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spacecowboyhotch · 4 months

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Through the Window

summary: despite the complexities of your relationship, Miguel always shows, ready and willing to slink through your window and submit in your bed.

pairing: afab!reader x miguel o’hara

contents: nsfw/18+/smut, sub!miguel o’hara, unprotected sex, light bondage, pet names, idiots in love, angst, happy ending

wc: 2,701

an: sub!miguel rights!!!! reducing him to a needy mess is in my hierarchy of needs, and it should be in yours too <3.

writing masterlist | marvel masterlist

“You have the nicest window, you know? None of the others can even compete. It's not flashy like the others, or bleary – your window gives off this nice, quiet light.” — Banana Yoshimoto, The Lake

Miguel has weaseled his way into your heart. He’s decidedly not your type— too much of a tight ass to even allow a smile at one of your jokes. Too broody to show what he’s actually feeling, hiding behind that glaring mask his face is set in.

That is until he breaks under the everpresent pressure of being a leader— the leader. It feels a little sadistic that you realized how well the two of you work together despite all your differences, when his mind is on the brink of collapse.

There’s a telltale knock on your window, five sharp taps in quick succession. He never uses the door, partially because he’s spiderman, partially because whatever this is that happened between the two of you isn’t real and it will never be. Letting him in through your front door would be a sign that you’re letting him into your heart. You’ve avoided that successfully, that is until tonight.

When you make it to the window to let him in, the sight of him makes every hair on your body stand on edge. Sure you’ve seen him struggle, but never like this. You’ve never seen Miguel look so defeated, his eyes somehow as cloudy with emotion as they are dead.

You cup his face in your hands, examining him, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” He says sharply, not bothering to mumble to hide his fangs.

You know too much about him. You’ve studied him, his behaviors, his DNA, his patterns. There’s many reasons the two of you have decided to keep this purely physical but the most convincing is that you’re a scientist partnered with the police force to catch him. When he realized that knowing him, seeing him the way he allows you dampens your efforts, he told you some of his past. You know everything there is to know about Miguel O’Hara; everything he’ll let you know.

There are plenty of things you don’t know. You don’t know why he chose you. Why he comes back to you time and time again when there’s someone he could actually have a future with. You don’t know that he longs for you, dreams of impossible outcomes where the two of you can truly be together. Those are things that Miguel can never share with you— not when you do what you do.

Not when you only let him in and out through the window.

“If you don’t want to talk then strip and lay on the bed.”

Miguel melts under your commands. His shoulders that stay stiff—poised for control under the weight of keeping order— relax when he’s with you. He’s completely naked and sprawled out in your bed in under a minute. You grab some silks from the top drawer, and make your way over to him, straddling his lap.

His eyes are already ravenous as he looks up at you, their usual bright redness almost looking black in this lighting. His hands are restless as the rest on the sheets, itching to touch you. But when he’s in your bed like this, you call the shots.

You get both of his hands tied to the posts. You check them, tugging on them to make sure they’re secure but not too tight. “You remember what to say if you need me to stop?”

“‘Course I do,” He breathes, and you can hear the eagerness in his voice.

“Yeah you do, because you’re such a good boy for me.”

Miguel whimpers underneath you, chest rising as his breath quickens with anticipation. Sometimes he thinks that he can cum just from the sound of your voice, just from you looking at him the way you are right now. He’s used to having the power—to towering over others and making them feel as if they’re in his grasp. You’re looking at him like you own him, like you want to consume him completely. He’s ready to give in, to disappear in you.

There’s no reason for you to ask this question, but you can’t deny that your heart wants to hear his answer to it— so you ask.

“Why’d you come tonight?”

His legs shift beneath you impatiently, “Because I need you.”

“You need me,” You repeat, feigning skepticism. That skepticism isn’t completely unreal but you don’t have time to unpack that, not when he looks so desperate beneath you.

He nods, “Yeah, need you baby, please.”

You bend to kiss him, a smug smile on your lips, “Shh, you don’t have to beg, sweet boy. I won’t tease you, not tonight.”

You take him into your hand with a firm grip, stroking him the way you know will reduce him to a whiny mess— slow, drawn out strokes, slicked by his precum.

He practically dissolves under your touch, eyes rolling in the back of his head, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, yeah baby.”

“Feel good?” You question playfully. You weren’t completely honest with your promise not to tease, but you’ll get him out of his head, give him so much pleasure that his brain fries despite poking fun at his desperation.

“So good, can I have more? I need to feel you, please.”

“You need it?” You ask. wanting to hear him say it again though he's already said it twice tonight.

“I need it— need you. Always need you,” He looks up at you with glassy eyes.

You aren’t sure if you want to wrap yourself around him and never let go or ride him until he’s a shuddering, crying mess. The first isn’t a possibility, so you go with the latter.

There is something distinctly unique about tonight. He’s always needy, always asking and begging for what he wants. But there’s a new depth to his desperation and his words. You almost believe him. You almost believe that he truly needs you, and not just the release he’s chasing. That he wouldn’t be able to get what he needs from anyone else, though this is just sex.

The way you guide yourself down onto his cock is gentle, teasing. His eyes shut, a soft gasp leaving his full mouth. He looks so beautiful beneath you. Miguel is large, one of the largest men you've ever seen and despite how many times you’re with him it takes a little effort. You shift steadily, using your free hand to rub at your clit so that you bloom and open more easily for him. When you whine at the stretch his eyes open, tracking immediately to the way your wet heat envelopes him.

“So fucking big, baby. You like that don’t you? Watching me take you? Watching me fuck you.”

“I like it,” He breathes easily. You’re about to tease him but then he says, “I love it.”

“Me too, baby. I love it too. You’re so fucking perfect for me, so fucking easy. You’d let me fuck you until I felt satisfied wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, whatever you need.”

“What I need, sweet boy, is to feel you cum. Fill me up. Can you be good and do that for me? Make it all messy.”

“Mhmm, just–kiss me, please? So close,” He groans beneath you, his body practically shaking with the effort it takes to keep his hips still.

“Since you asked so nicely,” You tease him, bending down to press your mouth to his.

Your hips don’t stop bouncing, taking him fast and deep, and the soft groans that echo out of him and into your mouth turn to high pitched whine as you feel him cum, filling you completely. You continue to ride him until tears prick his eyes from overstimulation. But, he doesn’t ask you to stop, doesn’t say that safe word because despite his orgasm he needs to feel you cum.

It doesn’t take long; with his cum and your building arousal it's easy to take him faster. You need a bit more, just a little. And while you know Miguel’s body well, there’s give and take. He knows yours just as well. He can see the desperation mounting in your eyes even in his subby haze. He rocks his hips up when you come down, biting out whimpers that meld with the sound of flesh on flesh.

“Untie me. Let me help you,” He suggests softly.

You have no arguments, reaching up to undo the knot at his wrists. His hands are on your body in an instant, one dropping to rub diligent circles into your clit while the other rolls your nipple gently through his fingers. You go completely stiff above him, squeezing the life out of his cock in a way that makes him cry out again. When you collapse against him he draws you close without another thought.

The two of you lay there for an eternity, breath returning to normal as you trace shapes on his chest. That’s the thing with you and Miguel, it starts quickly, a flurry of skin on skin, of hushed whines and limits pushed. But it ends, and that ending is always sobering. The longer you lay on his chest the more anxious you get.

Pushing up, you peer at him, seeing if there is any distress or anything he needs. Miguel’s very good at returning to his controlling headspace, the time frame of his vulnerability is tight. There’s nothing there when he gazes back at you, none of that desperation or longing that was just in his eyes. It’s eerie.

You look away, clearing your throat to ask, “Miguel, what are we doing? This…this is dangerous.”

He groans— it is full of exasperation and not pleasure— and scrubs a hand over his face, “We talk about this everytime and we end up here all over again. Don’t waste our breath.”

You ignore him, pulling his hand away from his face, “You could get caught coming in here and my job—“

He glares at you, shifting you off so he can sit up and throw his legs over the side of the bed. “We both know that you don’t give a fuck about that job. Not the way you’re supposed to anyway.”

“That wasn’t my point.”

“Then what was? Because you’re wasting my time.”

“What happened to ‘we talk about this everytime’?” You drop your voice an octave, tightening your shoulders to mock him. “Shouldn’t you know then?”

“Let’s not pretend that your spiel about getting caught has anything to do with me. It all has to do with you,” He starts to slip back into his suit, standing to pull it up and over his shoulders.

You reach for your robe as you step out of bed, following after him, “Why is it so impossible for you to believe that I would care?”

“If you care so much about me getting caught swinging through your window then why haven’t you let me in through the door? Y’know like a normal man would.”

“Because…because this is all I thought you would give me. And you’re not a normal man. You’re not just some guy to me. You have to know I don’t let you into my bed because you have fangs and swing from webs, right? You being Miguel to me…it has nothing to do with being Spiderman. Keeping things the way they are… made it easier to deny that.”

He stares at you through narrowed eyes, as if he’s gauging whether or not he believes you. He wants to…but he doesn’t. He can’t. Vulnerability begins to unravel in his chest, the kind that he distinctly avoids even though he submits to you. He needs to run before you see him.

“You know what…you were right. This is dangerous; I won’t come back, not for this nonsense. This bullshit.”

Panic rises in your throat as he starts toward the window. You always knew you would lose him but you never thought that it would be like this, with him walking away. Choosing to part.

“What about you? Why do you keep coming back? Why is it the first time you’ve brought up being a normal guy, walking through the door instead of sneaking in?” You ask quickly, reaching out to grab his hand.

He pulls away from you sharply but turns around his bright red eyes bleeding down into yours, “Your time for asking questions is up, maybe you should’ve asked when you had me tied up.”

Miguel can try to intimidate you, try to be the man he is outside of this window with you, but you know the truth. You know the way he bends and breaks and molds for you. Just for you. It’s what makes staring back at him so confidently easy.

“Until you slip out of that window you’re mine.”

“I’m never yours, this isn’t real. Never has been.”

“Then why? Answer my questions. Why do you keep coming back? Why are you just bringing up the thing about the door—“

“Because I didn’t want you to say no!” He shouts at you, the points of his fangs glistening in the moonlight. “There? Are you happy? Seen enough of me to bulk up your stupid little file?”

You stare at him, completely speechless for a moment. Is that what he thinks this is? That he’s at your mercy? Sure, he submits to you in bed but that’s his choice. He has all the power, he’s set the limits, he chooses when this all happens. And if one day he decided he didn’t want this anymore, you’re not sure how you would cope.

“Miguel, when have I ever been able to say no to you?”

He flushes, looking away, “Pretty often when we—“

“Because that’s what you need. It’s what you ask me to give you, but besides that? Tell me when.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes it fucking matters. You’re being avoidant.”

“I’m not being avoidant,” He says firmly, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Fine then what was your other argument? That I put the things you tell me here in the file? I’d never do that to you.”

“That’s bullshit, you’d squeak for that job in a heartbeat.”

“They don’t even know about your daughter,” You counter.

His eyes finally snap back to yours. If it were anyone else to get this stare from him, they’d think he was angry— but you know Miguel and see nothing but pain. “His daughter.”

“His daughter,” You amend quickly, knowing that it’s easier for him to view it that way. “It’s true anything you told me or showed me here, it’s…it’s ours.”

“Ours,” He tests cautiously, brow furrowing together as he looks down at the floor.

This must’ve been some reverse psychology ploy that he’d been waiting to use on you. How did you go from adamantly telling yourself that you and Miguel could never work to convincing him that every moment between the two of you is real? That it’s— that he— is the realest thing that’s ever happened to you.

How had this ended with you unable to let him go like all the times you had before?

“Stay.”

“That’s not—“

“Stay,” You say gently, reaching for his hand again. You thread your fingers through his. “Just for tonight, and if it’s too much, if it’s not what you thought it would be or something you want then in the morning you can walk out the door and never come back.”

“And if it is something I want?”

“Then tomorrow night, I imagine that around— I don’t know— 7 p.m. Miguel O’Hara is picking me up and taking me to dinner.”

His mouth twitches, fighting a smile, “Is that so?”

“He said it himself actually. Wish he was here to back me up, but I guess I’m stuck with you for now— the freaky spider guy in skin tight tights.”

And finally, for the first time, Miguel snorts before letting out a soft laugh at your joke. It’s a sound you never heard before but one you want to keep hearing over and over again.

“So that’s what your laugh sounds like,” You murmur as you pull him closer, burying your smiling face into his chest.

He quickly wraps his arms around you, whispering, “Get used to it.”

miguel taglist: @campingwiththecharmings, @whatthefishh, @scaraza, @stargazingcarol, @soft-persephone, @k-ra

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in miguel o’hara stuff!

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x afab!reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara fanfiction #arson writes #not sfw

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y-rhywbeth2 · 5 months

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Lore Compilations (+ this blog's tagging/filter list at the end)

A WIP of a pinned post table of contents to tidy up the blog while I empty my fixations onto it plus a lore accuracy disclaimer (so I don't have to keep typing one), because why not. I like tables of content.

Disclaimer regarding lore accuracy: If you combine 50 years, 5 editions, 10+ settings, god knows how many novels, and then all the writers who all retcon and contradict each other's work then what you get is a clusterfuck. The lore I show here is compiled from all five editions of the game. You will likely see stuff out there that contradicts some things I say, or stuff I didn't mention/know. That's the lore for you. If you were the Dungeon Master making your own story, your job would be to pick and chose and build your own take on the setting out of it. I, personally, heavily favour older lore. Larian absolutely did this with Baldurs Gate 3 - frankly, I don't think they even know half this lore even exists, and Bioware took some liberties in the original games too. Wizards of the Coast themselves trample D&D into the ground all the time! All D&D is near enough fanfiction built on fanfiction. Therefore, if you find any information useful you may take it, leave it or tweak it to your desire for your own story, because it's D&D lore, and that's how it works.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS [WIP] (I make no promises as to the speed or order at which any of this is produced)

Baldurs Gate: The City #1 | Demographics | Aministration & Government | ???

Religion How religion works in the Realms, the different pantheons in the world and then individual posts dedicated to the gods as individuals, how and why to worship them and how their churches function

Religion | Priesthoods and Temples | Deities

Vampires Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy & Powers | Weaknesses & Cures | Psychology

Drow Culture | Other Drow Cultures

Planars & Planetouched Tieflings | Githyanki | Bhaalspawn | Devils

Orcs

Hin - That's "halfling", if you're over 3'4" Overview | Culture | Homelands | Religion

Gnomes Culture | Homelands | History | Religion

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Tagging system:

Various lore things that don't go in the larger compilations are tagged lore stuff

If I feel like posting anything I scribbled ("art"), the tag will be the scribbles

When I'm making posts and being negative or complaining about video games and trivial stuff, it will be filed as: griping

Whenever I find or consider something new about the Dead Three and/or want to rant and scream insults at Bane again, my tag is the idiot three

Things that aren't lore will get tagged babbling

When I babble about my characters, I tag it OCs, and the ocs are also tagged by name. So far I've only mentioned Vel

If I don't want to put my babbling about certain characters into the tags, I'll just put the / in front. /astarion, /orin, /gortash, /durge, etc

For sensitive material, such as if I feel like poking at the various delightful topics presented in the game - ranging from toxic relationships, the potential Banite police state, Bhaalist red rooms and the cult abuse and the creepy breeding programs - I'll use edgelord hours - as in Dead Dove Do Not Eat

When I want to babble about stuff happening in my game as I play it, they're tagged playthrough shenanigans

When I start talking about my oc's romance with Astarion I'll tag it petty murder boyfriends

When I want to get some popcorn and watch the disaster that is the Chosen and pre-amnesia Durge being irredeemably evil, I'll just tag it villainous nonsense for now.

#lore stuff

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castle-of-ruin · 4 months

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A/N: Hi! So, this story has been in the works forever. I've always wanted to write for Deacon. I've always wanted to write Bodyguard!Deacon specifically. It's something I've thought about from the very beginning of my journey with Swat. I find it important to clarify that this is an au. The events that take place in this story are completely and utterly my own. They are made up and not true. I hope that, as readers, you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Bodyguard!Deacon x f!Reader

Reminder: This is a bodyguard au. It in no way relates to the actual plot of Swat.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, violence, death threats. There are no explicit descriptions of the readers' body type or other features. Brief use of the word 'her', reader is not named, and there is no use of y/n. Mutual pining, use of the word sweetheart.

Other characters: Jim Street, Dominique Luca, Daniel "Hondo" Harrelson

Word Count - 3.2k

Author's Note 2: If I forgot any content warnings please let me know. Once again I hope anyone who reads this story enjoys you. Feedback, reblogs, comments, likes are all welcome and much appreciated. I'm really putting myself out there by posting this story. It's personal and something I'm so passionate about. Happy Reading!!

Disclaimer: I do not condone people taking my work and reposting it as their own. Do not steal my work.

Adding some visual inspiration for the people who care💕

In the Beginning

When you first began working with criminals, you never expected your life to be threatened. Sure, there were risks of taking a job like this, but all you were asked to do was to determine whether or not a person was classified as fit to go to trial. That meant oftentimes you had to postpone hearings and trials due to a person's mental capacity.

You understood how upsetting it could be and you understood why people would blame you for justice not being brought forward. It was easy to empathize with those people, but it didn't mean your life needed to be in danger.

The first night your life was threatened you were just getting home from a grueling day in the office. Your feet ached and your stomach grumbled. Upon your arrival home you found a note taped to your front door. You tilted your head inspecting the letter before you ripped it off the door. Bile rose in your throat as you read the letter.

I will kill you for what you've done

The note was scribbled haphazardly and hardly legible, but you were well aware of what it said. Never in your four years of working had you needed to go to the cops. People you'd worked with time and time again.

The Los Angeles Police Department was unhelpful when it came to answering your pleas. It wasn't until you went to your childhood friend Jim Street that you were finally heard.

You hadn't seen Jim in over 3 years. After he left for swat the two of you hadn't had much time to get together anymore. You spoke occasionally, but had no time to really see each other anymore.

When you showed up at his door he was surprised to see you. The greeting was cut short, you were rushed and scared. As you explained everything to Jim, Luca, Jim's roommate and coworker listened carefully. He was actively trying to think of a way to get you helped out.

"What about Deac's security business?" He piped in.

The two of them looked at one another.

They spoke briefly to one another about their old coworker. Explaining to you how Deacon departed from SWAT and took up doing security details full time. You nodded as you listened to them. It wasn't a bad idea, but you didn't know how long it would be before something would take place.

As if they heard you in your head they had already made the phone call. Luca spoke briefly with someone on the phone, you assumed it was Deacon. Jim smiled softly at you, trying his best to give you some kind of comfort.

You stayed with Jim and Luca while you waited for Deacon to arrive. You felt safe with them and you took advantage of the opportunity to rest. With eyes closed you lulled to sleep for the first time in days.

Your slumber was rudely interrupted by a warm hand on your shoulder. The action made you jump, and your eyes searched for the culprit. Jim smiled at you sheepishly, apologizing with his eyes more so than with words.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He told you.

"It's okay, just, jumpy is all." He nodded his head in understanding.

"He's here." Jim stated.

You got up and followed Jim out of the den and back into the living room. Luca talked to another man, you assumed it was Deacon.

Luca turned when he saw you come into the room. His face lit up, he had already accepted you as one of his people.

"Hey Deac, this is her." He patted the man on the shoulder and he turned to face you and Jim.

You hadn't paid him much attention before he turned, but you were shocked to say the least. He was a surprisingly handsome man, and it made your heart pound in your chest.

In the few seconds before Luca introduced the two of you, you allowed your eyes to trace over him. The hair on his head was mostly gray aside from the occasional dark strand here and there, his beard joined in the majority of gray. The black t-shirt he wore hid no ounce of his muscled form. You wondered if he wore a shirt two sizes too small on purpose.

A clearing of a throat disturbed your thoughts. You blinked rapidly and pulled your eyes away from Deacon. Luca introduced the two of you and you shook Deacon's hand. Heat creeped up your neck as he stared down at you, with a soft smile.

The smile slowly faded and he crossed his arms over his chest becoming serious.

"Luca tells me you need some protection? Care to explain the story to me a little bit?" He asked.

You nodded, and took a seat on Luca and Jim's couch. You explained the story to him as thoroughly as you could. Jim grabbed your shoulder in comfort a couple of times when the emotions overwhelmed you.

"This isn't the usual detail my team and I take on, but you're a friend of a friend. I'll make sure you're safe. I'll work on this personally." He nodded to you and to Jim.

Tears welled in your eyes.

"Thank you Deacon." He smiled and nodded again.

"Of course. Now, first things first. You need a safe house of some sort while I work with my team to track down the people after you. Is there somewhere you can think of that won't be public knowledge?" He asked you.

You thought about it for a moment before you nodded.

"I do.”

Present

The cabin air was frigid as you made your way back inside. Placing the firewood in its rightful place you take a piece and set it on the fire. Rubbing your hands together you enjoy the warmth seeping into your skin. A car pulling into the driveway draws your attention away from the fire.

Getting up you make your way to the window on high alert. Your guard falls when you spot Deacon getting out of his car. You watch as he scans the area before coming to the front door. He knocks twice on the door and you go over to it to open it.

When he enters he hands you the bag in his hand.

"What's this?" You ask.

Deacon smiles softly, "Dessert." He states and you peer inside.

Your smile widens upon seeing apple pie and vanilla ice cream in the bag.

"Damn, Deacon, I'm surprised you got something so unhealthy." You laugh.

He shakes his head, "I eat ice cream."

"Doesn't look like it." You mutter to yourself.

"What did you say?" He asks.

"Nothing. Ignore me." You shake your head.

Taking the bag into the kitchen you unload everything into the freezer. You notice dishes still left over from this morning in the sink and go over to wash them. Under the running water your thoughts drift over the past 2 months.

It felt like nothing was happening. You felt stuck, and frozen. Like a prisoner with nowhere else to go. This was meant to be for your own protection, but being stuck in your family's old cabin in the woods was driving you to madness. Plus, being stuck here with Deacon, alone for all hours of the day was testing every amount of strength and willpower you have. Which was just about none when it came to the older man.

Since the beginning of month 2 things have felt different between the two of you. In month one Deacon wouldn't even sit on the same couch as you. He always sat in the chair furthest from you at the small table in the dining room, and he never looked at you for a moment more than necessary.

Now, something was different.

He sits next to you on the couch and actually joins you when you watch tv. Now, he doesn't hide his lingering gaze, nor does he sit in the chair furthest from you when you eat. The subtle changes in his behavior drove you mad.

From the very beginning you were heavily attracted to him. Now, even more so.

"Hey," Deacon's voice draws you from your thoughts.

"You okay?" He asks. Coming forward and leaning against the counter.

Your eyes are drawn to the way his arms bulge as he crosses his arms over his chest. You gulp and look away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

He chuckles and leans forward, your breath catches in your throat as you look up at him. He switches the water off and leans back against the counter. You let out a breath and close your eyes.

"You were washing the same dish for 10 minutes. Obviously something is wrong." He states.

"10 minutes?" You ask and he nods.

You let out a deep sigh and grip the edge of the sink. Tears well in your eyes and you decide not to hold them back any longer. You let yourself cry and put your head in your hands as you lean on the sink. Deacon touches your back and you allow yourself to lean into it. He rubs soothing circles on your back and allows you to cry.

After a while you sniffle and wipe your face.

"I'm sorry." You wipe at your eyes and look over at him.

His smile is sad as he looks at you. Deacon swipes a stray tear from your cheeks and cups your face in his hand. He leans in as if he's going to kiss you but, then the moment is broken when something clicks in his head and he pulls away clearing his throat.

"Don't be sorry. I'm gonna go contact my team. See if there's any updates." With that he exits the kitchen.

Fuck. You think to yourself.

For the rest of the day Deacon avoided you like the plague. It made you feel even worse than you already did. Loneliness pangs in your chest as you sit on the couch and aimlessly scroll through the channels.

Deacon busts into the room and you jump.

"We have to go now." He states, throwing your jacket at you.

Jumping to your feet you throw the jacket on and follow Deacon to the back of the cabin. You grip his jacket tightly in your hand trying to stay close to him. He turns and looks at you, pressing one of his fingers to his lips.

He opens the door quietly and inches out slowly. Deacon grasps your hand in his and drags you out into the woods. The two of you run for a while before he stops.

"You see that ridge up there?" He asks pointing.

"Yes," You pause looking at him.

"Go. Get up there and hide. Don't come out until I come get you." He instructs.

You grip his arm. "Deacon, what if you don't come back?"

He grips his phone in his back pocket and places it in your hands.

"Call, Street. Tell him where we are. Tell him to send the team." He states.

You nod, with tear filled eyes, and trembling lips. Releasing his hand you take off up the hill and hide. Pulling Deacons phone out of your pocket you dial Jim.

"Hey Deac,"

"Jim, it's me. Deacon told me to tell you to send the team. Hurry Jim. I'm scared." You sob.

"Where are you?" He rushes out.

"Near the Oregon border." You stutter out.

"Keep the line open, we're tracking Deac's phone." You nod, but he can't see you.

Gunshots could be heard in the distance. Tears fall freely now, rolling down your cheeks.

"Got it, we're on the way. Stay hidden." He urges and the line goes dead.

You pull your knees as close to your body as you can trying to hide away in the dark nook. The gunshots fade in the distance and your heart races faster. Every part of you wants to run and see if Deacon was okay, but you listened and stayed put.

After what felt like forever a helicopter could be heard overhead. Staying in your hiding spot you close your eyes and hope they make it to you soon. You were freezing.

After a few more minutes you could hear voices and footsteps. Some shouting out how many people were dead, others asking where Deacon was. You heard Jim's voice in the distance calling for you. Now you got up from your hiding spot and went tumbling down the hill. You ran as fast as you could back in the direction of the cabin.

"Jim!" You yell his name when you finally see him.

He comes running towards you and you slam into him. Hugging him tightly, tears once again falling freely. His hand goes to the back of your head as he holds you close.

When you pull away you search his eyes seeing if they hold anything.

"Where's Deacon?" You ask.

There it was. Jim averts his eyes from you for a brief moment. Something the normal eye would never pick up. You grip his arm tightly.

"Jim please, tell me." You beg.

"He's alive, but he's been shot. Plus some other injuries. He wasn't conscious when we wheeled him out of here." He tells you truthfully.

Your shoulders sag. "Is he going to be okay?" You ask.

"We don't know yet. Come on, let's get you out of here." Jim wraps his arm around you.

"But, it's not safe." You stop.

"It is now. Has he not told you?" Jim asks.

You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"

"Deacon, and his team were able to locate the men who threatened your life. He had me, Hondo and the rest of the team go in and take them down." He pauses for a moment.

"Some got away. They had found your location and we couldn't get to them before they left. We were just barely able to warn Deacon before they showed up." He finishes.

You haven't cried this much since your childhood pet died when you were 16. A part of you died that day with him. Now, here you were crying over a man you may never get to see again because he too might be dead.

Jim leads you to the helicopter and helps you get in the seat before doing so himself. You watch the land below get smaller and darker the higher into the air you go. Jim grabs your hand and squeezes it for a moment. You know it was him trying to comfort you. Jim had never been good at that.

Being able to go back to your home felt wrong. It was crazy to think that two months living in the unknown would change your entire view on your life. You desperately want to go to the hospital to see Deacon. Make sure he's okay for yourself, or see for yourself he's not okay.

Jim agrees to take you to the hospital. Upon arrival you notice how many people were there for Deacon. He was held in high regard amongst his former teammates. It was a sight to see.

Someone calls your name and you look in the direction of the voice. The man you knew as Hondo approaches you.

"We've heard a lot about you. It's nice to finally meet you." He tells you with a genuine smile.

You nod, unable to form words of any kind. Your throat was sore and scratchy. Making it feel impossible to speak at the moment. You need water. Once again reading your mind, Jim appears with a bottle of water in hand. You smile thankfully at him.

"Thanks." You croak out.

You find a seat and wait with the rest of the people in the waiting room. The hours tick by as all of you wait for an update on Deacon.

Three hours after you get to the hospital a doctor comes out of the OR doors. Everyone stands, and the doctor's eyes widen.

"Are all of you here for Mr. Kay?" He asks.

Everyone nods. The doctor takes his glasses off and wipes them before adjusting them to his face once more.

"He's going to be fine. Recovery will suck, but he will recover. Gunshot wound, cracked ribs, fractured arm, the list goes on. It's a good thing he has all of you." He nods.

"Can we see him?" Your quiet voice pokes through the crowd.

"It's after visiting hours, but I can allow one of you back." He states.

You expect someone to go back and see him, but when no one does you step forward. Jim nods at you. You found it odd the people who have known Deacon the longest would allow someone who's only known him for two months be with him while in this position.

The doctor nods and gestures for you to follow him. He leads you down the hall of hospital rooms and stops when he reaches Deacon's door.

"I'll have them bring in some blankets and pillows. If you don't plan to stay, let me know." He states.

"No, I'm staying." He nods and leaves.

You examine the small hospital room. The monitor beeps to the rhythm of Deacon's heart. This is the first time you've seen him in over 5 hours. You weren't sure if you ever would.

Taking him in you frown at the sight of him. A bandage on his left cheekbone, busted lip, a splint on his right arm. He was a mess, all because he was protecting you.

You pull the chair over to him and sit down beside him.

"Damn you, Deacon." You whisper.

You grab his open hand into your own, looping your thumb around his. He didn't close his hand around yours, but that didn't matter. Feeling his pulse thump in his wrist was enough. You lean your head down and place it on the bed, closing your eyes. Allowing yourself to take in his warmth. Meaning he was very much alive.

A nurse enters the room and gives you a soft smile before setting up the small bed in the corner of the room. You silently thank her. Your eyes snap to Deacon when you feel his fingers wrap about your hand.

His eyes are just barely open as he looks at you.

"I'm sorry." He croaks out.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry." You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Scaring you."

"Deac, you saved my life. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who needs to apologize. I'm the reason you almost died." You grip his hand tighter.

He laughs, then groans in pain.

"It was my job sweetheart. You don't have to apologize either." He reassures you.

"I guess we both need to stop apologizing." You laugh out.

"I guess so." He gives a small smile.

You rub his arm softly and he watches you do so.

"You should get some rest." You tell him as you stand up.

He watches as you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. Your breath catches in your throat as you linger a moment longer contemplating things in your head. His beard scratches your cheek as you loop your arm around his neck in an awkward hug.

"I'll be right here if you need me." You tell him.

He nods. Flicking the light in the hospital room off you make your way to the small bed in the corner and try to sleep.

"Goodnight Deac."

"Goodnight Sweetheart.”

Tagging a few who may want to read it : @obiknights @chelseasdagger @streakyglasses

A big big thank you to @spnshortcake for encouraging me to post this. I'm grateful for you. Thank you love ❤️.

#oaks writing #deacon x reader #david “deacon” kay #swat fanfic

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astroboots · 11 months

Note

Homecoming tings, more of them in public! Do they hide it? Do they not give a shit? Alternatively, how did the Miller bros find out. I kinda feel like the trio didn't want to like. Draw attention to it, but they weren't gonna police their behavior either. I feel like Will was content to just stay silent and accept the new dynamic but Benny is an idiot and said a quiet thing out loud 😂

Girl and boy Interrupted

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x female reader

Summary: This is the story of how one half of the Miller brothers finds out about you and Santiago and Frankie.

Content: Explicit shenanigans. Semi public? Getting caught in the act with your pants pulled down.

Homecoming Drabbles | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

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You're sitting on a chair on Molly's porch, trying not to stare. But Santiago isn't making it easy for you today.

He'd been bitching and moaning (as he so often does) about the heat all morning and on the way over. Complaining that he felt like he'd stepped inside a pizza oven, while tugging at his t-shirt, grumbling about how it was sticking to his skin everywhere.

At the time, when you had walked across Molly's law and spotted the water hose, spraying him had seemed like a hilarious idea.

At the time, when Santiago yelped and jumped away, with an indignant scowl on his face, it had been oh-so-satisfying.

At the time, seeing him soaked from head to toe had felt like victory.

Now though, as you spy him across the lawn, golden skin damp and slick with a wet sheen, those ridiculous curls of his glistening against the bright sun like a beacon to guide in lost sailors from the sea, it feels like torture.

He's doing it on purpose isn't he? He must be.

As you think the thought, it's as if Santiago (in tune with you as he always is) is capable of reading your mind. His head turns back to you, meeting your gaze, mouth pulling into an amused smile as he sees you watch him. Then he winks.

It's all it takes. That simple gesture sends an electric jolt through your spine that has you bolt up in your seat and clamp your thighs together to stem the sensation.

Yeah, definitely on purpose.

Asshole.

What exactly is he expecting you to do about the situation?

You're at Molly's, surrounded by friends. Frankie's still not here (running an hour late from work). Tom is tending to the barbecue like it's one of his military operations and Will is standing next to him stoic and disinterested as always, not intervening even though you and him both know that Tom is putting in way too much charcoal.

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the conversation at hand, but it's hopeless. Benjamin is standing next to you and Molly telling you an animated story about... something.

You're not really paying attention in all honesty. But judging from the way the younger Miller is swinging his arms around, he's either talking about wrestling down an alligator or how his newest hobby of crocheting is going.

There's no way you can haul the smirking asshole in your peripheral vision off somewhere to rub that self-satisfied expression of his face the only way you know how.

Not unless you two want to invite a lot of uncomfortable questions about yours and Frankie's relationship with Santiago.

Benny would never let it go, not with his curiosity. Molly is already suspicious. Tom... god you don't even want to imagine having that conversation with that man. As for Will... well actually Will would would probably mind his own business.

He's never been the type to pry. He doesn't get involved unless he absolutely has to and even then, he'll take the path of least resistance, and say as little about it (if anything at all).

Your eyes trail off, and you find yourself watching Santiago from the distance as he takes a sip from the cold bottle of beer. Watching as his Adam's apple in that long gracious throat of his bob with a mesmerizing movement. Watching his still wet t-shirt stick to his chest.

Did you say beacon earlier? Scratch that, the man is a fucking siren, trying to lure you in to your inevitable death and doom with his shameless seduction.

God, he's doing that stupid thing with his lips again. Raising the palm of his hand to his mouth to wipe away the remnants of the sticky beer, then his tongue darts out to lick at his luscious bottom lip. Glimpses of that very same habit of his whenever he's tucked between your thighs invades your vision.

Oh fuck it!

"Santiago!" you announce, and Santiago's head perks up. "Can you help me get another crate of beer from the garage?"

His eyes practically glitters at that. Smile pulling wider and you can almost hear the way he wants to cackle with laughter.

He doesn't of course. Instead all he says is, "of course, cariño," and puts down his beer on the nearest surface and starts making his way to the garage.

If Molly gives you a strange look as you start running towards Santiago, you wouldn't know, because you are too focused on the man in front of you to pay attention to your surroundings.

"That wasn't very subtle was it?" Santiago grins, as he steps into the garage.

The door barely has time to shut behind you before your arms flings around his shoulders and you haul him down to meet your lips.

Whatever the smartass has to say next is lost in a low rumbling moan as you lick into his mouth. He tastes slightly sweet of malty hoppy that sticks to your tongue and goes straight to your head as you drag your teeth against his bottom lip and nip down.

A bit too hard it seems, because Santiago groans into you, shuddering, as his lashes flutter and he looks down on you with half-lidded eyes.

"Fuck, sweetheart, what's gotten into you?"

That's such a ridiculous question. Santiago knows exactly what's gotten into you. Knows exactly what he did to get you as riled up as you are. You don't dignify it with an answer, instead you reach up, fingers tangling into his wet curls as you pull him down against you as you walk him backwards. Not stopping until his chest is pressed up against you. Not until your back hits the edge of some surface that you're not really paying attention to (a workbench? a disused dining table? who the fuck cares). You don't stop until you feel his arms wrap around you and hoist you up on that very same mysterious surface. And then Santiago's caging you in between his thick thighs, that slick mouth on yours as he grinds against you.

The denim of his jeans drags against your groin, the hard bulge of his cock trapped underneath, pressing against the inside of your thigh. Electricity surges through every one of your nerve endings at the contact.

Those clever fingers of his trails the side of your hips, down along the inside of your thighs and then they hook against the lining of your panties as he traces the seam of your cunt.

Fuck! fuck.

"So fucking wet already," he murmurs, fingertip flicking over your clit, "and you weren't even the one who got hosed down like an animal."

Then he pulls his fingers away.

You want to scream. Because that would've been too easy wouldn't it? Of course the bastard was still carrying a grudge about that.

"Santiago," you start, glaring at him even as he smiles back at you. Thumb dragging against the corner of his mouth as his tongue flicks out and he licks both his lip and then the taste of you from his fingers. Doing that stupid thing with his lips that got you here in the first place.

God you could kill him.

"Santiago, we don't have time."

"Don't worry cariño, I'll make the time"

The man has no fucking common sense. Did he forget that you're at a barbecue with your friends? Friends who are waiting for the two of you to come back with beer supplies. Friends who don't know that Santiago is fucking his best friend and his best friend's husband? Friends who will be asking a lot of questions and probably have suspicions if you don't come back with said beers in the next few seconds????!

"I'm not playing this game with you today, Santiago."

Reaching up, you're growling as you grab him by the back of his neck and pull him back down to you.

"I need you to just fuck me," you order as your free hand is already fumbling at the front button of his jeans, wrenching down the zipper.

The asshole chuckles in reply. A breathless boyish laugh, as he finally decides to help you instead of being obstructive and reaches down to pull down his jeans the rest of the way down his hips.

"Fuck you huh?" He grabs himself in one hand, spreading your legs wider with his other, as he positions himself at your entrance and for a moment you forget what it is like to breathe.

"Think I need that too," he says, mouth still pulled into that arrogant angle. But you can hear from the shakiness of his words, the way his breath stutters in your ear that he needs this just as bad as you do.

Then he slides into you, inch by sweet addictive inch, arms bracketing your side as his hips cant up and into you. The relief you feel as he fills you up can't be described with words.

Pleasure swims through your veins, fast and overwhelming until your vision goes white and fuzzy with it.

"God Boa, you feel so--" you don't hear the rest.

Your hearing must've gone along with your vision, because you can't even hear your own moans anymore. Even though you know from the way your throat scratches with a raw burn that you must be making noises loud enough to wake the dead. And in some distant remote location where your sole remaining brain cell resides, it is telling you that you need to be quiet. Need to be careful so that you don't get caught.

But you can't. Can't stop and can't care. Not when it feels this good. Not when Santiago is thrusting into you deep and reckless, both of you chasing the pleasure of it as that familiar heat buzzes pleasantly in your veins.

And if it wasn't for the fact that you're both so gone, maybe you would've noticed. Would've noticed as the garage door to the side opens. Would've noticed the way sunlight floods the space. But you don't.

You don't notice anything at all until Santiago stills and refuses to move even as you wrap your legs around him and try to pull him closer.

Don't even notice that Santiago is looking away from you, eyes burst wide with horror.

You don't notice until it's entirely too late that in front of the open garage door, Captain William Miller is standing with wide eyes and frozen stiff shoulders.

Your stomach drops to the concrete floor and tries to scuba dive into the soil beneath and reach its way to Australia.

Shit. oh shit. oh shit! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!

"It's not what it looks like," Santiago says.

And oh god. That's the most cliched and stupidest thing to say. It's not what it looks like? What exactly does it not look like?

Does it not look like Santiago is balls deep inside you with his jeans pooled around his ankles?

Thankfully, before Santiago gets a chance to dig himself even deeper, Will interrupts him with a curt, "don't."

He averts his gaze, turning on his feet as if to leave, but then he stops mid-rotation. "Does Frankie know?"

You look to Santiago, the man of many words in every situation. His mouth parts, but no words seem to come out. The man who always knows what to say has finally run out of words.

"Ye-yes," you manage to stutter out.

"And he's okay with it yeah?"

What's the answer to that? Do you say more? Do you explain? Do you tell Will that Frankie is part of this-- well whatever this is??

Jesus, fuck, how do you even begin to explain this?

You look at Santiago again, and he looks back at you, and without a word you know the same line of questions is racing through his mind. There's no adequate explanation that would begun to unravel what this is. Instead the only thing both of you do is nod dumbly in coordination.

There is a minute change in his facial expression and if William Miller hadn't been a peripheral part of your life for as many years as it's been, it would've been far too easy to miss. The straight grim line of his mouth relaxing ever so slightly, the line of his brow smoothing out, as he tilts his head by a fraction of an inch to give you an imperceptible nod.

"Alright," he says.

Then he just... leaves, gently closing the door behind himself with a soft click of the hinge, leaving you and Santiago, still inside you, still with his pants pulled to his ankles, in shock and confusion.

And that's the story of how Will finds out about Santiago and you, but decides to mind his own business.

A/N: Nonny I can't tell you enough how much I LOVED this ask because before you sent it in it just so happened that @thirstworldproblemss and I had been discussing and cackling at this very scenario of how Will and the others find out. So thank you so so much for sending this in so that I had an excuse to write this silly thing out and share it with you all. This one is dedicated to you nonny!

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fics #oscar isaac #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #💌 asks

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sweeterthanthis · 2 years

Text

Your Guilty Pleasure

Pairing: Stepdad!Lee Bodecker x 18+F!Reader

Summary: A girl’s journal is sacred. Full of secrets and fantasies that she doesn't intend for anyone else to see. What happens when the person you long for most discovers yours?

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, stepcest, daddy kink, infidelity, humilation, petnames (babylove, sugar, daddy), invasion of privacy, virgin reader, fingering, pussy eating, vaginal sex, blood play, very light tones of dubcon, coercion, innocence and corruption kink if you squint, a little fluff, a tiny sprinkling of breeding kink, and Lee’s filthy mouth. 18+.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Thank you @navybrat817 and @dreamlessinparis for letting me screech about this, and for encouraging my hoe ways, and to @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for beta'ing. I love you all!

All my works are 18+. If you click the read more tab, you are agreeing that you are 18 or over, have read the warnings and take responsibility for your own media consumption. I do not consent to having my work translated or posted anywhere else.

Dear Diary,

I’m in trouble. I thought it was just a stupid crush, that it would go away eventually and I'd be able to sit across from him at dinner without feeling shy or anxious. It's bad enough that I have to be under the same roof as him sometimes, but tonight is worse. So much worse.

I can hear her screeching. I bet he hates that. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to enjoy the screaming type. Too superficial. I'm such an idiot. How would I know? Like I have any clue what he likes. Can't they keep it down?

I can't stop thinking about him. About what it feels like to kiss him. He's hugged me before, but I wanna know what it feels like to be held by him, ya know? When my mom told him he needed to watch his figure at dinner, I wanted to stand up for him. I wanted to tell her that I think he's perfect just the way he is. She doesn't even seem to like him most of the time.

It's Friday night, and I'm laying in bed listening to my crush fuck my mom. How screwed up is that? Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine it's me he's fucking. It's okay, because it's not like I'm ever gonna tell him or do anything about it. If I can't have him, I can at least have my fantasies, right? I can keep them here. Nobody will ever read this. I'll make sure of that.

I keep thinking about showing up at the police station. Bringing him lunch maybe. Mom never does that. I think about how happy he'd be to see me, and how much he'd appreciate the thought. But it never stops there.

I think about him locking his office door and confessing his feelings to me. How he'd tell me that it's me he wants. That I'm pretty and he's been desperate to get me alone for months. I think about him kissing me, about what his tongue would feel like in my mouth. God, I'm wet just from thinking about it. I want him to take me. I want him to fuck me.

Nights like this one are rare. They don't have sex very often. Fucking walls are cardboard thin in this house so I'd know if they were humping like rabbits. But the jealousy I feel having to listen to them makes me want to throw my goddamn journal out the window. I can hear him pounding her. Would he be gentle with me? Or would he fuck me even harder?

I guess I'll never find out, will I? He's my stepfather. It's never gonna happen.

"God-fuckin'-damnit," Lee grunts, fist wrapped around his throbbing cock as it begins to soften in his grip - the pages of your journal glistening with pearly drops of his come, bleeding into black ink.

He thinks about trying to wipe the pages clean, but the ever present devil on his shoulder tells him not to. Closing the journal and slipping it back into your pillowcase, he wipes his sticky palm on your comforter and tucks himself away.

Lee wonders if you know he takes a quiet moment with your memoir every chance he gets. That he gets off to the thought of you touching yourself over him. He doesn't know how much longer he can restrain himself, especially when you turn into a delicate, doe-eyed doll whenever you're in his presence. He has wondered why you always look so taken with him, and now that he knows, the thought of experiencing your body for himself rather than reading about all the things you want him to do to it on paper is too strong to push away.

Dear Diary,

This morning when I was washing up after breakfast, he brushed up against me. And I felt..it. I heard the little noise he made. At first I just thought I was imagining things, but now I’m not so sure. And he called me ‘sugar’ this morning. ‘Thank you, sugar’, he said. He’s never called me that before. What does it mean? I know it’s wrong. I know I shouldn’t want him like..that. But he’s just so..I don’t even know. He’s not like other boys. He’s not a boy at all.

Am I going crazy? I feel like I’m going crazy. Mom left for work earlier than usual today. I think they were fighting about something. I tried to listen in, but I couldn’t hear what they were arguing about. I’ve spent the evening trying to stay out of (Lee’s) his way.

My underwear drawer was open when I got home. The new panties I bought are missing, too. I don’t think my mom would take them. Is that what they were arguing about? Does she know that I’ve been having these thoughts? If she did, she’d march me down to church by the collar of my dress.

I don’t know if I can go back downstairs tonight. I’m not scared of him, I just..I don’t trust myself not to say something stupid, ya know? He’s the Sheriff. He’s not an idiot. Speaking of, he’s been wearing that damn uniform around the house more than usual and it’s driving me crazy. He always used to come home, shower and change immediately. Not anymore. Now he wears it until bedtime. It’s like he knows what it does to me. He doesn’t even take off that stupid utility belt, and I think he might know that I..

The light rapping of knuckles on your bedroom door makes you jump, snapping your journal shut as you shuffle up towards the pillows on your bed. You panic. There’s only one person it can be. Your mom isn’t due home until at least midnight. Just as you open your mouth to speak, the door clicks open. He stands there in your doorway, his thumbs hooked through his belt loops as he rolls back on his heels slightly.

“What’cha doin’, sugar? Been awful quiet tonight,” he hums, narrowing his gaze at you as it drops to the journal hugged tight against your chest. You swear he almost smirks upon seeing it, slowly dragging his eyes back up to your face as he takes a few steps forward. “Holdin’ onto that thing for dear life. You got some secrets in there you don’t want your momma to know about?”

“No,” you bark a little too hastily, and he chuckles. His fingertips glide across the comforter draped at the end of your bed, his lips twitching into a smirk at the sight of your freshly painted toenails. You didn’t choose the cherry red polish because it was his favourite colour, the same colour has his favourite candy. Or at least that’s what you told yourself when you reached for it without a single thought to any other colour on your vanity earlier that night. “What-what were you and mom fighting about before?”

Lee raises his eyebrows at you, shaking his head with a lopsided grin as he moves to perch on your bed. You shuffle nervously, tucking your legs beneath you to keep some distance from him. He’s too tempting. You can’t keep your thoughts under control when it comes to him at the best of times, let alone when he’s so close to you.

“Nosy, ain't ya?” He teases, turning to face you, looking down at the worn notebook in your grasp once again. Goosebumps rise on your bare legs as you subconsciously tug at the hem of your night dress. Lee’s cool, penetrating stare is enough to set your skin on fire. He doesn’t give you the explanation that you asked for, instead humming as if amused, his fingers reaching for the confessional in your hands. You hold it tighter, your fingertips digging into the cover and your pulse thumping in your eardrum. “Since when did we start keepin’ secrets from each other under my roof?”

He can’t be serious. Your panicked eyes flit from his hand, to your chest and back again. A frantic shake of your head has him hushing you, his tone deceptively soothing as his touch lingers on the back of your hand. "I'm not keeping secrets, I swear. It's-it's my diary. Nobody's ever read this."

The grin that Lee shoots your way unsettles you somewhat, a knowing look on your face that has you wanting the ground to split open and swallow you whole. He can't have. There's no way he would've. There's no way he can know. "N-no. You haven't. You wouldn't."

"I won't tell nobody what you've been cookin' up in that pretty head a'yours," he tells you softly, his palm settling at your ankle and giving it a little squeeze. God this, cannot be happening. You should have been more vague. You can't even try and deny that what you've written is about him. It was stupid of you to think that nobody would ever find it. "Gotta say, I'm kinda flattered, sugar. Ain't had a pretty little thing like you go all doe eyed over me in a long, long time."

The compliment goes straight to your gut, warmth spreading to your core as you clench your thighs tightly and hope to god he doesn't notice. But he does. He notices everything, apparently. That's why you're in this predicament.

"I'm not-," you stutter, feeling your cheeks heat up at his praise-like condescension, "I'm not 'doe eyed'. It's just a stupid crush. I didn't mean it."

Lee clicks his tongue against his teeth with a smile, calloused palm gliding up towards your kneecap. You're frozen beneath his touch. You should move. You know you should move and tell him to get out. Threaten to call your mom and tell her what's happening.

You don't.

"Oh, you didn't mean it, huh? Tell me," he pauses, sidling closer up the bed until he's seated next to your thighs, "what exactly were you writin' when I knocked on your door?"

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and if you weren't holding onto your book of secrets so tight, you're pretty sure your hands would be shaking. You're torn. Torn between throwing all caution to the wind and living out your deepest fantasy and telling him to get the hell out of your room. Your cunt has already made her decision, fluttering and drenched from the slightest of touches at his rugged hands.

"You're not shy are you, sugar?" He asks, walking his fingertips up over your bare thigh as his steely, cobalt stare eats you up from the inside out. Your nipples pebble against the thin cotton of your night dress, and the little groan that escapes from his throat at the sight has you clenching once again. "C'mon. Read it. Wanna hear how much of a silly crush you got on me."

You shake your head from side to side defiantly, gritting your teeth as you grow more frustrated by his playful insistence. His hand settles, fingers nestled at the crease of your thighs and digging into your skin. They're trembling. They want to fall open for him, and it's taking everything in you to stop them from doing so.

"Would it help if I wasn't starin' right at you?" He asks, as if that's the issue. He's not joking around at all, and for some reason, you're almost glad. Even if the last thing you want to do is read a single sentence about him from your diary. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth as you shrink back against the headboard, thighs parting as you go. "Tell ya what, I'll go easy on ya. You show me what you were writing and I'll show ya my favourite entry, how 'bout that?"

"Your favourite..how long have you been reading this?" you ask him mortified, shaking his touch from your skin as you shuffle up onto your knees and hide your journal behind your back, out of his reach.

Lee doesn't even flinch at your melodrama, instead loosening his tie and dragging his knuckles across the bedspread towards you; the tip of his index finger grazing your knee. He looks you dead in the eye, a look of intent lingering behind those pretty eyes. "I've read every single page, sugar. So ya see, there's no use hidin' away from me now. I know what you've been thinkin' 'bout."

Your mind wanders back to a few days ago, the night you caught him exiting your bedroom on your way back from washing up for the night. Your cheeks are hot, brow scrunching together as you internally debate your unlikely situation. You should want to scream at him, rage and cry over the fact that he invaded your privacy like this. That’s what your brain is telling you to do; the sensible part of your brain, at least. But your pussy? The way it dampens your inner thighs and aches to be touched by him? She just wants his attention, no matter the form it comes in.

Lee’s brows arch in slight surprise as you slowly hold out your hand to him, giving him permission to take the diary from you and read your latest lovesick confession about him. You watch as he flicks to the last written page, a slow, sly smile curling on his plush lips. Tugging on your fingers, you wait.

“Well, ain’t you the sweetest thing. Sounds like that crush you got ain’t so little after all is it, sugar?” He teases you, his eyes scanning the page once more before he flips back a few entries; handing it back to you as you take it with shaky hands. “Now this one; this one’s got me curious.”

You want to sink into your mattress, your eyes struggling to read a single sentence of it coherently. Lee chuckles, his fingers toying with the hem of your nightdress. Maybe he’s drunk, you think. He doesn’t smell like bourbon though. Too early for him to be drunk. The semi cohesive part of your mind attempts to reason your way out of it, but the overwhelming desire to live out the fantasies you’ve been pouring over every night is too strong to ignore.

“Get yourself comfy. Been a while since anyone’s read me a bedtime story,” he grins, and you roll your eyes at his incessant ribbing. Admittedly, albeit in a strange way, it makes you feel at ease somewhat. You do as he says, leaning back against your pillows and stretching your legs out on the bed in front of you. Lee tilts his head to the side, widening his eyes a touch as he silently urges you to obey his shameful command. “Go on, now. From the beginnin’.”

You pull your knees up to your chest, the vivid exposure that you’re about to give him making his eyes glint with anticipation. “D-Dear Diary..” you trail off, looking up from the page to him and training your eyes back down again, “I heard some boys talking at the diner today. Boys are disgusting and selfish,” you read quietly, shuffling your feet against the comforter as Lee nods for you to continue, his fingertips dancing over your shin and causing you to suppress a shudder. “They said-” you pause, nipping at your bottom lip with your teeth as your heart beats like a kickdrum in your chest, “they said boys aren’t supposed to eat pussy.”

Lee lets out a tsk of disapproval, his fingers hooking beneath your knee. His touch is firm and cool against your clammy skin, and it takes every ounce of composure within you to regain your concentration and continue. “They said that they’d never do it, because that’s not what girls are for.” Anger bubbles in your belly as you remember the way they laughed, egging each other on. “I wonder if they’re right. Afterall, whenever I’ve heard my momma and her friends talking about sex none of them have ever mentioned that.”

“Do you think those boys are right, sugar?” he interrupts, moving closer as the heat from his body seeps against yours. He smells like leather and rain, and you can’t help but clench your thighs once again and gulp. His eyes tell you exactly where he’s going with his, devouring you as the silence ticks on.

“I mean, well, maybe?” you mumble, fiddling with the corner of the page and watching as it curls upwards. His arm hooking beneath your leg makes you gasp and Lee’s stare rolls up to meet yours. He doesn’t say a word, instead tugging your body closer to him as your legs part of their own free, and eager, will. His fingers stroke at the damp flesh of your inner thigh, and you whimper at the motion. Any moment now, you’ll wake. It’ll all have been a dream. But your dreams never felt quite like this. Bravery sparks in your gut. “D-Do boys eat pussy?”

“No babylove,” he hums, and the term of endearment has you swooning internally. Lee sinks to his knees next to your bed, pulling you to the edge of the mattress with him, his big hands spreading your legs wide and his eyes hungrily soaking in the sight of your cotton covered cunt. “Boys don’t eat pussy. Men do. Keep reading.”

You’re speechless, wide-eyed and strung up inside at the way he talks, the way he looks at you. Like you’re a 8 course tasting menu and he’s about to indulge. You roll your hips just a little, a quiet gesture of consent should he choose to accept it. “I-I wonder if he’d eat my pussy. Probably not. I wouldn’t even know where to look, having somebody down there. What if it’s not..pretty?”

“Oh, it’s fuckin’ pretty. I know it’s pretty.” You gasp when he curls two fingers beneath the gusset of your panties, slowly peeling them to the side and exposing your aching, virginal cunt to his gaze. This isn’t happening, you think to yourself, mouth gaping while you watch him nuzzle his face against your thigh; dragging his nose across the sensitive pearl between your legs. “Knew you’d smell good, babylove. Sniffin’ those sweet, little panties a’yours just ain’t the same as the real thing.”

“L-Lee..” you whimper, your feet digging into the sheets as your body works on instinct to try and put some space between the two of you. You knew someone had been in your underwear drawer. You’re trapped between his mouth and the headboard, your breaths heavy as he looks up from between your legs. “C’mon now, sugar. Ain’t got to the best part yet.”

“W-would he like the way I taste-oh!” His tongue flattens against your cunt, the sound it makes sending sparks straight to your gut, slick between your folds as your hole clenches against the wet muscle. You feel dizzy, your vision blurring from the sheer disbelief coursing through your veins.

“Fuckin’ delicious. Better’n candy. Keep readin’,” he grumbles, slurping at your cunt and swiping the tip of his tongue back and forth across your clit. The fact that he’s expecting you to continue while you try to remain composed is maddening, but you push through.

“I’ve heard him-fuck-heard him with my mom. He knows what he’s doing. Sometimes I think about him coming into my room at night and slipping beneath my sheets. I wanna know what it feels like to have his mouth on me,” you confess, letting your head fall back against the headboard. It’s too good. Too much. Not fucking enough. Lee’s hands grip your thighs roughly, spreading them wide open so he can get his fill. You whine shamelessly as he nuzzles his face from side to side against your drenched pussy, his cheeks glistening with your slick. “Please, can’t read anymore.”

“Jus’ a little bit more, babylove. Do it for daddy,” he smirks, his teeth grazing your fleshy mound. Your eyes bulge, a lump forming in your throat at the title he’s taken for himself. The title you gave him. Lee presses the tip of his index finger against your untouched hole, circling it and spreading your arousal up towards your clit. “You wanna be good for me, don’t ya? Know you do. One last lil’ bit and I’ll give ya what you want.”

You release your bottom lip from between your teeth, blowing out a shaky breath and doing your best to fulfill his wishes. Even with his lips suckling at your pussy lewdly and your hips bucking down against his face. “I know he’s s’posed to be my daddy now, but I don’t care. I want him. I want him to take my virginity. I just want him to notice me. ”

The air is still, his lustful assault halted as he wipes his damp cheek against your leg, his greedy eyes never straying from your own. “You want me to pop that little cherry, babylove, or are you still gonna try tellin’ me it’s jus’ a lil’ crush?”

The speed in which you toss the journal aside surprises him, but you’re riddled with fiery lust and you can’t wait any longer. Your fingers grip his collar, impatiently tugging him up your body, the soft bulge of his belly pressing against your cunt.

You think of all the times you’ve willed him to kiss you, all the times you’ve secretly wished to be beneath him like this. Your hands settle either side of his throat, looking to him to take the lead as your bravery ebbs away. You can feel him, hard against your inner thigh. “Gotta tell me what ya want, sugar. Ain’t gonna take it ‘less you tell me to.”

You can't speak, your tongue too heavy in your mouth. You want it. You want it more than you've ever wanted anything. The scent of him is intoxicating when he's close like this, his warm breath fanning your cheeks as you breathe him in.

Your mouth collides with his, the musky taste of yourself oozing from his lips to yours; his tongue eagerly seeking out yours as he groans and grunts against your lips. You claw at his shirt, making light-yet fumbled-work of the buttons. God, he's perfect. Just firm enough to overpower you if he chose, yet soft enough to envelop you and make you feel safe.

"Lift those arms up for me, babylove." You do as he says instantly, trembling as he rucks up your nightgown and lifts it up over your head. The deep breath he sucks in through his nostrils at the sight of your tits doesn't go unnoticed by you. The more he looks at you, the more at ease you feel. "Look'it you. Fuck."

His lips chain down your throat, teeth grazing your nipples, one after the other. He makes you feel dizzy. The kind of dizziness you feel when you get off the tilt a whirl at the fair. Like you're floating on air and he's the only thing keeping you out of the clouds. You giggle when his tongue dips into your navel, lips sucking at the flesh of your stomach and leaving a slick pool of saliva in their wake.

"Please, Lee. Did what you wanted me to do. Gotta gimme what I want now," you pout, arching yourself into him as he retraces his route back up your torso, sucking a bruise at your neck and smirking against your skin when you scold him for it. "Please, daddy."

Your hands reach for him as he stands, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders, grinning at you as you ogle his body. You're hypnotised by him, completely enraptured by the masculinity that radiates from his body.

You find yourself looking away when he removes his underwear, almost as if instinctive. You've seen him shirtless before, but naked? That's something you've never dreamed of seeing. "Gone shy on me again, sugar?" Lee teases, tugging your panties down and crawling back between your legs.

"I didn't.. just not how I expected my night to go, is all." He chuckles at your sweet admission, resting his elbow next to your head and leaning down to devour your mouth again. You grind against him, the weight and warmth of his cock heavy against your clit making you keen for more. "Do it. I want you to fuck me, daddy."

"Jesus fuckin' christ, listen t'you." Your hands cling to his biceps, fingernails leaving little crescent moons behind on his skin as you mumble an apology, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be able to explain those away to your mother. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for a while now, you know that? Since Christmas, in fact. ‘Member you wore that pretty red dress with the green bow? Fuck, looked so pretty, babylove.”

Lee reaches down, gripping his length in his hand and tapping the swollen, pink head against your cunt. It clenches, and you can’t wait any longer. Your legs wrap loosely around his waist, and you lean up to steal one more kiss from him. “Please, daddy.”

The sound your pussy makes as he slips the first inch in makes you cringe a little, embarrassed at how wet you are - how much you want him inside you. Lee hushes you, stroking your temple with his thumb as he slowly splits you open, piercing through your purity and seating himself to the hilt with a lustful groan. “Tight lil’ pussy, jus’ for me. Be okay, sugar.” You sob as a sharp pinch of pain rings through your abdomen. “I know, baby. S’gonna start feelin’ real good any second, I promise.”

The second thrust brings just as much discomfort as the first, a stray tear rolling down over your cheek. Lee captures it with his tongue, the salty taste flooding your senses when he kisses you. Kisses you like you’re all the air he needs, and everything in-between.

Your cunt barely adjusts to his size, and you can feel it all. The hard ridges of his shaft, the prominent vein at the underside of his cock. All of it. Pain melds slowly into comfort and hurtles into pleasure, your face contorting at each stretch of your walls.

The filth that spills from his tongue is almost as addictive as his cock. Lee pushes your legs back against your chest, hitting an angle that has your body shaking. It's too much. Too much, and not near enough. You don't know what you need, don't know how to ask for it. But you don't have to; because he already knows. "Most girls don't get 'ta come on their first try. Gonna make sure you're one a'the lucky ones. Gonna come all over my cock."

"There it is. There's that feelin'," he purrs, sitting back on his knees and tugging you further down the bed by your thighs. You let out a little moan, panting as his large hands pin you down at the hips; holding you in place as he sets his own rhythm. Your legs feel like jell-o, splayed open and tingling as he admires the sight of your cunt taking his cock; the crimson smears of virtue on his flesh making him grunt. "That little cherry belongs to daddy now, babylove," he gloats, gathering it up on the pads of his fingers before he reaches for your lips, nestling his digits against your tongue. "Bet its sweet like a fuckin' cherry, too."

You nod your head eagerly, babbling nonsense as you hold your legs back for him, looking down entranced as he pounds into you. It's tender, aches deep in your bones. But fuck, it feels so good.

Your first orgasm creeps up on you faster than you anticipated, tight, little ministrations of his thumb against your sensitive nub helping you along as your body tenses beneath him. You don't have time to recover, not when he's sitting back against the headboard, tugging you onto his lap and sinking your cunt back down onto his dick. It burns hotter now, that feeling in your belly that you've already grown to crave.

"Wanna watch you, babylove. Wan' you to ride daddy. Know you been humpin' on that pillow. It's just like that," he tells you gently, his rough hands gripping your waist and guiding your movements. You wind your hips back and forth, grinding yourself down against him as he let's you set your own pace. "That'sa good girl. You got it. You're a fuckin' natural."

His praise urges you on, your hands settling on his broad shoulders and raking down over his soft chest as you rise and fall gently on his shaft, flesh slapping with flesh as his thighs hold you steady. Lee’s hands move to cup your tits, pinching at your nipples and caressing your clavicles while he watches you pleasure him. The look on his face has you fucking him harder, with more intent. You want to drag the same pleasure he gave you, out of him.

“C’mon daddy,” you whisper, and the sound is debauched coming from your lips. He grits his teeth, bending his knees and thrusting up into your soaked cunt. You’re so high, so fucking high on the feeling he gives you. His hand grips your throat, and you preen at the notion, pushing further into his grasp and letting him use your pussy for his own gain. Stroke after stroke of bliss, that newly familiar heat in your gut rising once again.

“Can’t-shit-can’t come inside you, babylove.” Your brow crumples in disappointment, riding him with a new insistence that has him cursing under his breath. The sharp slap of his palm against your ass, followed by a possessive grab at your flesh makes you cry out, a low rumble escaping his throat. “You want daddy t’keep fuckin’ you? Won’t be much of a secret if you got my baby in your belly, will it?”

His words shouldn’t affect you the way they do, the thought of his seed deep inside you, your body belonging to him completely - it’s fucking riveting. He can see it on your face too, and a twisted smirk forms on his lips; sharp thrust after sharp thrust, stretching and molding your cunt to perfection. Lee pulls his cock free, a disappointed whimper catching in your throat. “Stroke daddys cock,” he instructs, guiding your hand as you wrap your fist around his heavy girth and jerk him slowly. You’re not sure if you’re doing it right, but if the sounds coming from his mouth are anything to go by, you most certainly are.

“That’s it, sugar. You got it. Jus’ like that. So fuckin’ close,” he hisses, returning the favour and letting his fingers toy with your cunt, two fingers slipping in and out of your used hole and massaging that tender spot inside you. You could watch him teetering on the edge of bliss for hours. You know he’s waiting for you, know he wants you to feel good. But you’re too focused on him to let your guard down long enough to come again. “Can’t hold back much longer.”

“Then don’t hold back, daddy. I wanna watch you. Wanna see what you look like. Wanna remember it,” you confess, wrapping your other fist around him and pumping him eagerly in both hands. It’s beautiful, his cock throbbing and threatening to burst all over your fingers. You gasp softly at the first droplets of come, licking your lower lip and wondering what it tastes like. He yells out a curse, gripping the sheets beside him and jerking his hips up into your hands, letting you milk him dry until he’s whimpering. “Beautiful daddy,” you praise him, the warmth of his spend coating your fingers, sloppy wet against his stomach.

You try not to look at the clock on the nightstand, knowing your mother is probably due home sooner than you’d like. A twinge of guilt hits you, but you shove it away, determined to enjoy the feel of Lee’s body against yours. Your body sags against his, head resting on his chest as he tucks your head beneath his chin. His arms are tight and firm around you, lips grazing the top of your head and his cock pulsing as it softens against your belly.

You’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like to be held by him.

And now that you know, you don’t think you'll ever get enough.

A/N: I no longer have a tag list, but if you want to keep up to date with what I post follow my sideblog, @sweetersficlibrary, and turn on alerts to be notified whenever I post something new 💕

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker fanfiction #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fanfiction

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madfantasy · 3 months

Text

To fan art and fiction enjoyers:

Please excuse my rage slipping if it happened over having to address this literal mediocrity of a subject in comparison to endless things that actually matters in real life. Because this would be at the scrapping bottom of it, but since the occasion presented itself, here we are:

Do you know there are some, let's say, manners, being in fandoms, and/or in using social media in general? NOOO? 8U

Well, Lets start somewhere!

Like it or not, YOU NEED TO ACTUALLY READ STUFF PEOPLE WRITE. Before you follow, before you comment, before you interact, because if you come across something you don't like, or you started to assume things— that's a you problem and not the fault of the poster.

If you DO NOT enjoy a character, a pair of ship, or a certain head cannon, filter the tag it's used for, Google has free tutorials on how. Most social media have these settings and most decent posters tag their posts correctly. If you keep seeing that pair, you can block the people who create it. You are free to do so ofc but WHY WOULD U come on main and air that out? Personally I find it so bizarre and it could show the type of person you are to other people — a toxic company over fictional substance — and I'd say that is not a flex, more like showing your dirty nappy in public. Those characters you love are not real and so not effected by your high ground stance, but actual humans that share you that love notice and get that impression, and it's a weird one. You SHOULD, of course, set your boundaries, and usually where that is be in your profile, on your bio or a pinned post.

Loving bizarre, villainous, creepy concepts DOES NOT EQUAL morality, nor loving good sunshine and flowers does. It's what a person does in real life what counts, not what they consume in entertainment. In fact, it is not a sign of a good person those who be shaming humans who like different fictional concepts. Or when someone keeps using ai generators knowing full well it's based on constant data theft of all sort of human creators across generations and can not exist without the continuance of this theft. Or those supporting creators that they know did irl crimes. Or those who are Policing what's can and cannot go into fiction as if the fickleness of preference have never let alot of things survive its judgement. And I can go on with the miniature examples. You are forgiven if you did not know before, some people learn through experience, but not anymore when you continue this behaviour. And maybe if you can't differentiate between reality and fiction, and what's more important than what, maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't be consuming fiction.

DO NOT POST WHAT YOU DID NOT CREATE. Do you like it when people keep posting your selfies that you only ment to share for funsies and what not? Isn't worse if you did not post that selfie in the first place or never wanted it to be used like that? It's the SAME FOR ART. This is the artists work just as much as your face is yours. Social media at the baseline is about who ever the poster is, their posts are theirs. So you posting an artist's drawing, with no permission, no credit to them, no nothing, is not allowed and people can report that. Don't be an ignorant thick fig and play the victim when schooled like this precious dear\s .Reposters disconnect so many content from their creators and this is how alot of beautiful things in life die, by simply not knowing they are loved, shoved into the over consumption machine..

And lastly, You don't have anything nice to say to OP? Don't say anything! It's not your misguided duty to educate people on how embarrassingly self centered you are, it's okay to be a basic #&★— I promise. It okay to feel out of place in a niche that doesn't concern you. It's okay to realise other people have different perspectives of the fiction work you enjoy. You can sit down.

And I'd like to add, Mani is a safe space for au and ships even if I don't like em, cuz they are only FICTION and will remain FICTION no matter how much I loved them or hated them.

Good day, dears🍀

#text #im probably blabing but i felt its needed #Severus Snape #fiction

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

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The Incident

Summary: An unsettling incident at your apartment forces you to rethink your current living situation. Takes place after the events in The Laundromat.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, P in V Sex, Protective Andy, Scared/Anxious Reader, Discussions of Home Invasion and Theft, Smarmy Landlord, Physical Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Stay or leave.

To be honest, you already knew which one you wanted to choose. You warily eye the baseball bat taking up space by your side on the bed. If you decided to stay at your apartment tonight, you at least had a weapon. You could post up in the hallway and keep watch. Listen out for any unusual noises, any out of place bumps or bangs...

Or the sound of someone trying to bust through the deadbolt on your door.

Tonight, you’d come home to find the door to your apartment open – just slightly ajar. The sight had stopped you dead in your tracks. You were positive that you had shut and locked it behind you this morning. In fact, you knew you had. Because you were the type to always double-check that shit.

Momentarily stunned, the dead cell phone you were holding had slipped from your hand and clattered to the floor. That small sound seemed to echo throughout the hallway, startling you into action. Picking it up, you had slowly backed away from the entrance, your eyes never leaving the scene in front of you.

Not even for a second.

When you’d finally reached the bottom of the steps, you had stepped outside of your two-family home before proceeding to bang on your retired downstairs neighbor’s door. Thankfully, Mr. Stranton had been home, along with his brother and nephew. After quickly explaining the situation, the three men had ushered you inside the residence before taking your keys and venturing back up to your apartment wielding a gun, a crowbar, and a butcher knife.

You’d waited nervously as the minutes ticked by, kicking yourself for not having had sense enough to charge your phone before you’d left work for the day. That way you could’ve at least called your boyfriend or something.

He would’ve been to you in record time.

Moments later, although it seemed like much longer than that, your neighbor and his family had returned unharmed. They’d assured you that they had searched every room in your place and found pretty nothing.

Except for two things.

One: a broken picture frame containing a sweet photo of you and Andy at some random event a few months back. It was laying smashed on the floor, almost as if it had simply...fallen off the shelf.

And two: when checking your bedroom, they’d found your underwear drawer wide open. And that it appeared that the contents had been rifled through. What they were looking for, you couldn’t be sure.

Unsure of what to make of things and concerned for your well-being, the men had asked if you wanted to call the police. You’d said no. And then they’d asked if you had somewhere else you could stay that night, just to be safe. Of course, you’d assured them that you did. And, should the need arise, you’d be heading over there tonight.

With nothing left to do beyond that, they’d kindly escorted you up to your floor. But not before writing down their phone numbers – just in case. You’d thanked them before letting yourself in and locking the door behind you. And then you’d gone to secure the chain.

Only for that piece of shit to break off in your fucking hand.

That brought you back to your current dilemma. Stay or leave.

With a sigh, you lean over to check your phone which is currently charging on the nightstand before flopping back on the bed. As soon as you were able, you’d plugged the damn thing in and waited for it to power back on. And then you’d made two calls.

The first being to 911. While you’d been hesitant to claim it was an emergency, after explaining the situation they had dispatched an officer out to your location. And then you’d called Rodney Perkins, your landlord. While the man still gave you the heebie-jeebies, you figured that he would want to be informed of the situation. You had also hoped that he would be willing to come over and fix the chain lock. If not right this minute, then first thing tomorrow morning.

You’d been wrong on both counts.

“That’s a real shame, sweetheart.” He’d said. “It’s why I tell all my female tenants to make sure they lock their doors, you never know who could be out there prowling around. Especially when it happens to be a young thing like you over there living all alone. Makes you easy pickins.”

You’d tried so hard to resist the urge to screech into your phone. As soon as your lease was up you were fucking gone!

“Rodney, I’m telling you I did! I locked it before I left and –”

“You couldn’t have. You just said that the door was open when you came home, honey. Maybe you just didn’t shut it properly. No one can get through my locks. And the only person with a spare key is me.”

Duly noted.

“Fine.” You’d said. “When can you come by to fix my chain? I’d feel better – safer – if I had a timeframe.”

“I’m afraid it’s gonna take me a while.”

“What’s a while, Rodney?” You’d struggled to blink back tears. “I’m not sure how comfortable I feel sleeping here without it.”

“Well, I’m currently in the middle of fixing up two new properties. And the construction is taking up a lot of my time. So, we’re looking at a few days at least. Maybe a week.”

Fucking ridiculous!

“That’s not going to work for me. A broken lock is an emergency maintenance issue and should be treated as such.”

“Look, Y/N, if you’re really that concerned for your safety, why don’t you go stay with your hotshot boyfriend, Archie, or whatever the hell his name is? Maybe get him to pay someone to fix the damned thing since he claims to know so much.”

You’d been shocked to say the least. And not just by his words, but also by the amount of venom in his tone.

“I pay you rent every month, Rodney. I’m your tenant and you’re my landlord. And as your tenant, I am telling you that my lock needs fixed immediately.”

“Is that so?” He’d sniped. “Well, then, you won’t mind paying a $200 convenience fee.”

“Wh-what? A convenience fee?” You’d hissed. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, dude!”

“If you want it done, then you’ll pay. If not, then I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

“No.” You’d growled, your hand gripping the phone so hard you thought it might crack. “I’ve been a good tenant for the last two years. I’ve always paid on time, never been a bother –”

“Sweetheart, if you don’t have the cash then call up your rich pretty boy. Give me a ring when you have it.” And then the line had gone dead. Fucking bastard.

You grab a pillow and bury your face in it before letting out a frustrated scream. You’re actually in the middle of your third scream when you hear your phone buzz. Shit.

Leaning over to look at the screen, you see that it’s Andy calling. Again. During all of the chaos you’d missed his call. You sit there contemplating your next move while you let it go to voicemail.

And then you make a decision. There was no way you were staying at your place tonight. Something about this whole thing wasn’t sitting right in your belly. You wanted – no, needed – to be somewhere safe tonight so that you could begin planning your next move.

So, you shoot your man a simple text.

You: I’m coming over.

Andy Bear: Ok. What’s wrong?

You: I need a glass of Pinot. See you in 30.

Andy Bear: ???

You tuck the phone back in your pocket and then you’re on the move. Having felt exhausted only moments ago, you're now hustling around the room tossing items in your bag. Yeah, you had clothes at his place but you needed to bring more. Just in case. Not to mention the fact that he loved whenever you left your things behind. He’d been all too happy to clear out a set of drawers for you a few months ago.

You hadn't even had to ask. He'd just done it.

Satisfied that you had pretty much everything you could think of, you grab your charger and your keys before heading towards your front door. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you rise on your toes to look out the peephole. And then you crack open the door to take a slow look around. Feeling the hairs rise on the back of your neck, you bolt out your apartment before locking the door and racing down the stairs.

You make it to your car, which is parked just a ways down the street, in record time. Throwing your stuff in the passenger seat, you slide inside and put it in drive. You pull off into the night, glancing at your apartment as it slowly fades in the rearview mirror.

Peace of mind was just a few miles away.

“Alright.” You huff out a tired sigh when you finally pull up in front of Andy’s brownstone. Feeling grateful, you see that he’s left on the front porch light in anticipation of your arrival. You take a moment to gather your things before exiting your vehicle and jogging the distance to his front door. You barely have time to get your key in the lock before the barrier is wrenched open to reveal a freshly showered, and very concerned, Andrew Barber.

“Hey.” You whisper as you reach out to wrap your small arms around his bigger, bulkier frame. “Thanks for letting me come over.”

“Of course. What’s going on, Y/N?” Andy smooths his palms over your back, drawing you even closer.

“I need a drink.” Another withering breath escapes you as you gently pull away. Leaving your bag by the door, you go about making your way to the kitchen with your man hot on your heels. Spying a previously opened bottle of wine sitting on the counter, you remove the cork and pour yourself a generous glass. And then you down it in one long gulp.

“Sorry.” You mutter over a tiny burp as you go to pour yourself another. Or, at least you would’ve, but both the bottle and the glass are plucked out of your grasp before you can. “Hey – !”

“Okay, you’ve had your drink.” Andy picks you up by the waist and sits you on the counter. Placing his arms on either side of your body, he effectively cages you in. “Now talk, please. I’m worried.”

“I, um…” That’s when it hits you that your boyfriend knows nothing about your nearly five-hour ordeal, and you weren’t quite sure how this was about to go. “I want to sleep here tonight, if that’s okay. I mean, I know it’s okay, but…can I please have some more wine?”

You could feel the shaking about to start.

“Sure. When we’re through talking.” His concerned eyes search your face as he waits for you to speak. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby girl.”

“I don’t want to stay at my place.” Your hands go to rest on his biceps, giving them a light squeeze. “At least not for the next few nights.”

“You know you’re always welcome here. You know that. In fact, I wish you'd quit playing and just fucking move in already." He smiles then, showcasing just a hint of a dimple on his right cheek. "But what’s happened now? What else is broken in that little spot you love so much?” Andy’s brief attempt at levity has you nervously chewing on your lower lip.

“My apartment.”

“I’m sorry. Say what, now?” He growls, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“When I got home tonight, my front door was open and I –”

“The fuck?! When the hell was this? Did you go inside? Please tell me that you didn’t fucking go inside!” Your man’s rapid fire questions are enough to make you dizzy.

“Of course I didn’t! At least not at first. My downstairs neighbor came up and checked everything for me –”

“The fucking schoolteacher?”

“Yes, Andy Bear. He and his brother and nephew went up and checked everything for me while I waited behind. The only thing they really found was a broken picture frame with a photo of you and I.” You shrug, taking in a steadying breath.

Andy waits a beat, his muscles tensing as he works to process the information. “Y/N, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Um…” Your man is quick to notice the hesitancy in your tone, and he doesn’t like it. Gripping your chin, he forces you to look him in the eyes.

“What else was missing?” He asks, his gruff voice dripping with authority.

“My panties.” You rasp, your throat suddenly burning as hot tears fill your eyes. “Who–whoever broke-in stole a couple pairs of my panties. Mostly the clean ones, but also a few dirty.” His eyes darken as feelings of rage threaten to consume him.

“Y/N, did he – could you tell if any of them had been used?” His other hand goes to the top of your head, brushing the curls away from your face.

“Used?” You blink up at him, unsure of what he means. “How would I know?” A lone tear falls, which your man swiftly dashes away.

“I’m talking about fluids, sweet girl.” Andy briefly closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours before pressing a calming kiss to the bridge of your nose. “Did he leave a mess anywhere? Or stains, maybe?”

You shake your head as understanding finally dawns. “Not that I could tell, no.”

“Okay, okay.” He hisses through his teeth as he begins formulating a plan. “We need to file a police report and we need to do it tonight.”

“I already did that. And then I called Rodney –”

“Who?”

“My landlord. I spoke with that asshole before I texted you.” Wanting to get the conversation over with, you make the decision to spill your guts about the entire call with that awful man. You leave nothing out, even though you know it's enough to send him over the edge.

When you’re through, Andy’s jaw is clenched so tight that you’re afraid he might break a tooth. He’s even more upset than you are. And try as you might, there isn’t really much you can do to calm his strained nerves.

Needing to put something on your stomach, you go about reheating some of your man’s leftover Thai food and call it a day. While you’re eating, Andy also makes it clear that he doesn’t want you going back to your apartment without him for any reason.

“Not happening, Y/N.” He growls when you delicately broach the topic of maybe returning in a few days. “Try it and I’ll tie you to the fucking bed.” Deciding to leave it alone for now, you just shovel another bite of Pad See Ew into your hungry mouth.

After all, your Big Man never bluffed.

The two of you would be going back, with the understanding that you would only be there long enough to snag a copy of your leasing agreement, along with a suitcase filled with extra clothes. Sure you could stay with your man for now, but you still needed a place to live. Didn't you?

When you’re through eating, you try to help Andy with the dishes, only for him to send you off to bed.

He literally pats you on the ass and shoos you up the stairs.

“Go get comfortable, baby. I’ll be up soon.” He mutters before turning back to loading the dishwasher. You linger there for a moment, absently twirling your thumbs, before spinning on your heel and heading towards the steps.

Deciding you’re too wiped to shower, you rummage through your boyfriend’s bureau for one of his old cotton t-shirts. You make quick work of shimmying out of your clothes before brushing your teeth and crawling into bed.

Not wanting to chance falling asleep without him, you decide to sit there and wait. Drawing your knees up to your chest you play tonight’s events over and over again in your mind. Something about the whole incident just didn’t sit right. You just needed a moment to figure out what it was.

When Andy finally joins you in bed, he barely has enough time to get comfortable before you’re burrowing into his side. After everything you’d been through you were feeling more than a little needy. And you were grateful that the man you loved understood just how much you wanted to be held.

“I love you, Andrew.” You whisper as you begin to drift off.

“Love you more, Y/N. Get some rest and we’ll figure things out in the morning.” He murmurs as he cradles your head to his chest and strokes his fingers through your thick curls.

His words barely register as the world fades into unconsciousness.

You come-to a few hours later with the feeling that something is wrong. Turning over, you find Andy awake and sitting at the far edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands.

“Andy.” You whisper into the dimly lit room. “Andy..?” You try again when he doesn’t answer the first time. “Are you okay?” The blankets pool around your waist as you crawl over to his hunched form. “Baby, what is it?” Your hand goes to gently rest on his shoulder.

“Move in with me.” He rasps, his deep voice coming out slightly muffled.

“What?”

“Move. In. With. Me.” Your boyfriend looks at you then, his beautiful blue eyes wet with emotion.

“Oh, honey.” You come up on your knees so that you can wrap your arms around him. “I’m – everything’s okay.”

“No.” Andy growls, his body tensing in your hold. “No more jokes, no more games, no more fucking arguing. After we go and get your things in a few days, that’s it. I want you to promise that you’ll be here from now on.”

You stare back at him, momentarily speechless.

“I still have my lease to worry about.” You remind him, wishing you knew just how long he’d been up and stressing alone in the dark. “Maybe in a couple of months we can –” Just then he surprises you by turning in your arms and breaking your hold. His big hands going to grip your shoulders.

“Fuck your lease!” His eyes go wild as he gives you a light shake. “Whoever broke into your place tonight was into some fucked up shit. There is so much that could’ve gone wrong with all of this, so much that could’ve gone sideways so goddamned fast. And you would’ve been alone for all of it!”

“Andy, I’m gonna need you to calm down a little, okay? Because there’s literally no reasoning with you when you get like this.” Your hands come to rest themselves on his thick biceps.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be reasoned with. Maybe I just want you to tell me that you’ll be coming home to me from here on out.” You work to control your breathing as your heart slowly threatens to beat its way out of your chest. “You promise me that right fucking now, Y/N, and I will calm down.”

“I – I don’t know. What if it’s too soon? What if we’re making a mistake?” But your man remains undeterred, even as he watches you pull away. Instead of letting the matter drop, Andy follows you, his big body chasing your own across the bed.

“The only mistake I’ve made is forcing myself to sleep without you night after night.” He pins you under him, forcing you to take his delicious weight. “Say you’ll move in with me, baby. You know you want to.” He rasps as his lips begin raining hot, wet kisses along your collarbone. “Say yes.”

A low whimper escapes you as more fevered kisses dance their way up and along your jaw at the same time as your man’s hands go to slip beneath the thin material of your shirt. He cups your soft, full breasts, his slightly roughened palms tenderly molding and caressing your delicate flesh.

“Say yes, baby girl. To me. To us.”

“It’s just – oooh – it’s such a big step, Andy Bear. And I…” Words fail you as your boyfriend begins grinding his hips against your increasingly wet core. “I…”

“Want you in my bed every night.” He growls against your mouth, his skilled tongue trailing its way across the seam of your plush lips. “Want to wake up to you every morning.” He keeps thrusting, his pace quickening as his desire for you grows even more frenzied.

“Yes, yes, yes –” You hiss as the broad head of cock makes contact with your swollen clit through the fabric of your cotton panties. “Oh-okay!”

“Give me the fucking words, Y/N.” Andy purrs as one of his hands removes itself from your shirt to cup your face, applying just enough pressure to get your attention. “I wanna hear you say it so I can make love to you tonight in our bed for the first fucking time.” He begins peppering your face and neck with kisses as he struggles to hold onto the last vestiges of his control.

“I’ll move in with you.”

“Again.” He grunts,his other hand jerking your panties to the side as he lines up his throbbing member with your eager pussy.

“I-I’ll move in with yoo-oou!” You cry as he thrusts home inside you, reveling in the burn as your velvety walls stretch to accommodate his size. “Oh, god!”

“Thank you, baby.” Your boyfriend pants as he finds his rhythm, his Boston accent growing thicker with every ardent surge of his hips. “Swear to god I’m so fuckin’ happy right now.”

You know you should put up a little more of a fight. But, truth be told, you simply don’t have it in you. Because at the end of the day, your heart belonged to this man. The man who wanted to claim all of your days as his. The man who wanted to own each and every one of your nights. So why fight when you could lay back and let your man love you in all the ways he knew you needed to be loved?

Three days later…

You and Andy are sitting in the living room of your apartment reviewing your lease. According to your legal expert and lover, you were well within your rights to file for early termination of your agreement due to gross negligence.

Per your man’s advice, your first step was going to involve speaking with Rodney directly. If that didn’t work, then you’d probably move forward with having to take him to court. But he was also going to drop a copy by a friend’s office to have them take a look.

Just in case.

In the interim, the two of you had packed a few things - clothes, mostly. But also a few pictures and knickknacks that you just could not do without. After slipping your lease back into a folder with a few other important documents, you begin mulling over lunch options. Only to pause when you hear the sound of a key being inserted into a lock.

Your lock.

Rising to your feet, Andy is quick to move so that he’s between you and whoever is apparently at your door.

Who the fuck else had a working key to your place?

You hold your breath as the seconds continue to tick by. And then, you watch in what seems like slow motion as the door opens to reveal none other than your landlord.

‘Rodney?” You breathe, startling him.

“Y/N! Uh, hi there.” The older man coughs as his hand flies to his chest. “I’m, uh, here to fix that chain. Just like I said I would.”

“Uh huh.” You reply, not bothering to hide the suspicion in your tone. “What happened to knocking?”

“Figured you wouldn’t be home and I could just, uh, fix that thing and be out of your hair.” Your landlord coughs again, his mottled face and neck turning an even deeper shade of red.

“So you just let yourself in?” You try to move around your boyfriend’s big body, but he keeps blocking your path. “I mean, what the hell?”

“Look, sweetheart, this is my property which means I can –”

“Rodney,” Andy interrupts, his voice eerily calm. “Where are your tools?”

“What?” You and he both ask at the same time.

“Mr. Perkins, you just said that you were here to fix Y/N’s door. But you also seem to have left your toolbox at home.” This time there’s no mistaking the quiet ice in his tone.

Oh god. Your eyes go wide as everything begins to click into place.

“I…I must have left ‘em in the truck or something.” The older, slightly greasy looking man responds nervously as he shifts from foot to foot. “I’ll go, uh, check on that.”

“Rodney, how come you never called to ask me what the police found?” You poke your man in the back, silently willing him to step aside so that you can face down your landlord.

“Figured it couldn’t have been much of anything.” He shrugs as he starts to back out of the door. “Ain’t much cops can do about a few missing panties. Anyway, you’ll, uh, actually have to excuse me. Gotta meet a plumber over at one of my houses on 95th. It was good seeing you, Archie.”

“Right.” You grunt, trying to tamp down the bile rising in your throat. “Except I never told you about that.”

“Sure you did. You said –”

“No!” You cut him off with an angry wave of your hand. “I never said a damned thing about what the fuck was missing from my apartment." You were about two seconds away from epically losing your shit. "You disgusting fucking pig.”

“You-you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rodney hisses. “You’re clearly confused and more than a little emotional, so I’m gonna leave you with hotshot here so you can calm down.” He turns on his heel, fully prepared to bolt.

But Andy is faster.

Before you can form another coherent thought, your man hauls your landlord back inside with a hand wrapped around his neck.

“Let me go!” He squeaks, clawing at his throat. “I didn’t do anything! Y/N, tell him!”

“You know what, Perkins? I don’t think I will.” Andy snarls, ignoring the other man’s struggles as he applies even more pressure. “Could’ve sworn I made myself real clear the last time we had words. And then you pull this shit?”

“Andy.” You say, pressing the heels of your palms over your eyes.

“What the hell’d you do, man? Use ‘em to jack off while thinking about my girl? I oughta rip your dick off and –”

“ANDY.” Your man finally turns to you, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

“Let him go. Please.”

“No.” Instead of complying, you’re pretty sure Andy tightens his grip some more. Virtually cutting off the man’s oxygen supply. “Baby girl, you didn’t see your eyes when you came to me the other night. The fear I saw...” He shakes his head. “I never want to see that kind of shit again in those big, beautiful eyes.”

“But I’m safe now.” You tell him as you go to rest a calming hand on his arm. “You’ve made your point. And I think that after all this, I’m sure Rodney will be more than willing to let me out of my lease a little early. Isn’t that right?” Finally, your boyfriend lets go, letting the man crumple to the floor.

“Ri-right!” He wheezes as he fights to pull air back into his burning lungs.

“Along with returning my security deposit. And maybe I’ll decide not to press charges.”

“Now, wait a minute –!” Rodney lets out a small squeal when Andy suddenly crouches down next to him.

“Sorry, but I think my girl misspoke. You’re going to refund her security deposit, plus this month’s rent. And in return, I’ll let you keep on living, whether she decides to file charges or not. We good, Perkins?”

He nods as he struggles to his feet with the help of the wall.

“Glad we have an understanding. I’ll mail you my keys by the end of next week. Now please kindly get the fuck out of my apartment."

For once in his life, it seems that Rodney Perkins doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s out the door without another word. And just like that, you and Andy find yourselves alone once again.

You tug on the belt loops of your man’s jeans, wanting to make sure he was alright.

“I’m fine, Y/N.” He tells you, his eyes never leaving your now empty doorway.

“Are you actually? Because I’m not sure I am.”

“Okay. I’m not.”

“Hey.” You rise up on your tiptoes, trying your best to block his line of sight and make him refocus his attention. “You know what might help?”

“Chasing that fucker down and dangling him off the roof of this building?”

You're pretty sure he’s joking. Mostly.

“That’s one option I suppose. Or…” You trail off, feeling your belly flutter when he finally gazes down at you.

“Or what?” Andy asks, his voice gruff.

“We could go home.” You lightly stroke your knuckles along his jaw. “And you could take me to our bed, where we can spend hours getting lost in one another, until today fades away.” You pull his face down to your level so you can tease his lips with yours.

“Take me home, Andy.”

Take me home.

END

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alrightbuckaroo · 3 months

Text

Happy last day of January everyone - we made it! Thanks @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @sznofthesticks, @three-drink-amy, @paperstorm and @orchidscript for the tags! Your posts are all queue'd up and ready to post. Carlos character study just passed 13k (actually at 13,133 at the time of posting this, maybe that's good luck!) so here's a little of that:

Carlos remembers one of the first nights after TK joined him in the loft; when it went from a house to a home. TK asked Carlos to just communicate with him; talk to him, let him in. Carlos told him he’d work on it.

The following evening, during a quiet dinner in which both of them were tuckered and content, Carlos causally brought up that his first best friend was a stuffed koala named Kique. He told TK that the last time he saw Kique was his last day at the police academy.

Carlos was rummaging through his things, trying to pick and choose what he was going to take with him when he moved out and tried his hand at independence. Kique’s fur was matted, faded and smelled like dust and the undying love of an eight year old Carlos.

His mother noticed the sheen in the eyes of a twenty-one year old Carlos as he looked upon his best friend and spent the next thirty minutes washing Kique’s fur. Brushing through the knots and combing through the memories.

Carlos' heart wanted to burst when Andrea presented a freshly loved Kique to him as he was packing up the last of his stuff. He wrapped her in a hug after she told him that it only made sense that Kique got the chance to start anew seeing as Carlos did too.

TK smiled that special type of smile that he only shows when he finds a new way to fall in love. He said, “You’ve never told me that before.” Carlos could hear what TK was actually trying to say; ‘Thanks for letting me in.’

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” Carlos replied, his voice quiet and sincere. He looked up from his shrimp scampi, his eyes gleaming with a light the could only be read as, ‘You’re the only one I ever want to let in.’

open tag + no pressure tags under the cut :)

@reyesstrand, @strandnreyes, @carlos-in-glasses, @heartstringsduet, @herefortarlos, @bonheur-cafe, @thebumblecee, @never-blooms, @carlos-tk, @whatsintheboxmh, @theghostofashton, @ambiguouspenny, @freneticfloetry, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @basilsunrise, @lightningboltreader and @sanjuwrites :)

#remember when i said i go feral over tiny details like kique? i meant it i go FERAL give me the littlest crumbs i will treat you to a meal #fic: tender eyes that shine #wip wednesday

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andromeda-pleiades · 4 months

Note

Feel free to just read this and delete it, I don't need a response.

Re: your recent post about noncon/underage content in fandom spaces, specifically in CoD:MW.

It's not an individual's place to police what Fanfiction or Fanart people create. The characters are fictional. The death, torture, and destruction in CoD fics are also fictional. In no country is murder "okay" either, but people die in Fiction all the time. There's a specific tag on Ao3 that authors can and should put on their works if the work features Under-Age or noncon content. You can filter out that tag and not read it.

I don't read them, certainly, bc that's not the kind of story I'm interested in reading, but it doesn't mean it's my right to tell authors to stop writing it. I don't read fics involving daddy kink bc it squicks me out like hell, but it is not my place to tell authors to stop writing fics with it. Fictional characters can't break irl laws, even in "reader insert" fanfictions. Authors are not and cannot be held accountable for the things they write, because they write fictional stories.

I recommend you block the users and tags you don't want to see, and you help encourage the creators you do want to see without insulting others. Your experience will improve. I want it to improve. I don't want you to be unhappy with your experience in any fandom. Fandom spaces are places to find your people, find your little joys, and to coexist peaceably, and it's wonderful when it all works.

With all due respect, you're well spoken, but that's where my respect ends

Let's do this in points

I am not policing what people write. I simply stated how i feel about certain content on the internet.

If you think writing character death or death in general is the same or equal to writing pornographic content about children, you're too far gone.

Once again, you try to dumb down pedophilia into something less than what it is. The things about daddy kinks are two consenting adults who are not getting off on the manipulation and r*pe of children.

Like I said in my previous post, I don't care about your laws or that 'fictional characters' can't break them. I believe that pedophiles are the absolute scum of the earth, and I have no positive feeling when I think of those horrid and disgusting people.

Also, I want to make this very clear. I don't care if you write weird, illegal things like vore or kidnapping on the internet, I only care about the children, and I wish nothing but the worst on anyone who wishes harm on them mentally, physically, and sexually.

I know it may seem hypocritical for me to be okay with certain things on the internet and not okay with other things but I am my own person and I'm allowed to have my own moral compass. And I find no reason why anyone should be okay with this type of content being allowed on the internet.

I know that blocking them and moving on about my day would be the socially acceptable thing to do. But I don't have to be content with the media people consume on the internet. I also have a platform, and I feel strongly about this, so I'm gonna speak out on it.

I know I might sound a bit extremist on this matter, but that's exactly how I feel, I care so deeply about children and their future, and well-being. That I will commit war crimes to make sure they're safe

Also next time you write something think what's the point, if the point is defending pedophiles then you're probably on the wrong side.

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #ghost #john soap mactavish #john price

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evans-heaven · 2 years

Text

SpaghettiOs ; Eddie Munson

Another Eddie fic because what’s stopping me? This would’ve been up last night but tumblr decided to crash and I lost the entire post 🙃 so, was up until 2AM re-typing it, but if I’m being honest, I like this version better. Hope y’all enjoy 💕

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N but teeny tiny hint at size difference)

Warnings: Ridiculously melodramatic content, talk of food, swearing, angst but then fluff (like its gross), opinions about marriage that are not my own, brief description of Chrissy’s death scene, implied smut at the end.

WC: 2.7k

Your boyfriend was antsy, and you couldn’t blame him.

It was really just one thing after another for him during the past couple of days. First, he helplessly watched the queen of Hawkins High die a very macabre and unexplainable death in the middle of his trailer, when he just wanted to make a sale. Then, he fled from said trailer and ended up at the drug dealer Reefer Rick’s boathouse, in fear of what just happened.

Then, for the sour cherry on top of the already shit pie, he found out the authorities were trying to pin this on him. The crime (if a girl having her bones snapped and eyeballs yanked into her skull by some unseen entity could even be called that) took place in the home of the ‘freak’, that was all they’d need to have suspicions.

Not just that, but they were looking for you as well. They probably thought it made sense, you and Eddie were attached at the hip, the ‘anti-it’ couple of the school/town. The police had their suspicions that you knew something about Chrissy’s death-or worse, even played a part in it.

And just like that, hiding out in Rick’s boathouse became all the more justified.

You didn’t even want to get into Dustin, Robin, Steve and Max giving you the knowledge that Hawkins had been home to, apparently, many supernatural events, and they’d been at the center of them. What happened to Chrissy was just another one of those events. Trippy as it was, the group seemed like they were being 100% candid and knew what they were talking about. The people of Hawkins had really begun to feel like their town was cursed, and, truthfully, you had been nursing an unsettled feeling in your stomach for the past couple of years, because you knew something in this town had started to become off.

Maybe the devil had come to America. But it wasn’t D&D, and it sure as hell wasn’t your boyfriend.

That morning, you found he had broken into Rick’s home, unspotted, hopefully. This area was pretty secluded, but still, you didn’t want to take any chances. The house was by a huge lake where anyone could’ve looked across.

You snuck in yourself, and were greeted with the sound of drawers opening and closing, utensils crashing against each other, and cupboards creaking. You entered the kitchen to find Eddie searching through the pantries.

“Hey, babe,” you greeted, gaining his attention. He jumped just a little before he turned around and saw it was you. He smiled, though you could tell it was strained.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“We’re out of food, so I came to see if ‘Ol Ricky has anything of sustenance,” he sighed, looking around the dormant kitchen. His normally bright and doe-y eyes were now tired and frantic. He was right though, the initial food supply the gang brought you at first was completely devoured by the two of you. Well, mostly Eddie. Stress eating was a hell of a thing, he’d said to you.

“Okay,” you nodded. “Hope no one saw you come in here,”

“Doubt it,” he said dismissively. He opened another cupboard and came across a can of SpaghettiOs. He took it out and inspected it briefly, before breathing out “Yep, you’ll do,”

“You sure that’s not expired?” you wondered, jutting your chin towards the can in his grasp.

“It's not like we have much of a choice right now, sweetheart,” he said, and there was a noticeable bite in his voice. He began searching the drawer again, most likely looking for a can opener.

Your eyebrows twitched up a bit. Eddie had never used that tone with you, but you realized that, given the circumstances, you understood. The police were on the hunt for him. He was a wanted man, hiding out in the home of a jailed man. Canned foods that may or may not have gone bad wasn’t something you could afford to worry about, right now. It's not like he could run to the store on his own.

You took a step towards him. “Hey, Ed, I’m sorry-”

“It's okay,” he replied shortly.

You watched him as he found the opener. He placed the can down and was about to open it, when you saw him pause. He audibly inhaled and exhaled a few times, stiff shoulders rising and falling, trying to calm himself down.

But if he managed to, it didn’t last long. It was like he was a ticking bomb, with 10 seconds left on the countdown from when you entered the kitchen.

It was then you were startled by the tool harshly dropping against the counter. Eddie hunched over, and gripped the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles began to go white, peeking out under his chunky rings.

“Ed,” you breathed, and came up behind him to grasp his biceps in your small hands to get his attention.

“God, I just-” he began, and you cut him off.

“Ed, shhh, it’s okay,” you said, pressing your cheek to his shoulder.

“Its fucking ridiculous, is what it is,” he hissed, but remained in your grip. “Just because a person has an interest that doesn’t align with the majority, just because they play a fucking fantasy game that everyone suddenly decided to have an issue with. Just because a person looks…different, it means we’re….I’m….capable of something so…,” he trailed off, not even finding the words to describe it. He just sighed. You listened to him vent, knowing he needed it. When Eddie felt something, he felt it hard. He needed the time to get his thoughts out.

“We got lucky with Dustin and the others, they’ve seen shit like this before. They know what this really is. Can’t say the same for those glorified security guards. Or the rest of the town,” he groaned. “Its like Robin said, once my name goes public, everyone’s gonna be gunning for me,” he shook his head, his voice becoming weaker as he said, “And now you’re dragged into this mess too,”

“Hey,” you said sternly, and used all your strength to peel him from the counter to turn him around. You reached up and held his face in your hands, feeling his stubble scratch at them lightly. “I’d be here with you even if Hawkins PD wasn’t looking for me,” you assured him, voice leaving no room for protest. “I’d never, ever let you go through something like this alone, Ed,” you promised, brushing your thumbs against the bags under his eyes.

He just looked at you with no words, lips trembling a little. You did nothing but let him be, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, feeling him nuzzle his head into your neck.

You placed a few kisses on his shoulder, hoping to soothe him. You wanted to say more, wanted to assure him, but of what? The reality of the matter was, Hawkins was paranoid and was looking for someone to blame for Chrissy’s demise. Obviously someone, or something, was responsible, and they seemed to have their minds made up on the culprit. You couldn’t predict the future, as much as you wanted to be right about things being okay.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he said into your neck.

“It's alright,” you assured him, you had long forgotten about it.

After holding onto him for a few minutes, you heard his stomach begin to grumble a bit, and you were beginning to feel a little hungry yourself. “Ed,” you mumbled, and he straightened up, looking down at you. You brought a hand up to brush some hair from his face, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Why don’t you go relax for a bit, I’ll make the SpaghettiOs for us,” you suggested, lightly scratching his scalp.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, nodding. “Sounds good,” he brought his hands to your cheeks for a moment, simply looking at you with an expression you couldn’t read. He pulled away and said “I’m gonna try to get a hold of Dustin, see if he can get us some more food,” he released you and walked off, but not before looking at you over his shoulder. “Food that isn’t a day away from expiring,” he smirked.

You giggled and shook your head, there was your sarcastic boy.

You heard him speaking into the walkie talkie, calling out to Dustin and referring to himself as “Eddie the Banished”. His voice faded as he got further from the kitchen.

You got the can opened, and lit a pot on the stove. You poured the contents into it and began to stir it up with a wooden spoon you had found. It looked appetizing enough, and as the smell began to enter the air, you realized it wasn’t too bad.

You enjoyed cooking, so this brought you at least a little bit of ease even if you were just stirring a pot. Having grown up with a mother who worked late nights and sometimes wouldn’t come home until the early hours of the morning, you learned to hold your own in the kitchen, eventually becoming quite comfortable in it. Now, at 18, your paycheck from your job at Kinney Shoes was able to get you ingredients for simple dishes, that you either made at home or in Eddie’s trailer. He loved being your taste-tester, and you knew for a fact that he had no proper meal plans if you didn’t show up.

You heard him take a seat at the small table that was just off the kitchen, the chair scraping on the ground. “Wheeler picked up, then promptly hung up on me,” he reported, “So this will have to hold us over til…,” he trailed off and shook his head.

“ ‘til Boccob knows when,” you said nonchalantly, bringing the spoon up to taste the sauce from the SpaghettiOs.

Eddie’s gasp made your head snap towards him. He stood up, jaw hanging. “Do my ears deceive me?” he asked in that deep, theatrical voice, the same one he used to read that bullshit Newsweek article. He swiftly came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist in a snug hold. Amidst your confusion, his action made you giggle and almost drop the spoon. “Did my girl just make an accurate D&D reference?” he asked in disbelief, and you angled your body a bit to face him.

“I mean, it's not like I never paid attention during the many D&D games I’ve sat in on,” you said, smiling, and relishing in the affection he was giving you,. You and Eddie had been going strong for a little over a year now, and in that time, you had attended quite a few Hellfire Club meetings. It shouldn’t have been too much of a shock that you had some basic knowledge of the characters-or, more specifically, Boccob, the God of Forecasting. Although, you were happy you had unintentionally given him an instant mood boost.

“True,” he admitted. He nuzzled his face into your cheek, placing featherlight kisses there. “Nice one, baby,” he whispered, and you were thankful he held your body up, because you were sure your legs would give out from underneath you. That deep voice of his coming out in a whisper was damn near sinful.

“Thanks,” you said proudly, placing a quick kiss on his lips and pulling away before it could deepen, causing him to pout a little. It was hilarious whenever he did that, seeing your rather intimidating looking boyfriend, with his tattoos and black jeans and unruly hair, sticking out his lower lip like a little boy. You snickered at him and wriggled out of his grasp to turn the stove off, the meal all heated up. Deciding not to dirty more dishes than necessary, you just grabbed another spoon from the drawer. “Okay, soup’s on,” you said.

Eddie rushed ahead of you when you began to make your way to the table and pulled the other chair out for you. You gave him a small smile of gratitude and you both sat down and dug into your processed meal. It was decent enough, and Eddie seemed like he was satisfied. You occasionally gave him a few bites from your spoon, just to make him smile-for some reason he loved when you fed him.

After a while of comfortable silence, he spoke up through a mouthful. “You know, I love doing this with you,”

You quirked a brow. “Eating canned food while hiding from the police?” you snarked.

“No,” he said, failing miserably at keeping a straight face, you just knew he wanted to smile, because you knew he loved your sass. “I meant, eating with you after you cook for us,” he clarified.

You couldn’t stop the flustered feeling that grew at his words. “Ohh,” you mused, and held up another spoonful for him, and he took it. “I love it too baby,” you said sincerely, smiling softly.

“Seriously, though,” he said after swallowing. “I love it so much I’m willing to throw my very strong opinion that the marriage industry is a scam-powered by social conformity and money hungry businesses-clean out the fucking window if it means I get moments like this,” he gestured to your little set up, the two of you and your pot of SpaghettiOs, “For the rest of my life,”

It was your jaw’s turn to drop. “Do my ears deceive me?” you asked, imitating his words and tone from earlier. “Did my guy just say he’d…conform for me?” you asked, placing a hand on your chest with a purely exaggerated look of shock on your face.

“Hey, fuck it, call me a conformist,” he said, shrugging lightly and lounging back in his seat. Then, he gazed upon you with a look so full of love and sincerity. “But only for you,” he finished, eyes not wavering for a minute, and you knew he wasn’t bullshitting you.

You and Eddie had never spoken about marriage. You were in High School, for fuck’s sake. And, both of you weren’t exactly big fans of the concept. You just heard Eddie reiterate his own beliefs, and as for you, after watching your parents’ marriage crumble right before your eyes as a little kid, you’d grown up with the opinion that the entire thing was bullshit.

But still, sometimes, you saw the little things Eddie did, and the endearing feeling in your heart would grow, and you would think, “I wanna see that for the rest of my life”. It was the way he would fold his lips in when he focused on something. The little dance he would do when he was excited or fired up. The blush he’d get on his cheeks that he would never admit to when he saw you in the hallway at school. Then there were the bigger things, namely how passionate he would get about the stuff he felt strongly about. It made you think about how badly you wanted to hear this drama king’s speeches about any and everything, again, for the rest of your life. And just wake up next to him, for the rest of your life. It would be quite a while before you were ready for that, but you knew who you wanted it with.

Holy shit, you were so far gone for this long haired bastard.

Wordlessly, you dropped your spoon and climbed into his lap, draping one arm around his neck and placing a delicate palm on his cheek, feeling that stubble again. His large hands gripped your waist as he looked up at you expectantly. You pressed your lips to his without any hesitation. His grip on your waist tightened, if possible, as the kiss deepened, your mouths moving against one another passionately. You poured every emotion you felt into it-love, longing, anxiousness. Even frustration, because this moment should have been happening over some beef stroganoff in your kitchen or in his trailer, not over SpaghettiOs in the halfway dining room of some incarcerated drug dealer. You wished Hawkins PD could see this Eddie, the soft Eddie no one else knew, and realize he would never commit such a gruesome and humanly impossible act.

You broke the kiss, your forehead finding purchase against his as you both panted heavily. You placed your other hand on his cheek, savoring his breath against your lips. It was then you felt it-that growing, tingling heat between your legs

You had been too worried before to even think about sex. But after that moment you shared and that kiss, your heart filled with longing for him, and the distraction laying with him would bring, for the two of you.

And, it was like Eddie read your mind, as he hoisted you up into his arms and carried you over to the couch, ready to satisfy your unspoken needs.

Maybe there would be chaos when he was eventually found. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to prove his innocence. But at that moment, feeling him against you blocked those thoughts from your mind-and you allowed it.

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The ending feels rushed but I’ve never been good with them anyway😅 hope y’all liked this one, it was a labor of love. I’m gonna go take a nap now 😴

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson writing

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