gentle, you almost [want to] believe he’s not faking it for you.

It’s time for a cat to come out and play with fire.

“Hi”, - you tell him, reaching your fingers out to him, finding it so irresistibly hard not to put a loose strand of hair behind his ear when you see him admiring the perfect way the clothes he’d bought hug your body, as if tailored to your exact measurements but you don’t delve into it deeply for the sake of your sanity. “Hey”, - John replies, letting your hand slip back, not showing you how much he wants to catch it and kiss it.

The serenity of the passing intimate lace comes crumbling down when Tex cheerfully comes up from the back and hugs you from behind, loudly leaving a wet trail of kisses from your ear down to your shoulder, so casually mundane, as if he’s been doing this for years.

“What are you two whispering about?” - he inquires, not removing his lips off you. “Certainly not you”, - you tease. “You don’t like me?” - he mumbles back. Now it’s your turn to laugh: “Why should I? This is just a transaction, no?”

Instead of pulling away, Tex grips you harder: “Aw, my rattlesnake, I was about to say how sweet you are when you don’t bite”.

“Thought you liked it?” - you let him feel you lean into him, which he eagerly reciprocates. “Oh, is that why you do it? You do it for me?” - he asks, as you turn around in his arms, tilting your face up, batting your eyelashes. “Dream on”, - you reply before breaking away from his embrace.

You walk over to the balcony sofa, sinking into the big pillows in a relaxed way that exudes you’re not afraid of either of the two. You let yourself be watched by their intense gazes, shamelessly scanning you up and down, as you throw one leg over the other. Moments pass before you speak again.

“I can’t quite crack the code”, - you tell them in the most couldn’t-care-less tone, “what is it that you get out of this? Apart from the obvious”. You trace your body with your fingers, John’s eyes on yours and Tex’s following your silhouette.

Tex is the first to reply: “You said it yourself, this is just a transaction”.

“Is it really?” - you inquire in a way that it sounds more like a statement.

“Why do you wanna know?” - Tex responds, keeping his eyes trailed on you.

You lean further into the cushions, trying to sound as innocuously as possible. “To manipulate you, of course”.

Silence hangs in the air, making your cheeks grow redder, though you hope they can’t tell under the starlight. Tex walks closer to you, saying: “Don’t get ideas into that pretty head of yours”, he grabs your face with one hand, “wouldn’t want you to get burned, mhhmm?”

You swallow. “Wouldn’t even dream of it”, - you tell him, holding the eye contact. Unexpectedly, Tex does nothing but lets you go and walks to the chair, near John. It makes you uncomfortable, their watchful eyes not leaving an ounce of your conscience not feeling exposed.

“What game are you playing at?” - John finally speaks up, his voice so quiet you know he’s not playing games with you anymore.

“Nothing”, - you simply say, your gaze locked on his. Hiding in plane sight, you think. Instead, you continue: “I can’t outplay the player when I got no game, yeah?”

Tex snorts: “Oh, you definitely do have game”, eyeing you. You turn your attention to him, scoffing just like he did: “Clearly, if that’s what you wanna call it”.

“I just want a lock in my room”, you add.

“My, my, Johnny boy, she not only bites but wants to have leverage over us”, - Tex chuckles.

“How’s having a lock mean leverage?” you bat your lashes.

Okay, playing dumb it is.

Tex doesn’t make you wait for his reply: “It’s not about the lock. It’s about access”.

Got you, you say to yourself.

“I’m sure other hunters, like you two, would just love that, access at all times”, - you muse, looking from one man to the other.

“We won’t let that happen”, - John’s stern whisper comes.

“Mhmhm, sure, with $5 million on the line”, - you shrug. You catch Tex’s eyes.

“Dream on, babygirl”, - he muses back.

You sigh, getting up, making your hips sway just a tiny bit more than usual. Your arm gets caught in Tex’s strong grip. “What are you doing?” - he growls, as you turn to look up at him. You look behind him at John, then back at the man in front of you. “Take a wild fucking guess”, - you retort. Tex steps closer, cornering you further to the glass door, leading into the house. “Use your pretty mouth like that, I won’t care if you’re sore or not anymore”, - he smiles sickly sweet, making your stomach turn. You ignore him and connect your eyes with John’s, who holds the same expression, not much different from Tex’s, letting you see in that moment, how titillated he is by you.

You’re fucked and you’ve walked right into it.

“Let me guess, “dream on”?” Tex mocks you, placing a hand on the glass, near your face.

You work up a smile, though you hope they can’t see it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m going to sleep. Aren’t you boys coming?” you purr, before wiggling your way out of Tex’s arms. The men look at each other before following suit, exchanging malevolent glances.

The code is crackable. For it’s not the “how” but the question of who’ll be the first to crack.

Tex. John. Or you.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

Goddamnit. Where is the motherfucking pancake batter? Does John not have PANCAKE BATTER in his goddamn house? What are you supposed to do? Make pancakes from scratch? Fuck.

Your internal thoughts are being monologued by a sailor, apparently - and he’s in a shit mood. You woke up lying in vacant sheets, minus either of your human heaters, shivering in the conditioned air.

Your bargain was simple, or at least you thought so - they could keep the temp at 62 degrees in this room (psychos) if they both slept beside you and warmed you cozy. So, when you found out they were gone and didn’t even bother to pull a blanket over your naked body in their haste to leave - okay, maybe it was actually you that kicked the comforter off, but you’re still gonna blame them - you got heated, and not in a good way.

Pretty soon, and far too late, you realized that you felt abandoned without them snuggling you like two big, bed hogging dogs, and that made you much more angry because… Well. If you’re being honest with yourself, you are far too attached to these men. In too deep. “Dug up more snakes than you can kill,” as Tex would say. You can barely function when they’re not around. So much for strong, independent woman. You’re a whitehead on the face of feminism.

And now you can’t even make pancakes. Out of frustration, you slam a cupboard shut and bustle a carton of eggs off the counter. And, of course, they land face down with the top open wide. “Fuck. Me.”

“Bad day?”

You spin on your heel, hip catching the counter painfully, although you barely register the sting, too busy clenching fists at your sides from the immediate recognition of that voice. You glare at Bradford, lip curling into a little snarl, the rattlesnake in you coming to bat. “It is now,” you snap.

Bradford sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, don’t be like that. I told you I’d protect you, y/n, and that’s what I’m here to do.”

You burst into a crazed giggle fit, fists clutching at the sundress fabric over your belly, eyes watering from the sheer audacity of fucking men. It takes you a minute to collect yourself.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you pompous asshole.” You’re still smiling at him, that little leftover sanity and hope slipping right through your fingers and landing in a sticky puddle with the smashed eggs.

He frowns, hands jammed into his pockets, this stupid look of concern coming over his face that makes you want to choke it right off. “Listen, y/n, whatever they did to you - however they hurt you - it’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’m here to take you away and undo all this shit they’ve put in your head.”

“You think that’s going to work on me after what you did?!” You hardly recognize your own shrill screech, don’t realize you’re jamming a finger into his chest until your toe to toe with him. “They might be assholes and manipulators, sure, Bradford, but you-“ You poke his sternum hard, make him wince and love that pained look on his face more than you should - “you’re much fucking worse. Because at least they care about something other than themselves.”

His expression is one of pity, like he’s looking at an abused, bite happy dog about to be put down. “You think they care about you?” His voice is quiet, sympathetic, overly kind, it makes your stomach turn. “Oh, sweetheart-“

“Oh, sweetheart,” you mock, the acid in your body leaking and bubbling from your throat. “Do me a favor and get out. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.”

He seems entirely unaffected by you. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”

You feel a tiny sting in your shoulder, look down to see a needled splinter sticking out, reach to pull it free, but it’s far too late, because your hand doesn’t work. And neither do your legs. You black out before landing face first into the eggs.

They’ve got you trussed up again. Pretty silk ropes dimple your skin. John finishes the knots on your thighs, fingers tickling lazily over the fabric and making you squirm and whine. “Comfy?” He asks, kissing your cheekbone and smiling at you.

You nod, pull at your bonds, become thrilled when you realize you’re not going anywhere. You wiggle your toes, testing circulation by gauging feeling to your digits. Perfect, as always. John’s handiwork is unmatched. And you are absolutely drenched and throbbing by the time he gets done tightening his last little tie.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose into your hairline. You shudder and giggle, melting under that praise he has grown fond of giving. His balmy voice gets your toes curling instead of flexing.

Tex comes back into the room with the bottle of sandalwood and vanilla oils. It smells heavenly and makes you clench hellishly as he works it into his bulky palms and grins at his favorite girl. “You ready for that massage, pumpkin?”

Something slams violently close to your ear, startling you out of the dreaming memory, making you gasp and flinch. You can’t go far, because you’re handcuffed to a metal chair. Hands and feet. Too tight. Fingers and toes already numb and cold. Your face feels sticky and itchy. Metal scrapes metal in a terrible symphony that jabs behind your eyes and gets them open.

You’re in a white, windowless room, far from John and Tex, but close to agent Bradford. He’s smiling now, pleased about something, leaning over the silver table to examine your face. “That’s a nasty bruise, kid,” he says, pointing to his own forehead. “Sorry I couldn’t catch you.”

You scowl at him. “Yeah, whatever.” Your head does hurt, though, and you feel like you’ve been run over by a monster truck again. Still, that fire in you doesn’t seem to want to die, and you’re incredibly grateful for whatever miracle furnace is fueling it. “Are you gonna tell me why I’m here? Or just stare at me like a fucking creep?”

He chuckles. “Do you know where you are?”

“Oh yeah,” you spit, “I definitely remember this windowless white fucking room from good times growing up.” Rolling your eyes hurts more than you think it will.

“You’re under possession of the FBI, y/n, and if I were you, I’d be grateful we didn’t just hand you over to the Bratva ourselves. Because they would have done much worse to you than we’re about to do.”

Johnwickb1tsch:

As your mind clears from the drugs Bradford gave you, you start to think a bit more critically about your situation. The fact that he has taken you hostage without the fanfare of an official FBI raid suggests he's still working under the radar. He must have baited your boys with some convincing ruse to make them both leave the house.

"You should really do yourself a favor, and return me to them," you advise. You flex against the cuffs, trying to get circulation. They really are too tight, and you can't help but compare it to the careful way John always bound you. Who is the bad guy here? All the lines have blurred.

"I can't help but notice you're not asking to just be let go."

It's a development that surprises you too, but you don't feel like analyzing it right now. All you know is that you miss them, like a crucial piece of your heart has been plucked from you. And maybe it's fucked up, but you want the man responsible to pay.

"I'm not as stupid as you are, apparently. Don't you understand who you're dealing with?"

"Tex Johnson, former Marine, dishonorable discharge in his first tour of Iraq, turned Hollywood stunt man and mafia hitman. John Wick is harder to put a thumb down on. Bogus birth certificate, it's doubtful it's his real name. He was probably trafficked into the country as a child from the Soviet Union by one of the syndicates. He's been associated with various underworld groups since he was a teen."

This was, in fact, way more than you knew about your boys, but you were loathe to admit it.

"What I mean, is if you keep this up you're a dead man walking. They'll do anything to get me back."

"It sounds like you want them to get you back."

"At this point? I like them a lot better than you."

"Yeah, you seemed pretty cozy there. I think you have a touch of Stockholm Syndrome."

The thought of this man, of all people, moralizing at you and basically calling you mentally ill, pisses you off even more.

"Did you know Stockholm Syndrome is a bullshit diagnosis favored by law enforcement, invented by two male psychologists to describe a woman who had been in a hostage situation, who they had never even met? She was held hostage by a bank robber in Sweden, and as she watched the police completely bungle the situation she was afraid they would come charging in and kill everyone in a hail of bullets. She advocated for a more peaceful solution that didn't involve her getting shot, and was branded as neurotically sympathetic to her captor for it. But you've been through Quantico. You should already know this."

Bradford frowns down at you, and your inconvenient penchant for facts.

"Alright, smarty pants, be that way. But when the media gets a hold of you after this, you're going to want something to blame, believe me."

"How about you, you crooked son of a bitch?"

"Me? I'm going to be the agent who single handedly brought down the Nobokov Bratva, two wanted contract killers, and saved their hostage. I'll be a hero."

"What about the money you took?"

"Playing a role, all part of my master plan."

He smirks at you, letting you know that at least some of that money is not going to make it into evidence.

"Wait...isn't Dmitri Nobokov dead?"

"As a doornail. But his son is still around, and he wants blood."

You think about this a moment.

"And you're using me as bait?"

"Now you're catching on. You've got a date with Igor Nobokov tonight."

"And you're counting on...them all killing each other?"

"Something like that."

You just laugh.

"Right? I think it's funny too."

"I'm not laughing at that."

"No?"

"No. I'm laughing because my boys are going to fucking kill you all."

You find that you truly believe it, to the marrow of your bones.

Bradford just smirks. "We'll see."

You certainly would.

His phone starts ringing, and he reaches into his pocket for it. "Bradford."

"Well hello, Agent Dipshit."

"Tex. Thought you'd never call."

gif by johnswick

Just hearing his ridiculous, stupid, wonderful voice, even tinny through the phone, sends a wave of relief through you.

"Gotta say, I took you for smarter than this."

"How you figure?"

"You're an FBI hotshot with a fancy degree. I'm sure you've got a profile on me. Narcissistic psychopath, is what Uncle Sam told me. That means there aren't many things in this world I care about outside of yours truly, but you've managed to take one of 'em from me. Can't say that bodes well for you."

"I guess that's a matter of perspective, Mr. Johnson."

"Proof of life?"

"She's right here. Say hello, y/n."

Glaring at Bradford, you speak into his outstretched phone. "Tex, it's a trap!"

Bradford reaches out to smack you in the mouth, staring you down.

"Ow! Motherfucker!"

For a moment there is a deadly silence on the other end of the line.

"My turn. Say hello, Mrs. Bradford."

Bradford's face goes white as a sheet. "Anthony? I'm scared. Please, just do whatever they say."

"Veronica? It's going to be ok, honey, just stay calm. If you fuckers hurt her so help me God--"

"Maybe we will, maybe we won't. All depends on you, son. So listen close."

-----------------

"Who knew this AI shit could be so handy?"

John just nods, utterly stoic, closing the laptop. After feeding multiple insufferable Facebook videos about cooking and keeping house by the lovely Mrs. Bradford through a program, they were able to create a perfect facsimile of her voice, good enough to fool her husband over the phone.

Now Bradford would meet them in a location of their choosing. The advantage was theirs.

Or so they hoped.

Either way, Bradford was dead meat.

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