#that refuse to leave because it's fuckin' cold out there man

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Ya know what? In Meteors AU, Vanessa is probably the only reason these guys make it through their first week as biological creatures. She's been doing this way longer than them, she knows what kind of shit they can get up to without dying and how long they can go without sleep and food and shit. She's the only one that knows what she's doing.

Even if she can't get any of them that turn to get out of her office once she clocks in for her shift. She's got a space heater in there and they really like it :(

#it's so unfair for them #the plex isn't heated at all on a night and Vanessa has a space heater in her office #so she's just sat there with at least two former animatronics napping in her office or just generally existing #that refuse to leave because it's fuckin' cold out there man #and she keeps acting like they're not welcome but they know for a fact she appreciates the company #/she can't escape them for long/ #lmao #/lh #meteors au

[shadowspromise]

ghoapy thoughts

Ghost has a stupid crush on you. He swears he’ll deny it till the end of time.

Soap has an enthusiastic crush on you. He makes it painfully obvious.

Ghost has an even stupider crush on Soap. He tells himself every morning not to let his feelings get ahead of his job.

Soap has, yet again, an enthusiastic crush on Ghost. It’s even more obvious, somehow, than his crush on you.

You know that Soap’s down tremendously for Ghost, but you know that he’s also flirting with you. It confuses you, making you wonder if he’s just naturally flirty or if he really likes both of you.

Ghost wakes up every morning, looks in the mirror, gives himself a firm slap across his own face and tells himself to behave. Crushes are stupid and he’s a grown man with a grown man job. He doesn’t have time for his stupid feelings.

Oh, but when it’s just Ghost and Soap at the bar together, after a few too many drinks…

They can’t help but talk about each other, talk about you. They keep buying each other drinks, knowing that at this rate they’ll have to call someone to pick them up.

“Could barely focus during Price’s meeting today. You an’ Y/N wearin’ those tight shirts… drivin’ me up the damn wall…” Ghost rambles, his eyes parallel to Soap’s.

“Ah did it on purpose, ya know ah love distractin’ you…” Soap responds, his accent thicker due to the alcohol. His cheeks are heavily tinted red, both from blushing and the drinking.

“You think Y/N knows what they’re doin’ to us? Think they do it on purpose too?” Ghost replies, smirking from under his mask. He lifts it over his nose to take another drink.

“God, I hope so,” Soap mumbles, rubbing his temples. He can’t even remember how many drinks he’s had tonight.

“You a’ight Johnny? Think we should go?” Ghost asks, intentionally touching Soap’s shoulder as an act of comfort (and seduction).

“Ah’m fuckin’ blootered, ah’m see’in colors when I close my damn eyes… cannae even feel my toes properly…” Soap starts muttering. Ghost only comprehends about half of what he just said but gets the general point.

“I’ll ask someone to get us. We’ll wake up in a whorehouse if we try walkin’ ourselves back…” Ghost pulls out his phone, squinting his eyes at the screen, trying to focus.

He texts Gaz and gets no answer, probably because it’s late and he’s sleeping.

He texts Price and gets the response of “You’re big boys, get yourself back.”

That leaves you. He decides to rethink a nicer message than the “pick johnny and I up cuntbag” he sent to the others.

“Johnny and I are drunk. Would appreciate if you came and walked us back to base.”

Simon mentally gives himself a pat on the back for managing to type all that without sounding condescending or making a dozen typos.

You respond within 15 seconds, to his surprise. Although he knew you were a good boy/girl and were always eager to help.

“Sure thing. Will be there soon ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ”

The little emoticons you send him drives him mad.

“Aye, you think they’re into me? They put a… fuckin’ dog or whatever…” Ghost shows Johnny his phone.

“That’s a bear, mate,” Soap points at the text.

“I think it’s a dog.”

“Well you’re wrong, ye braw bastard.”

The bar is just about a ten minute walk from base and you’ll be there any minute, so they spent their “alone” time talking about you (and the things they’d do to you)

When you arrive, Soap gets overly excited and falls over. Ghost tries with every nerve in his body not to laugh, attempting to keep up the cold and stoic personality for you.

You guide them back to base, stopping Soap from stumbling onto the road. Ghost is much more physically put together, but mentally he’s having an aneurysm. He’s staring at Johnny’s ass whenever he has the chance and can physically feel himself get warmer when your arm brushes against his.

At base, you attempt to push them into their separate rooms but they refuse. Ghost and Soap give one drunken look at each other and it’s seconds before they’re cornering you.

That night, all three of you had your dreams come true.

#simon riley x reader #Simon Riley fluff #Simon Riley #ghost x reader #ghost fluff #ghoap #ghoap x reader #soap x reader #soap fluff #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish fluff #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish fluff #call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod #cod x reader

[ciitroner]

Rough Day

Ghoap x kidnapped!reader

Wc: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), afab!reader, noncon/dubcon-ish???, not proofread, kidnapping, oral sex (fem receiving), cunnilingus, reader is kinda touch starved, dark fic, mentions of creampie, Simon and Johnny are mean :(, Simon calls Johnny “pup” (once), voyeurism, one-time-mention of pee (not piss kink), reader is restrained and threatened (kinda), Soap acts like a wild animal sorry that’s how it goes 🤷‍♀️, also reader refuses to call them by their names lol, tell me if I missed any!

The sounds of clinks and jingles can be heard as the numerous locks unlock on the door, “Fuuuck. Hate this fuckin’ job sometimes.” You hear a deep, frustrated voice groan, paralleling the whistling creak of the wooden rectangle. Some hefty objects, perhaps a few bags, are thrown on the ground, and another voice replies curtly, “Manners, Johnny.”

Their heavy footsteps slowly move around the house, which is located in the middle of pretty much nowhere. Your breath hitches when the steps move closer to the dark room you’re locked in, chained to the headboard of their shared bed. They don’t come in yet, though, acting as if you don’t even exist. Acting as if they didn’t take you away from your life, locking you up in a house for them to play dolly with you. “Eh? Dinnae act like yer not agreein’ with me, Lt” the muffled voice rumbles from the other side of your door, coming closer and closer, until a ray of light peeks through the doorcrack that keeps getting bigger. He swiftly moves into the room and turns on the ceiling light, a poor little lightbulb hanging by an old cord. The sudden shift in brightness makes you blink a few times until your eyes adjust. You’re sure they have way more money than they’re letting on; yet they keep their pretty prisoner in a humble house - which could only be described as something from a cliché horror film. “Hey, lassie.”

His eyes meet yours, and you writhe against the headboard, trying to break free - albeit for naught. Your wrists hurt from the previous numerous attempts, and you quickly give up and settle down when he moves into the room, sighing. He sheds his clothes, only leaving him in his boxers, before he lies down on the bed next to you, lifting your tank top slightly and circling his cold finger on your stomach - dipping it down to the hem of your sweatpants from time to time. You shiver slightly and let out an audible gasp, trying to squirm free from his touch. “Had a rough day, lovie. Dinnae test me, aye?” He kisses your tummy before squeezing your waist with one hand and holding up his head with the other whilst lying on his side. Ghost moves into the room, and your eyes shift to his figure in the doorway. Soap notices your absent eyes and looks behind him, “Simon, need’ta fuck her.” In which the masked man only shrugs, “Go on then, pup.” Before chucking off his clothes as well, changing into a pair of sweatpants, and sitting down on the bed beside you.

The creaking bed dips down to one side, and you look over at Ghost, his muscles left on display. He’s big, and that’s accentuated by the phone he pulls out. It’s small in his hands, and you bet that he’s pressed the wrong letter on the keyboard one too many times because of his big fingers - which are twice as large as one of your own. Without the mask, now replaced with a balaclava, you can much easier see his brown eyes, and the fluttering blonde eyelashes every time he blinks. He starts mindlessly scrolling somewhere, furrowing his brows sporadically, but your attention is quickly shifted back to the man now between your legs.

“C’mon, lift yer hips.” His hands find the hem of your pants, but you refuse to budge. As grateful you are for the two to be back, as human contact is near impossible in your… new life, you hate when they touch you. Ghost appears to understand your situation slightly, or at least he seems to pretend-empathize with the ill-fated girl lying on their bed, “Easy, Johnny. Poor thing looks like she’s about to wet herself.” He snorts, sharing a laugh with the man forcefully tugging your bottoms off. The panic in your eyes is clear as day, when he carelessly throws them somewhere behind him, letting them scatter on the slightly dusty wooden floor. His fingers find your clit, and he slowly circles it, playing with it like a toy while he converses with Ghost for a bit. You don’t listen in, but try to focus on not getting wet, though his skilled fingers and the shackles aren't giving you much freedom.

After a while of kicking his legs back and forth like a teenage girl talking to her crush whilst lying on her stomach, Soap turns his head to you - giving you a toothy grin. He positions himself on his knees, dick throbbing against his boxers. He grips your thighs and pulls you closer to him before removing his fingers from your clit and moving his head down to kiss it, darting out his tongue and licking down to your hole. “Fuck, hen, yer pussy n’ yer attitude are givin’ me two whole different signals.” He inhales loudly, and you let out a quiet whine. You’ve learned that they either like it when you talk back to them or hate it - which leads to you getting gagged; and not trying to test the waters - you bite your lips instead. “Only if ye were a wee bit better actor, maybe I’d believe yer complaints, bonnie.” And with that, he starts eating you out like a starving man. He leaves no place untouched, bites your inner thighs and grins when you close them on his head - trapping him between them.

His wet tongue glides over your glistening pussy, pushing it into you before travelling upwards. You choke back a sob of pleasure when two of his fingers start dancing around your hole while he sucks on your clit - biting it occasionally for the pleasure of hearing a moan leave your mouth. It’s downright filthy, and he keeps mumbling incoherent things to your pussy, before plunging his fingers into you. A loud whine leaves your mouth, followed by sweet little ah’s, which prompts him to groan against you. “Yeah, good girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat.” Your head flies back and your toes curl at the third finger he crams into you. Pouting, you look to the side, not being able to bear the sight of Soap hunched over your bottom half like a wild man. Your eyes meet Ghost’s for a short second, before they travel down to the bulge between his pants, clearly aroused by the action going on beside him. His eyes are half-lidded, and you can tell he’s smiling at you before palming his clothed dick and looking down at Soap fingering you to oblivion.

Soap scissors his fingers and licks his name onto your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Suddenly, a loud mewl can be heard from you when you finally cum. Your eyes are closed shut, and only open when Ghost lightly slaps your cheeks, “Open your eyes, sweetheart. Come on.” You almost let out a scream when you’re met face to face with Soap. His jaw is wet, and his mouth is drooling. His leaking cock’s hard against your stomach and twitches slightly when he pulls you in for a deep kiss. “mmph taste so fuckin’ good” he moans against your mouth, biting your lower lip. One hand leaves your hips to guide his cock to your wet cunt, and you sigh because apparently, the concept of condoms doesn’t exist in the scot’s head. You feel like you need a break though, so when he tries to push in, you attempt to stop him with a weak, “W-wait I-”

His other hand leaves your hip and squishes your cheeks together until your lips form a cute little pout, which he can’t help but kiss. “Haud yer wheesht” he hisses, and pushes his cock into you faster than you’d like. Ghost pets your hair and softly speaks, “Don’t be greedy, let him cum and spread you out for me, hm?” Your lips quiver and they both laugh at you, “be a good girl, and you’ll get treated like a princess afterwards, love.”

#need them so bad #first fic rahh I hope I didn’t fuck it up😭 #kidnap!au #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #cod smut #simon ghost riley smut #ghoap #ghoap x reader #ghoap smut #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #John soap mctavish smut #dark fic #drabble #ghost cod

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Johnny "I love tits" MacTavish 🤍

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Johnny "is your personal bra 24/7 because he cannot keep his hands to himself" MacTavish

This man will have his hands on your tits all day, every day.

Over your shirt, under your shirt, with a bra, without a bra

HE DOES NOT CARE.

of course he'd prefer to feel your skin, but he's not about to get greedy.

It started with you being a little shy about taking your shirt off in front of him because you thought your boobs weren't the prettiest.

With all the media and women with a perfect, perky bosom being thrown around, it wasn't hard to feel insecure.

They have stretch marks, they're not perfectly round or perky. They sag a bit and your nips aren't tiny little rosy buds either.

Let me tell you, the second Johnny hears about this, he is on you immediately. He's reassuring you so much, and he's dead serious when he says this;

"I'll hold 'em for ye, Bonnie."

And that's how that started. Whenever you're home, Johnny has his hands on your tits and will worship the shit out of them and you. You need to cook dinner? He's right behind you, his hands never once leaving your skin, looking over your shoulder as you prepare the food. You cover your chest in front of him? Nuh uh, Lass, he's going to suck and bite at your boobs until you're grinding against his leg.

Johnny would 100% fuck you in front of a mirror and make you watch your tits as they bounce and ripple from his hard thrusts

"look at ye, mo leannan. So fuckin' pretty."

He LOVES to sleep on your chest. If you refuse to take your shirt off because you'll be cold, he'll just shrug and stick his head under your shirt.

Johnny will randomly bite you because he just loves the little squeak you let out when you feel his teeth sink into the soft pudge of your chest.

He will admire his work afterwards, swooning over all the pink and purple bruises on your skin. And don't think that's all, no, he will tell you every single day how pretty you are.

"Tha thu cho brèagha, mo bhean àlainn. Tha gaol agam ort."

He loves them because they're YOUR tits, and they protect your heart, which he loves so much <3

Get caught being insecure around him again and you'll be getting all those thoughts fucked out of your head

mo leannan = my darling

Tha thu cho brèagha, mo bhean àlainn. Tha gaol agam ort = You are so pretty, my lovely wife. I love you

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

I couldn't help myself, he has me in a chokehold 🥴

Not to mention he's the reason I picked up my Gaelic lessons again, so everyone say thank you, Johnny!!

There will be more of this cutie soon <3

#bumblebeesfromvenus #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #tf 141 x reader #tf 141

[eddies-house]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas

W/C: 7.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers

Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀

A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭

Masterlist

Prev |

Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.  

A senseless daydream.  

It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it.  Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape.  This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place.  It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.  

So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt.  Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life.  And last week he was suddenly dead.  It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie.  All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor.  Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.  

He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s.  Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste.  Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.  

Whatever you wanted. 

He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke.  His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you.  He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him.  He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place.  Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick.  He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.

Now just standing up seemed impossible.  Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible.  And for what?  For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions.  Pathetic, he knew.  But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.

This was it.  

This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man.  Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything.  He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come.  A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind.  And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver.  The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him.  He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Eddie told you he was feeling better.  It was a lie.  He never had the flu.  He didn’t feel better.  He wanted to die.  And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive.  Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.

And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon.  His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.

He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones.  There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did.  A flaw in the system.  And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?  

Several.

He thought to himself.  

You could have gone to school, shown up.  

Could have stayed out of detention.

Gotten arrested less.

Not get arrested at all.

Could have said no.  So.  Many.  Times.

In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death.  He couldn’t stop making excuses.  Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse.  For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together.  Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had.  It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.

Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision.  He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid.  Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.

What’s the matter darlin’?

And he just sobbed.  And remembered.

Morning pancakes and the blues.  Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies.  Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum.  Dancing in the living room.  Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees.  Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin.  Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.

Then he remembered.

Him.

Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense.  Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer.  That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised.  Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights.  Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in.  Disappearing for days.

Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home.  Only he rarely did.  Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time.  Years and years of push back.  A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.  

“My dad has a ton of jobs.”  He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.  

The kids would snicker.  Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness.  And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day.  Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them.  Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.

So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature.  At least that’s how dad described it.  It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse.  They called his dad a drunk.  They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged.  “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie.  Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time.  Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.

Freak.

Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt.  And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up.  Closure in some kind of fucked up way.  Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.

Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with.  Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.

All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes.  Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability.  No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door.  He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it.  This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions.  He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world.  They shouldn’t have to worry about me.  With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.

The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana.  A life he’d always longed for anyway.  

Be careful what you wish for.  

That goddamn voice taunts him.

The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away.  “One slip up…”  They had said.  It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him.  Literally anyone.  As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.  

Cause he was nothing if not a problem.  First and foremost.

Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–

“Eddie?”

It all stopped.  

“Eddie?!”  

There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry.  The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.

Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–

“Please don’t make me go back!”

You couldn’t form words.

“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.”  His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime.  “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear.  Please d-don’t let them take me.”

Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen.  With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made.  You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“Shh.”  You soothe. 

Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose.  A wordless commitment.  Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere.  You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure.  Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had.  Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at.  He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.  

The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house.  Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred.  If either spoke it would make it real.  Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.

He said it was an accident, and you believed him.  There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind.  Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip.  It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.  

He felt on a deeper level than most.

At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him.  In the standard of fight or flight, he froze.  Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.

“Bambi–”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You were trying to keep it together.  His croaking voice made that hard.  But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability.  And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime.  Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him.  Maybe that was dare you even think it, love.  But that’s a crisis for another time.

“Dad died.”

Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions.  Conclusions you backtracked on immediately.  It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.      

“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–”  A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.

“It’s fucked.”  His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior.  “I shouldn’t–”  There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath.  “I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”

“And you’re still allowed to mourn.  Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”

You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet.  Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.  

“How’d you know?”  He finally asked, timid.

“Hm?”

“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”

“Needed someone?”

Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.  

“Wayne called me.”  You sigh.  “Said he got my number from Steve.  Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?”  At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it.  “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in.  Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“So you knew?”

“No.”  You assure, taking care to relax your features.  “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out.  He wanted me to check in.  I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.”  You chuckle.

Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again.  You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick.  The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor.  There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better.  You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again.  It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.

“I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.  When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.

“But right now you’re not.”

Sabotage.  In his eyes.

“But I will be.  Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”

Excuses.  Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble.  A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.

“Stop it.”  You demand.

“No, Bambi.  Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”

“Stop.”

Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key.  Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself.  And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses.  His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.

Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness.  Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in.  He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.

“Would you listen to me?!”  Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow.  “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down.  I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it.  My shit is my shit.”

You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.

“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.”  Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze.  A plea.  “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in.  I don’t care what holiday it is.”

“Go.”

You try not to take it personal.  It’s not personal.

“Fine.”

The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him.  The room turned colder, more vacant.  Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart?  His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.

Do not resuscitate.

As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall.  The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.  

It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended.  Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness.  Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what?  Stormed off?  Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat.  He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—

In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other.  And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness.  The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.

Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut.  An uphill battle.

“Bambi, what did I tell you–”

“You told me to go.”  You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth.   “And I did.  You didn’t say how long or—or where to go.  But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake.  Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“

Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.  

There he is.

Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips.  Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you.  Your boy.  

Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense.  Bambi and Eddie.  There is not one without the other, not anymore.  Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—

“I love you.”  

It just fell from his tongue.  A promise.

“I-are—are you s—“

“Am I serious?  Is that what you’re gonna ask?”  He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.

You nod, gulping.  Not because you’re afraid, no, never.  You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.

“Bambi…” He tuts.  “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”

All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.  

“Bad.”  He reiterates.  “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“

“I don’t—“

“I’m not finished.”  Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip.  “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it.  And I’ll run with it.  Far.  Because I’m pathetic—“

“You are not.” 

“I’m a pathetic man.  Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”  

“Stop saying you’re pathetic.”  You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.

“Oh, but I am.”  He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.  

Did he believe it was his last chance?

And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.

A pathetic whine dare you say.

“Sorry, sorry.”  You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.

“Don’t—ow!  Jesus fuck.”  Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek.  “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”

You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of.  Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.  

“Can you…can you do that again?”  He whispers.  Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.

Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck.  His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest  wet dreams.  

Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail.  And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

 He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.  

“Like that, baby?”  You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.

“Please.”  A whisper that tells you everything.  “I-I never—no one’s ever—“  He tries to warn you.

“What?”  You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe.  “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”  

“Just my hand.”  Eddie jokes, voice strained.

Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap.  Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his.  Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.  

“We can stop.”  You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.

“No, no.”  His voice shakes, chest heaving.  “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”  

There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him.  But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable.  Feel sexy and wanted.

“Let me do the work.”  You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him.  “Let me take care of you.”  

He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles.  You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.

“I said, let me take care of you.”

Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you.  His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.  

Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far.  His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.

“Eddie.”  You whimper.

“M’ gonna cum.”  He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria.  “Wanna be inside of you.”

You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.  

“Please, baby.  Please, I’ve got condoms—“

You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.  

“You bought condoms?  Boy, are you prepared—“

A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.  

“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”

“Shhh, okay, okay!!”  You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back.  You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?”  You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.  

Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care.  Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed.  You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you.  Purely Eddie.  Woodsy and minty.  A tad smoky.  And some hints of apple.

Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room.  And then it plays.  A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love.  A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.  

“Well alright, cowboy.”  You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.  

“Shut up.”  He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.  

“C’mere.”  You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you.  “Wanna see you.” 

“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”

Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach.  Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago.  The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined.  While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side.  Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.

As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him.  Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants.  Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.  

“F-feel what you do to me?”

It aches.

His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet.  But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.  

You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side.  His eyes grow, lips parted in awe.  And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.  

You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control.  And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.  

Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval.  That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.

His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it.  Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red.  Painfully aroused.

He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.

“B-baby, please.”  While grinding into nothing, poor boy.  “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”

He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands.  You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.

Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth.  Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps.  Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair. 

He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot.  Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned.  Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone.  The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom.  The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.  

Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm.  Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.  

Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting.  The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.

 Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds.  Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what.  Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime.  Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.

Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm.  His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted.  You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark.  All of him.

His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you.  He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.  

Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless.  Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit.  Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”.  That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?

–

Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close.  Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.  

The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart.  Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.  

It could help though.  And that’s all that mattered.  If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing.  If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.  

While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree.  Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar.  Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works.  Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.  

You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did.  Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste.  Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.  

You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes.  While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet.  Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity.  Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips.  A dream.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”  You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.  

Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth.  It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.  

“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?”  He laughs, voice husky with sleep.  

“No but I can do you one better—“

“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“

“Next to the table.”  

Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created.  Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow.  He felt like an asshole.

“I—no I can’t—“

“Open it.”  

Eddie just stared. 

“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!”  You smile, approaching behind him.

Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you.  When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.  

“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse.  I just didn’t.  I’m sorry.”  His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.

As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck.  And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.

“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you.  I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“

“I love you.”  You interrupt.

Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table.  Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you.  Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute.  He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing. 

“You’re not just saying that—“

“I.  Love.  You.”  You enunciate each word with a peck.  “Point blank.  No exceptions.  You’re stuck with me old man.”

“Old man?  We’re like the same age—“

You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records.  A huge stack of them.  All genres.  Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal.  It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling.  That much you could gather.

“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”

“Don’t like them?”  You scoff.  “I love them.”

You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school.  You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach.  He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.  

And he was blushing. 

“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me.  I picked some out that I knew you’d like.  Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”

“Oh, we are listening to them.  Right after you open your gift.”

More blushing.

Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him.  Like Pandora’s box or something.  Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper.  A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold.  His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper.  It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head.  Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture.  At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said. 

“No fucking way.”  He smiles, half laughs.  Then repeats himself.  Over and over.

“Do you like it?”

Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around.  Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.  

“I love it, I love you.”

Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table.  The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other.  Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between.  His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.

He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three.  Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled.  Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.

Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere.  You miss it.  But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything.  Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi.  Makes small talk with mom and grandma.  Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day.  No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her.  He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

Lastly you call up the gang.  Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual.  Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background.  Something about a broken sled.  Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.

“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either.  This would all make so much more sense then.”

There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on.  Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default.  She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially.  Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house.  Beautiful in the summertime.  Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.

Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays.  One of the records he’d gifted you.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #smoke signals #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie Munson series #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I suddenly had a thought of GhostSoap being normal human beings and doing normal human being things and wanted to write some stuff for it.

1) Simon always forgets to replace the fuckin toilet paper and Johnny loses his mind over it every single time

2) Johnny has these quiet little snores that whistle out every time he breathes out and while it’s mildly annoying some nights Simon still finds it so endearing

3) Simon hogs the blankets, even in summer cause he’s just always cold, no matter what. Johnny tends to just snuggle in real close to Simon when he gets cold

4) Johnny is the cook of the house. He’s really good at it (his mother refused to let him leave home without knowing how to survive on his own) but he can’t bake. Simon’s the opposite where he can bake (his mum loved baking, taught him everything she knew) but can’t cook to save his life

5) Johnny’s always stealing Simon’s leftovers or hidden treats and Simon has threatened to stab him once or twice over it (it never stops Johnny from doing it again)

6) Simon totally found a stray cat and got the ‘you wanna keep him, you look after him’ talk and he has never been more devoted to looking after another living being after the whole thing with his family

7) Johnny’s got a million and one things in their bathroom all for the sake of looking after his hair and skin and what not and he definitely sits Simon down on the toilet seat every so often so he can do the same for him

8) Johnny seeks validation near constantly. Simon doesn’t know why but he always, always makes sure Johnny knows he’s appreciated and doing good and whatever else the man needs validation on

9) When Simon has night terrors the way to calm him down is to just let him cling to you. Don’t speak or anything just let him hold you and let him reassure himself that your alive and well. Sometimes he’ll be ready to talk about it in the morning, other times he’s content to let the memories go and just keep going

10) Johnny is the worst at taking out the trash. Since they live in a semi-old apartment complex they had to take their rubbish all the way downstairs when the bin in their place got full and Johnny fucking hates it

11) When one of them get put on leave and have to go back to the apartment by themselves they’ll play the other persons music and cook their favourite foods (or try at least) to try and fool themselves into thinking they’re not alone in their home

12) Simon totally has a stuffed toy that belonged to Joseph and while it sits on his shelf he was still terrified Johnny was going to say something bad about it or try and get rid of it (that’s happened once with an ex) but Johnny saw it, called it cute and then proceeded to look after it when Simon couldn’t

13) Johnny may not look it but he’s a bit of gardener. He’s got a windowsill full of herbs in the kitchen and their balcony has some random plants that he doesn’t actually know the name or origin of but he looks after them and has very specific instructions for Ghost to follow when he’s not around

14) Simon’s friends with the old guy that runs the convenience store down the street from their apartment and not because he tried to befriend the guy or anything, but because the guy thought Simon looked funny with his mask and decided he was going to favour him out of all of his customers

15) The neighbours tried hitting on Simon once and Johnny happened to open the door and heard them flirting with his boyfriend. He got so possessive that he made out with the bigger man against their door jamb for like 5 minutes until Simon pulled him inside. The news spread very quickly after that

16) The apartment complex have a betting pool going about what they do for a living because they hold such weird hours and will disappear for months at a time. None of them wanna ask the two though cause they’re all a little scared of the both of them

17) Simon’s a bookworm and if it weren’t for their tiny apartment he’d have his own, personal library filled to the brim with books

#fic prompt #ghost x soap #fuck off haters #i’m looking at you die hard cod players #johnny ‘soap’ mctavish #fic #prompt #call of duty #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghost #ghostsoap #soapghost #soap x ghost #they’re in love your honour #the guys being normal human beings #multiple prompts #I think I wrote a couple of these out

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

What once was.

Alex Keller × Reader. ( Code name/ nickname: Boomslang)

Your heart broke when he decided to follow someone else, now you have the chance to prove to yourself you don't love him anymore.

Warning: spelling or grammatical errors.

- NO.

- Excuse me?

Everybody in the room looked at you, you never complained or went against your Captain's orders but this time you needed to.

- Y/N, it's not a suggestion, it's an order.

- I know, and I'm sorry but I can't do it Sir. I refuse to do it.

Price made a movement with the head to indicate to the boys to leave the room, Soap smirked and whispered at you «You're in serious troubles little one» while Ghost and Kyle dragged him out of the room.

Price wasn't happy but neither was angry, he knows the reason for your refusal to follow the plan. He pointed to the chair in front of you.

- Listen Y/n, I know this is hard for you, I know how you feel about this situation but I think it's time to make peace with the past. You have to learn to separate the job and the feelings.

You can't believe what you're listening to, but you will try to escape this situation.

- That is what is all about, are you trying to give me a lesson? I learned my lesson very well Sir, there's no ne...

- Good, then take this mission as the opportunity to prove to me you left all behind or you will stay at the base to make boring inventory and paperwork. You decide.

Fuck, for a moment you considered the idea to stay at the base, it's better than see that idiot. Alex Keller, the man who broke your heart, the name that provoked you nausea and made your blood boil, He fell in love with Farah and stayed with her 'to help', how kind and considerate of him you thought, you weren't in a relationship but fuckin hell, it was clear that you loved him, everybody noticed it even you thought he knew it, you realized that In fact he didn't, he told you he wouldn't go back with you and the rest of the boys because he would go wherever Farah went, that was the end for you, you say goodbye to Alex and never spoke to him again, he tried, you were like his best friend but you never attended his calls or replied to his messages, you were depressed, distant and distracted, your mind was everywhere but here in the present, Price and you had a serious conversation about it, he sent you home to take a few days, weeks or months. You went back after three months, those three months were full of food, alcohol, mountains, rides in your 1970 red maverick until you decided you wouldn't risk your career and place with the 141 just for a man.

That was a long time ago, you're better now, and like Price said, this was the opportunity to prove it, not only to Price, you will prove it to yourself too.

The helicopter left you far enough from Alex and Farah's location, you walked for almost one hour until your radio issued a sound.

- Echo 3-1 and Kilo, reporting.

Ah... Fuckin hell, you can do this Y/N.

- Here's Boomslang, arriving at your location Echo 3-1.

- Copy.

And there he is, smiling at you as if nothing happened, calm down, breath, as soon you finish your job you will go home, it's easier to say it than do it though.

- Y/N! How long!

- Keller, Farah.

You smiled kindly at her, it is not her fault and you won't blame her or treat her wrong, she returned the smile and both started to talk, poor Alex, was in silence nodding and barely speaking.

- Well, Price told me someone stole your resources and sent me here to support you so... I'm at your service Kilo.

- I appreciate the help, It should be easy, Alex will put some smoke grenades around, just as a distraction, you will cover me, once Alex drops the last smoke grenade, you will join us

- Sure, let's do this.

Farah is actually kind, smart, brave and pretty, you're excited to be in action with her.

- Good, Echo, let's go.

She started to walk leaving you and Alex behind. You walked in silence until he started to talk.

- Why are you being so cold? I haven't seen you in awhile and I was expecting a little more enthusiasm or something.

- Echo, let's focus on the mission, you actually should be further than Kilo and me, since you're the one who will drop the smoke grenades.

You were right, he went back to the silence and Walked faster, you thanked the universe for being on your side and didn't make you spend much time with him, It is easy to focus on the job but you realized it wasn't easy to think about the fact that Alex will want answers, an explanation about your attitude, you weren't ready to talk about the feelings you had for him and how heartbroken he left you.

- Boomslang to Kylo and Echo. I'm in position, ready to clean your path.

- Here's Echo 3-1, I copy you Boomslang, I'm ready too.

- Kylo to Eco and Boomslang, let's have some fun, good luck.

All was quick, you discovered you worked really well with them, the job was done with no setbacks, Farah thanked you and left you and Alex alone while she was on a call with Price.

- You're a great sniper y/n...

- Thanks.

«Ahhh...» he exhaled with annoyance.

- Okay, I... I can't with this. Now that the mission is done, will you please explain to me this attitude, you... Became a fuckin stranger and it's unfair... I...

- Unfair? You think I'm being unfair? You... Stayed here, in this place without considering our friendship or my feelings, you're the one who decided to leave me behind.

You're not yelling at him, you're not sad, you're being cold, after all, those are the facts, he didn't care about you.

- You're the one who abandoned me, you erased me of your life, I tried y/n! I called you, I texted you, I tried and you never replied! Now that we're face to face, tell me, tell me what makes you hate me so much, come on, tell me!

You're so angry that you're not considering the consequences of your actions or words, your anger is boiling.

- Do you really wanna know?

- Yes, please!! Say all you want to say!

- Fine, I hate you because you left, I hate you because you broke my heart, I hate you because you fell in love with someone else who actually is too busy to notice you, I hate you because I showed you my feelings in every chance I had and you never saw it, I hate you because I loved you with every little inch of me, loved you so much that all my body hurts!

The tears appeared, he tried to hug you but you pushed him away, this is not what you planned, it was supposed you wouldn't lose control, you took a deep breath, he stayed in silence, just waiting for you to calm down, you dry your tears And turned to face him one more time.

- I'm... I'm really sorry y/n, I can swear to you that I didn't know about your feelings. Please forgive me, if I knew I wouldn't...

You interrupted and smiled at him the best you could.

- It's fine Alex, don't say more. I just hope at the end of the day you feel happy with the decisions you took that day, I really mean it... I learned to live with a broken heart, I hope you learn to live with the memories of what we once shared, because that won't ever come back.

«Boomslang, the helicopter is landing, hurry up!» your radio spoke. You took your backpack and looked at Keller, there were a lot of emotions in his eyes you would love to run and hug him one last time but no, you started to walk, and just how he left you once, it's you who leaves him this time.

#141 x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #long reads #x yn #alex keller x you #alex keller x reader #alex keller #fanfiction #farah karim #x reader #reader insert #alex echo 3 1

[wildemaven]

Duality Of A Man

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader / AU

WC: 1379

Warnings: T; Mentions of food; that’s all.

A/N: I literally woke up this morning and threw this idea at @heythere-mel and @kteague and couldn’t get it outta my head. I’m calling this AU because of the nature of the plot, but there’s canon sprinkled through it still— I really tried to stay true to his character as much as possible. I don’t want to reveal to much and spoil everything. Not beta’d and mistakes are my own doing.

Masterlist / Part 2 / Part 3

You wake long before his blaring alarm. The fan’s oscillating buzz streaming through the dimly lit room.

You turn to see he is in fact still in his sleepy state. You leave him be, a few more hours will do him good— the long hours at his latest job site really doing a number on his tired body.

You take caution as you slip from the bed. Slow movements as your feet hit the cold floor, a jolt to your waking senses.

You swipe the nearest shirt from the pile of clothes on the floor. A quick once over before you’re pulling it over your naked form— his shirts are always comfier.

The slow pull from your dresser drawer, it’s usual creaking undetectable as you sift through its contents finding your favorite biker shorts.

One last look at your boyfriend, his handsome face cradle by his lumpy pillow that he refuses to replace. His dark curls messy, suitable to his laid back nature.

He looks the most relaxed when he sleeps.

You make your way to the kitchen to get the coffee started. The old machine, another item Joel refuses to replace, takes nearly twice as long as it should to produce the amber liquid, thankfully your jumpstart on the day will get it made before Joel has made it downstairs.

Breakfast will be a quick task this morning, fried eggs and bacon are a regular staple when Sarah is gone for the weekend at a friends house.

Sarah is Joel’s daughter, but you love her as if she were your own. You and Joel got together a few years back and he was hesitant in introducing you to her, rightfully so. You told him to take his time and you’d be happy to meet her when he was ready. It took all of 6 months for that meeting and you had instantly clicked with her bubbly personality.

The low hum of the stereo drifts through the kitchen. The well-done bacon placed onto a paper towel covered plate, draining off the excess grease. The eggs producing their sizzling pops, the edges crisp and yolks just barely done— Joel’s favorite.

Two broad arms find their way around your waist, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck— you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Jesus Joel! You fuckin’ scared the shit outta me!” Your elbow sending a slight jab into his stomach.

“Ow!” His arms tighten up, pulling you back into him. “Mornin’ Babe.” His voice still raspy and low. A quick kiss to your temple before he starts to move about the space.

“Breakfast is done. Coffee should be ready— we really need to get a new machine” You mention as you set the plates of food down on the kitchen table.

“Nothin’ wrong with it. It’s still makin’ coffee. Ain’t broke, no need to go replacin’ it.” Pulling two cups from the cupboard and pouring you each a cup before making his way to the table to join you.

Your eyes roll in response. The man has a weird fixation with keeping worn out dilapidated items— his other charming qualities are what won you over.

“What are your plans for the day? Sarah should be back by late afternoon. Thought we could go get burgers and ice cream?”

He nods, as he continues to chew, fork preparing his next bite. “Yeah that sounds fine. Just gotta go grab some tools from Tommy. Mrs. Adler mentioned needin’ some help fixin’ a few things. Figured I could go after a shower. Should be done in ‘bout an hour or two.” He looks to you to make sure you’re okay with it.

You lean back in your chair, one leg perched up on the edge, your coffee cup on your knee. “Yeah that will work. I’ll give you that Tupperware container to take back over.” You take a slow sip from the steaming cup. “I swear I could eat myself sick off of her cookies. Those things are dangerous, but delicious.”

His dimple peaks through his grown out beard as he smiles at your statement. Gulping down the rest of his coffee, he places his empty cup on top of his egg yolk covered plate. “Thanks for breakfast babe! Delicious as always.” He says, wiping his greased cover fingers on his sleep pants.

“You’re welcome.”

The dishes clinking together as he sets them into the sink, then moving back towards where you’re still sitting at the table. Quick exchange of “I love you’s” and a sweet exchange of kisses before he retreats to take a shower.

Anticipating Sarah’s arrival in the next few hours, you make work to clean up the kitchen and get a few house chores done— remembering the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of your bed.

It takes you no time to whip through each task before you find yourself relaxing comfortably on the couch. Flipping through the home improvement magazine you’d picked up while grocery shopping the other day.

The house didn’t need much improvement. To an outsider it would seem in perfect order. But Joel being the handy man he is, you seemed to find ways to spruce up areas that needed the help. Just last year he replaced the backsplash to something a little more up to date, less drab and 80’s.

The ringing of the door bell catches your attention. Neither you or Joel were expecting visitors, and Sarah knows well enough to let herself in.

You fold the corner of the page you were on, setting the magazine on the coffee table before getting up to answer the door.

When you open it you’re met with a women you’ve never seen before. She’s beautiful, must be in her early 30’s if you were to guess. She’s looking around outside before she realizes you’ve opened the door.

“Hi. Can I help you?” You ask.

“Um, yes. Hi, I’m Kelli.” Her hand extended out to yours, you politely shake it hoping she’s going to grant you with a reason for stopping by. “I’m hoping you can help me out. I’m looking for someone and from what I’ve been told, he lives here.”

You’re not quite sure where she’s going with this. You’ve never seen this Kelli woman in you life and never once have you heard Joel mention her either. She must have to wrong house, and you’ll gladly point her in the right direction once she gives you this man’s name.

“Um, okay. Who is it that you think lives here?” You question her as nicely as you can.

She begins to dig into her purse, pulling out a worn picture. She looks it over briefly before turning and holding it up to you. “Have you seen this man?”

You were ready to say no you hadn’t. But the truth was you had. The man in the photo was upstairs at this very moment showering in your home. It was Joel staring back at you, just a younger version of him.

Your mind reeling as you try to figure out why Kelli is at your front door looking for Joel. She clearly knows him and sounds like she went through a lot of trouble to find him.

She explains straight away why she’s looking for him. You can’t seem to take your eyes off the photo in your hands. Her explanation making zero sense to you. You get her number and tell her you will give her a call tomorrow, you need to still talk to Joel about it all.

The sound of the water shutting off signals Joel’s finished his shower, meaning he’ll be bounding down the stairs momentarily.

You sit back down on the couch, your fingers tracing over the photo. The sound of his boots hitting the steps break you from your trance.

“Hey, heard the door bell. Who was it?” He says as he enters the living room. He falls into his signature pose, hip cocked out and hands resting at his waist.

You stand, eyes still locked on the photo.

“Babe? Who was— What’s that ya got there?”

“Joel— Who’s Kelli?” His face drops instantly.

“Who’s Kelli and why did she say your name is actually Francisco Morales and that she’s your wife?” You spill as you hold the photo out for him to see.

“Fuck—“ Is all he manages to get out.

next

#Joel Miller #TLOU #the last of us #tlou au #Pedro pascal #wildemaven writes #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Home

"Vi…" You all but sobbed, tears in your eyes as you struggled to breathe. 

"No! No, don't talk." Vi struggled, tears in her eyes and a sob caught in her throat.

She held her hand on your bleeding stomach, her hands covered crimson red in a matter of seconds.

She felt her chest almost suffocating her, like the sight of her childhood love dying In front of her wasn't bad enough.

"I'm gonna pick you up, okay?" Vi tried, only getting a yell of pain out of you as she set you back down.

"Vi, I can't. I can't." You cried, shaking your head and holding her hand as she shook head.

"I know it hurts but we have to get you to Caitlyn, she knows a doctor." Vi tried consoling you and her.

But she didn't know how much longer she could.

"Vi. I wanna go home." You stated, a tear falling down your face as you sobbed.

Vi let a tear fall, wiping it quickly as she picked you up to cradle you in her arms.

Maybe to console you, or maybe to hide her tears she refused to let you see.

"I'm gonna get you there, Caitlyn's waiting for us." Vi did her best not to pet her voice crack.

"No." You shook your head, sobbing even more and struggling to even speak now.

"I wanna go home, home. With Powder, Vander, Ekko, Claggor, Benzo." 

You stated, finally looking back at Vi to see her tears.

"Fucking even Mylo." You sobbed, the pain killing you from inside out.

"I wanna be a kid again…" 

Vi clung to you even tighter at your words, she wanted it all back so much.

When you guys were happy. With everyone you both loved crowded around a bar.

When you guys would stay up all night after Vander fell asleep.

Jumping from rooftop to rooftop with your friends.

Helping Ekko find whatever he needed for whatever new gift he wanted to give to Powder.

Drawing with Powder, making fun of Mylo, pulling pranks with Claggor or helping Vi win a fight.

It all sounded so far away, like that life never existed because of a man who wanted revenge.

Who turned the sweet girl you knew into the one who left you in a pool of blood.

The girl who, even if you or Vi didn't know, was sobbing as she had hurt one of the few people who truly loved her.

Your breathing was hard, but suddenly grew quiet, almost a whisper.

Vi sobbed, cradling you to her chest as she couldn't bear to look at your face.

Too afraid to see your eyes missing the light and love in them she had adored her whole life.

"(Name)...please, no." Vi cried into your hair, desperately pleading for her in any chance, to come back.

But there was no coming back from this.

So Vi sat there with you, long after Caitlyn found her, long after you grew cold.

Crying about how she had failed to keep that promise nine years old she made to nine year old you.

.

.

.

"(Name)! Wake up!"

You all but fell out of bed, springing up at the voice you hadn't heard in years.

You groaned as you hit your head on the top bunk, shaking it off with a groan before looking around.

You were stunned.

You were back in the den.

Back in the bar. In your old bed, in your old clothes.

You looked at your hands, they were no longer littered with small scars from prison fights.

"What's wrong with you? You look like a fuckin alien who landed for the first time."

You almost rolled your eyes out of instinct, you would have, if not recognizing the familiar mop of brown hair.

"Leave (Name) alone." You watched wide eyed as you saw Powder shove Mylo. 

You must've seen a ghost from how you looked, seeing Mylo standing with no hole in his shoulder.

"Whatever." Mylo shrugged the girl off, sticking his tongue out at her childishly.

"Vi needs you in the bar." And with that, Mylo walked up the stairs and seemed to go join Claggor.

"...Powder?" You finally spoke up, seeing the girl jump up and turn to you with a smile.

"Finally, you're awake! Come on, slowpoke!" Powder dragged you out of bed, almost tripping you.

You were dragged up the stairs, too shocked to protest and looking around with the same wide eyes.

The bar looked the same as you had left it, no rave-like party, no shimmer users.

No Sevika.

No Silco.

Just music you remembered Vander always played, a song he would drag you kids to do funny dances to with him growing up.

Just the regular customers you always remembered seeing as a kid straggling around the bar.

"Hey! You got 'em up finally!" You looked shocked to see Vi, like you had gone back in time.

She was still fifteen, like you were now. 

No tattoos, just her shaggy hair and smug ass grin staring at you.

"What? Stunned by me once again, sweetheart?" Vi asked with a smirk, finally snapping you out of it.

"You wish." You said, almost out of instinct as Powder dragged you to a barstool.

You sat on one the right of Vi, Powder sitting on her left as you then saw Claggor.

"You slept like a rock. I think bears sleep lighter than you." Claggor laughed, getting a small giggle out of Powder.

"Shush, Clag." You shook off with a smile before seeing someone you didn't think you would see again.

There stood Vander, a towel over his shoulder as he set a glass down on the bar.

"Vander?" You finally asked, a smile making its way onto your face and tears you stopped from falling in your eyes.

"Hey, Kiddo." Vander smiled back, almost like he had known what you had thought.

Like he knew what happened and how you were back…home.

"What's wrong, (Name)? Happy to be home?" He asked, noticing the tears in your eyes.

You quickly wipe your eyes, laughing to cover up your sniffle as you recover with a smile.

"No, yeah, I'm okay. Just…happy to see you guys again." Vander nodded with a knowing smile.

"See us? Where the hell did you go enough to miss us and why did you come back?" 

Mylo poked back up, giving you a weirded out look.

"Nothing, asshole. Can't I miss my friends?"

You could miss them, but now, you're home.

Where you belong. Even if it wasn't real.

#arcane mylo #mylo arcane #arcane claggor #claggor arcane #arcane vander #vander arcane #arcane headcanon #arcane reader #arcane powder #arcane vi #arcane x reader #arcane jinx x reader #arcane jinx #jinx arcane #powder arcane #ekko arcane #arcane ekko x reader #arcane ekko #arcane vi x reader #arcane violet #vi arcane x reader #platonic #jinx x reader platonic

[landwriter]

67 and/or 38!

alright the last one of these I tried to answer is currently an 8K WIP so here goes nothing [ins. ralph wiggum ha ha I'm in danger gif]

We've got Hands by Barns Courtney on deck, a fun little rock anthem about meeting a cutie at a show and then losing their number and trying to find them. Going looking in the streets even!

This would be a fun missed connections AU - both humans or else a Dream who is taking mingling with humanity a LITTLE too seriously, a little like a bender, and a Hob who organizes shows, sometimes does security for them. It'd be a little love letter to a very specific brand of twee indie romcom films. i will not name a setting or a time period because that was the thing that ruined me last time!!

So one night, at a show - not one of his - Hob sees Dream, it's a fuckin' coup de foudre. The thunderbolt. Love at first sight. Dream is wearing a leather jacket, black lipstick, and a determined sort of expression that suggests he is a) utterly shittered and b) here looking for a fight.

Hob gets it. He does. He used to go looking for fights all the time. He watches from across the crowd as Dream finds his. When he takes a punch grinning, like a fucking lunatic, not even defending himself, Hob shoulders his way across and intervenes to try and make peace. Dream has, of course, chosen the most unlikable possible person to get into it with, and when certain Objectionable Comments are made, well, it's a bad look, he knows, but Hob decks the guy anyway before his buddies throw him out. And then Hob is left to deal with Dream, who is kicked out too, for starting it, except kicking him out actually means taking him home, because Dream is too drunk to get back to his, and also refuses to tell Hob where he lives.

Dream is flirting with Hob the entire way back, and saying things like "You need not have come to my defense," and sort of feeling up the arm Hob has offered to steady him with, and just. Just staring a lot at him, with very blue eyes. Hob resolutely deposits him on his sofa with a glass of water and a quilt he actually knit himself, and then goes alone to his room. After a second thought, he locks the door. He does not trust his resolve, not with this man.

Sometime in the morning - morning for decent people who weren't up until 4 AM, not yet morning for Hob - he wakes up and sees Dream standing in his room, like the world's hottest hungover sleep paralysis demon. "What the fuck," says Hob, muzzily, "I locked that."

"Why," asks the world's hottest hungover sleep paralysis demon, "Are you afraid of me?"

Hob, more awake, remembering last night, says, "No. But you were very drunk. And very persistent."

"I'm not drunk right now."

"Clearly still very persistent," says Hob, not only more awake at this point, but also considerably more in love with this stranger.

"I feel like shit." He says it while looking at Hob and sounding tremendously regretful. Hob honest-to-god blushes. Later, he thinks. In the actual morning. After a good breakfast.

He lifts up the covers. "Well, come on then," he says. "We can still snuggle."

Dream crawls in, and Hob nuzzles his face a bit into his hair. Dream sighs happily and settles himself into Hob's arms, presses his bony back into Hob's warm and naked chest. All the tension melts out of him. Hob wonders what sort of breakfast his stranger would like. Starts mentally planning something, and then dozes back off to sleep. When he wakes up at his morning - noon - the space next to him is empty and the bed is cold. But there's a phone number on his hand, and a smiley face.

Only Hob drools, when he sleeps, and the last three numbers are hopelessly smeared. He panics, a little. Starts dialing numbers, looking in the phonebook, asking around at shows with his stranger's description. It's the opposite of trying to find a goth in a haystack. That would be so, so much easier than this.

Dream, for his part, had to leave for work, but it's fine. He's sure this man will call him. He knows where he lives, of course, but Matthew insists he has already acted 'sufficiently fucking unhinged' and 'cannot show up on some guy's stoop, he lives in Greenpoint dude, you will get the cops called on you'. So Dream tries to wait. He thinks, over and over, of this man who threw an easy punch in defense of his honour and then looked, bizarrely, bashful about it, who threw the same arm around him and used it to tug him closer and huff softly into the back of his neck the next morning, and Dream knows it's not exactly the normal speed of things, but he's in love. He's in love, and his happy confidence that he was going to be phoned the same afternoon - or, maybe he was busy, the next day then - or on the weekend, surely? - or - has vanished.

It's not his stoop. That's what he tells himself when, on the fifth day of not hearing anything, he finds himself picking up oranges and putting them back down again at the bodega a block from the mystery man's apartment, staring at the door as if sheer willpower might summon him. He starts getting flowers for his sisters at a Greenpoint florist. At his lowest moment, he does an entire load of laundry at a laundromat three blocks away, and spends the whole time staring out the plate glass windows furiously people-watching. Maybe he doesn't even live there. But it had seemed like a home. It had - felt like one. More than Dream's own apartment ever has.

Hob is giving up hope as the week wears on. New York is huge. Brooklyn is huge. What if he was just a tourist? What if he lives in Delaware? He didn't look like someone who lives in Delaware. He's even fallen behind on his fucking errands because he's been going to every show he can find, shows that he thinks would be his stranger's scene, staring at crowds looking for black hair, black lipstick, blue eyes.

And after nearly a week of these mortifying shenanigans, he finally sees him again - at the bodega of all places - and Dream looks, frankly, furious, until Hob holds up the back of his hand, the faded incomplete phone number (he morosely started avoiding washing the spot after fearing it might be all he would have as a memento), and Dream realizes that Hob had wanted to phone him, he had.

Hob hands him the sharpie he always keeps in his pocket, says, "Here. For next time. Something that lasts longer."

And Dream, of course, takes it from him, wearing the same wondering small smile he had when Hob invited him to come cuddle, and then he's staring at Hob again, except this time he's not drunk, he's not drunk, but they are in Hob's local bodega, which Dream apparently either does not know or care to consider, because suddenly strong hands are wrapping around the back of his neck and he's being kissed, sweetly and hungrily, and Hob is making a piteous noise of happiness into his mouth, and Dream is slotting a thigh between his legs, mother of Christ, right in front of the sandwich counter. Hob pulls himself away and breathlessly asks, "Can I take you home? Again?" and Dream smiles and takes his hand, the one with the faded blue scrawl Hob can finally wash off, and pulls him out the door.

They're half way down the block before Hob remembers he forgot to buy the gnocchi. He makes them go back for it, because he's pretty sure they'll be hungry in a couple hours. And he still owes his stranger a good meal.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #this has been jot-note drafted since the start of the week #i was just afraid i would elaborate and it would turn into a giant fic #calling it a win #only a small fic!!! #i will not name a setting i say to myself #(names setting) #hob apologizing profusely to the bodega employees who know him by name #being mercilessly teased every time he goes back #hob where is your pale friend? does he not come out during the day?? #hob if you give me 20 bucks i'll let you borrow the storeroom since you obviously don't have a place to be alone with your boyfriend #hey hob should i ask my uncle about stocking tofu for your goth #the first time they come back in together: #hey!! young men!!! no kissing in front of the deli counter this time!!! i have CUSTOMERS today #customers: (staring openly)

[ryndicate]

ㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤ ㅤPart One: Nock

Kirishima x fem!reader

warnings: dark content; please check ML for full series warnings, this part just has angst and drug mentions

a/n: 2.3k, I've been dreaming about this one for awhile and I won't lie, this is the intro to my imagination's tangent to @k1saki saying "bloody teeth Kiri" on the dash once. I wrote a single scene that deserves a full story or my writer brain wouldnt be satisfied! So! Once upon a time....

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Blog Rules

ㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ    ㅤ ㅤ| Masterlist |

The last thing Kirishima remembers is throwing up his quirk as he lunged in front of Bakugou in the middle of a bust gone wrong. 

He must not have been fast enough because he’s blinking his eyes open slowly, disoriented. He can hear the sound of hushed voices, can smell the musty odor of something that was left out wet for too long. His hero suit is still on, leaving his body cold and exposed. Goosebumps cover his skin, so Kirishima wants to assume he’s freezing but it’s confusing; he feels wracked with heat, as if smoke might burst from his skin within seconds.

“Looks like our next headline hero is waking up.”

An amused voice brightens the dark room with his singsong and Kirishima’s red eyes focus in on an attractive man who is stepping into view from around the… Kirishima realizes he’s chained tightly to what looks like some sort of dentist chair, but oddly that revelation doesn’t bring around any trepidation. All he can focus on is the plush set of the lips of the man speaking.

“—I have to admit, I was pretty disappointed when my men couldn’t get me Dynamight, but I think you’ll do very nicely,” he hums, his voice pleasant, friendly even. “You looked a little too wild for my tastes, but after researching your public image, I don’t think this could have turned out any better. You’re oddly welcoming of all your media attention, aren’t you Red Riot? All your fans think you’re so nice.”

Kirshima’s eyes sweep hungrily up and down the man’s figure. He has a small waist, wide shoulders—not unlike Bakugou, if not a little more willowy in frame—and he looks so soft. His hair is such a gentle shade of blue, with golden brown eyes that Kirishima is certain would look lovely full of tears. “What’s your name?” he purrs to the man, low and inviting.

“Oh, is it working already?” He steps closer, those beautiful eyes full of intrigue and satisfaction. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

Kirishima’s mind shimmers, answering as if the words were coaxed from his mind. “I feel…like I want to fuck you senseless.”

“Perfect.” The mystery man’s eyes sparkles with unrestrained delight, chuckling softly. “Oh you’ll do so nicely, I’m so happy with how this turned out!”

“Tell me your name,” Kirishima asks again, demands, mesmerized as he begins to circle his chair, dragging his fingertips up his arm, making the red-haired hero shudder. His arms flex and the chains clink as the protest the movement; he has to touch this man.

“It’s okay handsome, you wouldn't remember it anyways. Let’s have some fun.”

You stare out the window blankly. It started raining a few minutes ago, or maybe longer than that. Your apartment feels full of people but everything is still too quiet. The TV drones a weather report from the news you refuse to switch away from. 

There's a muttered curse from Bakugou behind you. You turn slowly from the window to look at him.

“It’s been two fuckin’ days.” The blonde has shoved back the chair from the makework dining table and is pacing in his street clothes, dark sweats with the hood pulled over his head so that only a few tufts of his hair poke out.

"Katsuki I'm sure he's fine…"

“The fuck do you know, dunce face—he could be dead.”

“Katsuki—” Mina warns sharply, coming around the corner into the living room with a bowl of popcorn, one of yours and Denki’s many comfort foods. She gives him a pointed glare, glancing at you. You pretend you don’t see it and continue picking at the loose threads of the couch cushion.

“Alright, fuck. Whatever.” Bakugou shoulders his way past her down the hallway. The sound of the kitchen sink turning on alerts you that he hasn’t left the apartment at least.

Everyone from Eijirou’s closest set of friends had gathered in the apartment you shared with him, those that weren’t on duty at least. It’s ironic; Ei moved in with you a few months ago so wouldn’t be alone—and you’re pretty sure they’re all here now for the same reason. You can’t tell which you’d prefer, you’re too numb to decide whether you’d rather fall apart alone or not.

Mina plops down on the couch next to you, rubbing your arm reassuringly. Denki relieves her of the bowl, pulling it into his own lap from where he sits on the floor, his back brushing your legs as he rests against the couch “Your brother is tougher than some mid-level crime syndicate, okay? Even if they still have him, he’s going to be fine. Bakugou’s just an ass when he’s worried.”

“Bakugou’s just an ass,” Denki chimes in through a mouth of popcorn, scrolling on his phone. “Jirou just checked in, still nothing. Said she’s going to run overtime to make sure though.”

“Tell her thank you,” you sigh softly, hugging a throw pillow in your lap and pulling out your phone, hoping beyond hope that there will be some contact from Eijirou. You know if he managed to open communications, it would be a hero agency first—someone who could actually help, not you—but you can’t stop yourself from checking.

You have a message from Sero checking in on you, more apologies from Midoriya despite your assurances that there was nothing he could have done tied up with a bank robbery across town, and other than a few empty notifications and an email from work—nothing. You’re putting the device down when you get a text preview that makes you pause.

>> Got something, you free?

“I’m gonna run to the convenience store real quick, want anything?” You mumble, getting off the couch and pulling your jacket from where you’d tossed it on the ottoman. 

“I’ll come with y—” Mina starts but you cut her off with a quick smile.

“I won’t be long, I just…need a sec, okay?”

“Okay,” she frowns, sitting back against the cushions, “We’ll be here then.”

“I’ll take some chips and soda.”

“‘Kay, ‘Kami. Katsuki, you want anything?” you call down the hallways, shrugging into your jacket. 

“I want my fucking ‘vacation’ to be over! I should be out there.” he barks from the kitchen.

“Not in stock,” you grumble under your breath, dodging his stinkeye as he pops his head out from the kitchen to glare at you and grabbing your keys off the hook. You wince guiltily as the door slams behind you in your haste. His friends are all trying to be there for you in their own way; you're not out to make them uncomfortable.

As soon as you’re clear of the block you pull out your phone and call. It rings twice before picking up. You don’t give him the chance to speak first, “Shinso? What did you find out?”

He doesn’t chide you for your lack of manners, thankfully. He gets right down to business. “Wish I had better news, but he’s with a rough crowd. They don’t have a lot of public coverage, but that’s not particularly a good thing here. The reports I dug up were shoved pretty deep under the books, had to call on a favor or two. They’re pretty fucked up.”

“Oh god,” you breath, stopping in the center of the sidewalk, just out of reach of the next streetlight. When you reached out to him, you knew with his underground work he might have more access to information than the rest of your brother’s friends, but the full reality of that is just beginning to resonate with you.

“Yeah,” Shinso sighs and pauses. “Look, we both know I owe you one but are you sure you want to hear this? We keep this stuff from the civs for a reason. It might be better to wait until—”

“It’s Ei, I have to know,” your voice breaks and for a minute there’s nothing but silence on his end. You can hear him weighing all his options, his reluctance bleeding heavily into the air. You know the stuff he sees on the job is tough to stomach; it’s caused more than enough arguments. But this hollow feeling in your chest won’t let you stand by, so if Shinso is waiting for you to change your mind then he’s out of luck.

“Alright,” he mutters. It’s muffled as if he’s rubbing a palm over his face, and then his throat clears. You start walking again, realizing if you take too long Mina will probably come looking for you. Shinso is in full intel mode, voice steady and informative. Distanced, you realize painfully. “The guy that’s running this thing goes by Cupid. He’s got a wide reach; moves through territory without much trouble and because of that we haven’t gotten a good eye on the guy yet. They haven’t worked out the full details of his quirk. There’s some level of hypnosis involved, but there’s degrees that point to a lust quirk, hence his stupid ass name.” Some of Shinso’s personality shines back in with a barely concealed sneer. “But what’s come up lately is that he’s gotten ahold of some research that’s letting him make his quirk more…accessible.”

“Accessible how?”

“Drugs,” Shinso returns grimly. “He’s managed to replicate his quirk into a drug. The initial effects—euphoria, raised libidio, intemperance—all seem temporary…if the dose is controlled. Based on the movements we have been able to track, it looks he’s trying to get it on the market, but he’s running into problems. We’ve already recovered a couple of his test subjects. They’re still, uh, still being…rehabilitated.”

Dread trickles down your spine. “And you think he’s testing on my brother now?”

“It’s possible,” Shinso says softly, sounding heavily like he doesn’t want to be saying it.

You don’t want to be hearing it. Your feet have already stopped moving without your permission again, the convenience store in view across the street. 

“How long ago were they found?”

“Oh, um…” That question seems to have caught him off guard.

“How long, Hitoshi.”

“Yikes, given names huh? Didn’t know we were back there yet,” Shinso jokes weakly.

“Tell me,” you whisper, throat catching.

Shinso falls silent, his voice gruff when he finally answers. “Few months. There hasn’t been a lot of progress.” 

You phone hangs away from your face in shock, becoming rooted and tense. Months? And they’re still not okay? You’re brother’s strong, tough as hell, but against drugs? That’s a very different thing. You were worried for him before but now you’re terrified. You really might not get your brother back, and if you do he might not be…

Shinso is trying to coax you back to the phone, calling your name until you hear him. “Hey. Look, I know it’s not the best time but if you need me to come over…I will. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You just—this situation isn’t something you can just brush off, you should have someone with you.”

“Ei’s friends are at our old apartment,” you sniffle, trying to keep it together and failing.

“And where are you?” Shinso asks in a gentle tone you recognize, making your heart pang.

“Buying snacks.”

“Get some ice cream, don’t buy any of those energy drinks, and get back. okay? Let them take care of you.” 

“‘Kay.”

You ignore the irony of him telling you not to buy any energy drinks, but you nod despite him being unable to see you and take the monumental effort to begin crossing the street. The florescents from the store hurt your eyes, probably red from crying, but it’s warm inside and familiar, and you just want to get home. You hurry to the shelves and check the time, only just realizing that Shinso hasn’t hung up yet, the call still ticking seconds on your screen. 

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m good, I’ll be back home in a few minutes—”

“Don’t hang up yet,” Shinso says, sounding hesitant.

You don’t say anything, but you do as he says, stopping to listen. There’s a little puff of air as he releases a sigh.

“He’s one of us, there’s a lot of people working on this,” Shinso encourages you softly. “I’m getting myself put on it too. I won’t stop looking for him, okay?”

Your lips tremble, trying not to burst into tears in the chip aisle. Your voice comes out cracked and hushed from the effort. “Thank you.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“Mhm.”

You finish shopping in a slight daze and make the walk home to find Bakugou waiting for you outside.

“Get what you wanted?” he asks, quiet.

“No,” you whisper. You can’t find it in you to brush past him. All that’s waiting in your apartment is two more heroes who could probably read your face like a book even if they hadn’t grown up with you. 

“Shinso called? Didn’t know you two still talked.” Bakugou quirks an eyebrow as you look at him in surprise. Surprise that quickly morphs right into anger, your eyes starting to burn hot.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” You only barely stop yourself from yelling.

“Take it down a notch,” he snaps, glaring right back at you. “The prick sent me a text before you got back. The fuck you think I’m waiting out here for, huh? Are you okay or fucking not?”

“No!” you wail, throwing the bag at him. Bakugou’s scowl deepens but he doesn’t flinch, the snacks hitting the pavement dully. “What part am I supposed to be okay about? My brother is missing, and he isn’t safe! Katsuki they might destroy him, he might not– might never—” Your voice dissolves into a wet sob and you crumble into his chest when Bakugou steps forward and yanks you roughly into a hug. He tucks your head into the crook of his arm and lets you cry, lets you clutch at him for stability, releasing all the pent-up stress that you haven’t been able to let out since Kirishima’s agency contacted you two days ago. 

“What if he’s not Ei anymore? Katsuki, what if they break him?” you finally whisper, hugging him tighter.

His heartbeat is steady and fierce in your ear; his voice is a dangerous rumble against your cheek. 

“I’ll kill them.”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader

[deus-mendacium]

missing numbers by @creatively-cosmic ; corresponding characters are their interps / belong to them

" y'know, ive started thinking."

she turned to him when he spoke, disdain on the tip of her tongue as she narrowed her eyes at his casual tone. this never meant anything good, and typically only served as her unfortunately learning of another one of his ridiculous ideas.

" i am not your chatting partner. " she informed Him, turning away and staring at something Beyond. even if this place was boring at times, she refused to leave. she refused to let him be by himself for too long, the clever little bastard. it would only mean more work for Her.

" no, really. this is a really good one. " he kept. fucking. talking. drawling out his words lazily and entirely ignoring her comment. she could practically see the smirk on his face, smug as ever. " life changing, even. you don't wanna miss this shit."

" i don't want to hear it. now now. not ever. " she snapped, scolding herself internally for not just ignoring him from the start. how foolish of her—another mistake to document for the future. she wouldn't make it again. she couldn't mess up again. " your ideas are nothing more than the ramblings of an insane man. your concepts are meaningless and your thoughts come from nowhere. i don't need your words, and i don't need your influence. "

" ah. still keeping the holier-than-thou scheme up, then?" ignore him. ignore him. ignore Him. ignore him. " think you're just the savior-ess of all worlds and im the big bad monster. "

she ignored his words because she was supposed to. not because she knew she wouldn't be able to keep herself in check. that was a ridiculous notion, and she purged the thought immediately. she wasn't easily swayed by emotion or desire, she wasn't supposed to be. and of course, to keep being useful, she had to make sure she was good enough. and yet…would it be wrong to respond if it were putting him in his place?

surely not. right?

right?

of course. because she was still doing her job—she was keeping him quiet and neutralized and keeping him from causing issues! she was…still doing what she was supposed to.

" this is for your own good too. " she insisted sharply, hands curling into fists. she would not be consumed by her weaker emotions. she would rather let them give way to frustration than show weakness in front of him. " you're a danger to everyone and yourself. "

" is that what you learned? " it was bait. she knew it was bait. and yet, she took it.

" it is. in fact. and it's been keeping us all safe for a long while. im doing you and everyone else a favor, and it isn't as if you don't deserve it. " her gaze was hard as she turned back to face him, crossing her arms. " you—"

" you," he interjected, sarcastic tone suddenly disappearing and being replaced with a cold one. " are a fuckin hypocrite."

she'd deny the sudden lump of fear she felt until the end of time. she gathered herself quickly, steeling her expression into something blanker as she opened her mouth to speak again.

" i don't think you're in any place to be throwing names around. " she informed him in a measured tone, never shifting her gaze from his even as that cold fear continued to seep through her. she refused to show it outwardly.

he met her gaze equally, expression a mix between bored and unreadable.

" nah. maybe not. you could probably do a lot of shit. but that just goes to prove my next point, doesn't it?" he shifted, sitting up the best he could with his restrictions. his wide grin returning was the only warning she got before he spoke again.

" you're so busy playing hero that you don't even see your own chains. really, you're just like me. you just hate to see it."

she couldn't keep herself from flinching, from flying off at the mouth and letting the words spill as she thought of them, anger lacing each one. " i am nothing like you. nothing! do you hear me, RED? we aren't the same, and we'll never be. what im doing is giving you what you fucking deserve!"

" aha! so it's not for the good of others? " he retorted immediately, taking pleasure in the way she bared her teeth at him in an almost animalistic anger. " you're selfish, too. you wanna know why nobody remembered you?"

before she could respond, he lunged forward, chains glowing brightly with the strain as his grin seemed to widen impossibly.

" because you were unimportant. nobody needed a girl named [REDACTED]. boys and girls alike we're fine with a simple avatar of male. you weren't supposed to exist. ever. so you were forgotten, just like you deserved. " he didn't give her a chance to speak, to defend herself. he kept talking, watching her crack. " we both were forgotten! but at least i was important. i started this fucking shit! what fucking importance did you have, huh? appear in one game and think you're the big shit?! you're fucking nothing!"

she couldn't breathe.

she willed herself to say something anything to deny it to hurt him but the words

died in her throat.

[ R???E????D ] leaned back, grin never faltering. " if you're something that doesn't belong, never belonged, and only fucked everything up with your existence then really, what makes you any different than the glitch pokemon that do the same?"

she didn't move. frozen in place, her body betrayed her mind's rapid orders to move to do something to do Anything to shut him up to make him Stop make him Stop make him Sto

" nothing. " he practically purred. " so, answer me one question, wontcha?"

" who's the real danger here, LEAF? "

#*.text #eyler's journal #now that that's out the way let's add the #missing numbers #missing numbers fanwork

[andysorbit]

Love and Addiction

Minors DNI

Warnings: toxic couple, fingering

Doyoung x Black fem!reader

♡♡

Doyoung comes back into the room, "And if you're gonna listen to the shit other people say instead of just believing me then maybe you're just using that as an excuse because you wanna fuck him anyway!" he yells.

You scoff, "Nobody’s trying to fuck Johnny. You just have a complex because he's taller than you."

Doyoung laughs humorlessly, "You love mentioning my height but when I mention your fat fucking forehead then you're ready to call Ten."

You throw a couch cushion at him and he catches it then flings it back at you, "You couldn't hit a wall with a handful of rice," he sneers.

"I could hit your fucking mom though," You mutter.

"What did you say?" he yells.

"I said you're a crybaby bitch!" You say louder.

"Don't get mad at me for being upset because you keep letting him hang around. What the fuck else am I supposed to think?" Doyoung shouts.

"You and I are not together, remember? You fucking dumped me," You say slowly.

Doyoung rolls his eyes, "You dumped me first you stupid bitch and you dump me weekly! We go through this shit every fucking week and now you wanna take this seriously?"

"Maybe I'm tired of the back and forth. Maybe I want a real man and not some big fucking crybaby bitch who can't take what he dishes out," You say challengingly.

Doyoung clenches his fists, "What the fuck did you just say to me?" You laugh, "You fucking heard me,"

Doyoung's face grows cold, "I guess it's a good time to tell you I fucked your sister. I mean we're done, right?"

You get off the couch and stomp over to him, "I'm gonna beat your fuckin' ass! You fucked my sister?" You scream in his face. He shrugs.

You ball up your fists to pound on Doyoung's chest, "How could you do that? You're a fucking dog!" You scream.

He grabs you by the wrists and shakes you roughly, "You don't want me to start swinging. I promise you that," he grumbles.

"Hit me. Do it," You dare him. "Shut up," he says.

You want him to kiss you so you can make up again but you refuse to break.

He doesn't let your hands go, "Don't you wanna know what I did to her?" he asks.

You shake your head, "Keep it to yourself you asshole." You say as you fight back tears.

He plucks your forehead, "I can't fucking stand your sister. You really think I'd sleep with her?" he laughs. You try to hit him again but he holds you firmly, "You're so fucking mean," You mutter.

He kisses you, "You love it," he whispers as he deepens the kiss. He breaks the kiss to roughly guide you to the sofa, "I hate you." You sulk.

Doyoung laughs a soft and silky chuckle, "You're addicted to me. You love me. That's what you hate. You hate that we can't leave each other alone. You don't hate me... you hate us," he says.

He pushes you onto the couch and climbs on top of you, "Unlike you... I'm honest enough to admit that as much as I fucking despise you, I can't live without you. You're spoiled, bossy, sensitive... fucking aggravating but..." Doyoung slides his hand down your pants and into your panties, "I fucking love you," he kisses you again and you melt back against the sofa as he strokes you slowly.

♡♡

I do not condone toxic relationships, name-calling, and anyone hitting or threatening their partners.

This was inspired by an anonymous confession sent to @ncityprincess and it can be found aqui

#neoculturecollectives #nct #nct smut #kpop smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #kpop drabbles #doyoung fic #doyoung smut #nct ambw #ambw smut

[dreamsclock]

Super hero prompt: (I dunno how to write prompts)

Dream and Tommy are teammates, after a mission goes terribly wrong, dream is Injured and Tommy has to protect him while getting away from the bad guys/or heroes. The only reason Tommy and dream escape is because he has sand in his pockets.

Previous. Comes after Tommy following Dream to the scene of the crime, only to find him badly beaten by a group of heroes. Determined to save his friend despite the situation, Tommy runs with Dream. They confront each other in the next chap :)

warnings: blood, injury, violence, threats of death and injury, general tommy swearing

“Take off your coat.”

Bleeding out, half-unconscious, and slumped over Tommy’s back, Dream only lets out a groan, as if Tommy’s lost his mind. “Why? ‘S cold.”

“It’s the middle of June, man.”

“Heatwaves been faking me out.” And then, when it gets a disdainful scowl from his younger companion— “‘S the DNF song. You don’t know it?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Tommy demands, “actually, don’t answer that. Don’t have all day. Just take off your fucking coat, alright?”

Dream complies numbly, lips and face pale, and it’s then that Tommy realizes his companion-in-crime is actually not doing good, like, at all. Uncoordinated hands and clumsy slurred speech are never great signs when dealing with a wound as large as the one on Dream’s shoulder, and no matter how hard he tries to stop the bleeding, blood keeps soaking through the coat Tommy presses against it. With a little moan of pain, Dream staggers, and almost brings Tommy down with him.

(His skin is warm. Clammy. Tommy is struck by a sudden panic.)

Slapping Dream’s face roughly gets him only a grumble in response. “Oi,” he snaps, “don’t go falling asleep on me, dickhead. Not after everything we’ve just been through. Stay focused on me, yeah?”

“I am focused on you,” Dream complains through gritted teeth, as they stumble down a side street and into the shadowy ally, “your breath. It stinks.”

…Tommy debates leaving him behind, he really does. It’s not like he really needs Dream, after all. He can run the bookshop Dream owns downstairs, and he can pay rent, and he can look after Patches just fine, thanks, no matter what Dream says. But his hands grip the supervillain tighter, refusing to let go, and when they round a corner into another street and come face to face with Goldenwings, Tommy’s first instinct is to shield Dream behind him.

Goldenwings only laughs. “What, did you really think you were gonna outrun me?” He asks, amused. “With him weighing you down? Give him up, Tommy. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Tommy grits his teeth, mentally checks his power reserves— shit. Shit. He’s all out. It’ll take him a few hours to recharge enough to use them, and he doesn’t have a few hours. Dream is unresponsive from behind him, and he can’t help but fear the worst. “Go to hell, Big Q. Just let us fuckin’ go, alright? Or— Or I’ll kill you. I swear to fucking God.”

“How are you gonna do that when you’re all gooped up?” Comes a chipper voice from behind him, and Tommy tries to turn, but finds his feet and legs coated with a sticky green substance he knows with sinking fear is slime. Goldenwings laughs, gold tooth glinted in the light from the nearby building, as Slimecicle comes to his side. “I think my gloop stains. Sorry!”

“Good job, Slime,” Goldenwings grins, but his eyes never leave Tommy, “now, I think it’s time we had a little chat while your buddy bleeds out. How about it?”

Tommy feels cold, and then—

Dream shifts behind him, coughs, once. It’s weak, but stubborn, and it’s enough to convince Tommy that his friend will make it. Dream’s hand pushes fabric and a strange grainy substance into his pocket, and Tommy has to literally pause to stop himself squirming in disgust. What the fuck?

And Goldenwings is monologuing, as per fucking usual — the hero loves the sound of his own voice, almost as much as Tommy loves his own — and it buys Tommy just a few moments. Heart hammering in his chest, the teenager rips the grain from Dream’s pocket and hurls it as hard as he can at Goldenwings’ face. The hero stops, blinking, rubbing his eyes and spluttering incoherently. At least it had shut him up.

“Did you just… throw sand at me?” Goldenwings asks in disbelief. “You’re kidding me here.”

Tommy searches for a frantic excuse. “Was all I had,” he admits, with a desperately cheery smile, “dropped all my big scary knives running away from you crazed madmen with bigger, scarier knives. But!” He adds, improvising. “It’s not just any sand. You don’t wanna know what’s gonna happen next.”

Goldenwings’ lips curl into a mean sort of smile. The scar running through his eye crinkles and squeezes.

“This is what I think is gonna happen next,” he says, “this is exactly what I think is gonna happen next. You’re gonna take a walk with me to meet with my co-heroes about why exactly you decided to side with the greatest villain threat to our city. And Dream…”

Goldenwings crouches, at Dream’s head. The supervillain is barely conscious, but he’s smiling anyway, through clenched teeth and drifting vision. Tommy feels a stab of pity amidst his growing fear and panic. Dream had already been ugly before. He’ll be even more ugly with a broken nose.

“What’s so funny?” Goldenwings asks sweetly, sickly sucrose pouring into his words. It’s clear he knows he’s won. “Laughing at the idea of your own fuckin’ death? You know what— it is kinda funny, I’ll say it! It’s pretty fucking good to have you where you belong!”

“Quackity,” Dream breathes, words wheezy and hoarse, “you’re such an idiot. You’ve always been such an idiot.”

And Tommy has time to watch Goldenwings’ face shift, from confidence to uncertainty to surprise to horror, before the ground erupts. Blue light spills out from under the four of them, Slimecicle and Goldenwings thrown to one side while Tommy finds himself sprawling against a building with Dream, blanketed by the same blue light that brightens up their whole area. There’s the sound of wings fluttering, and thunder rumbling, and Tommy’s heart is in his mouth—

Before it all fades away again. The ground restores itself. The blue glow disappears. All that’s left is a bored looking man hovering two inches off the ground, cross-armed and unconcerned. His glasses are red and blue — a strange combination — but when Tommy squints at them, his head aches, like if he looks too closely, he’ll see something he’s not supposed to.

…Squinting at any of the man has the same effect. Tommy’s unease grows.

Dream is still grinning, wider now, a delirious madman. “George,” he says like a prayer, “hi.”

‘George’ rolls his eyes. What would you do without me? He replies smugly, but his voice echoes with the history of a thousand universes, burrows into Tommy’s brain like rats into cheese. And when he turns to Goldenwings and Slimecicle, something in George lengthens, stretches, breaks open. His smile is a terrible thing. Predatory. Mean.

Goldenwings steps back. His eyes are wide. “George—”

“Quackity.” The word vibrates and makes the ground rumble. Bye.

The two heroes slump to the ground. They’re asleep even before they know what’s happened. Dream wheezes out something that might have been a laugh, under any other circumstance, and when Tommy bends to pick him up, the villain’s eyes are shiny. Fond.

“George—” Dream breaks into a rattling cough, blood staining his shirt and skin, but his grin doesn’t fade. “Meet Tommy. Tommy—”

“Yeah. You’ve got some fuckin’ explaining to do, big man.”

“Tommy,” Dream says, “meet the God of Dreams.”

#> diskduo superrivals au #> c!diskduo #> diskduo #> that one clock guy #> mr plot armour innit #> vegas disaster #> sleeping beauty #tw blood #tw injury #tw wounds #tw death #> writing !! #> sparrow’s writing !!

[iblameashley]

Switching it up now. Some Ghost / 141 x Civilian.

Still gay AF though

SFW, I suppose.

Civilian | Male | Gay

Its not very funny. Im not very funny. I just thought it was cute.

(AU | Private Investigators)

Alex got hired at the 141 PI office six months ago. He basically acted as the secretary; answering calls and emails, filing reports, booking appointments and generally keeping the place up in running. He had quickly learned that coffee was a sin against nature at the office, and learned to make a mean Tea if necessary.

Laswell and Price ran the place, and were pretty chill overall. Under them was a man that went by 'Ghost' who spoke all of 6 words a day. People avoided him like the plague, when possible. Then there was Soap, Gaz below him. Finally Alejandro, Rodolfo, Nikolai, Farrah and Alex below them.

Unbeknownst to both Alex and Ghost... was the whole office was watching Ghost fail miserably at flirting, and enjoying every second of it. They had an internal group email to gossip about it.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Laswell Ghost just came in to ask who the 'short little twat' at the desk was. Apparently Alex wouldnt let him in until he swiped his badge. Man is PISSED. I told him that 'twat' was doing his job. He left bitching about needing badges being a waste of time. Sent Alex a message, telling him good job.

6 people liked this.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Price Ghost told told Alex to "fuck off back to where-ever-the-fuck he flew in from" because Alex told him his report was incomplete and refused to file it. Ghost told him to 'do his job' and bring him a tea to the boardroom. Alex brought him a mug with cold water and tea leaves floating in it. He just said 'enjoy' and walked out. I fear for Alex's life.

9 people liked this

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Soap Ghost has been staring at Alex like... all day. He has barely moved from the doorway between the office and lobby. I asked him if everything was OK and he just told me to fuck off. I am currently fucking off far away from him.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Gaz Guys, you will never believe this. I just saw Ghost in the lounge area on his laptop. You'll never guess what he was googling...

(Attachment)

From: Price Does that say 'How do you know if you're gay?'

From: Soap Poor bastard is the last one to know he's gay. Sad.

From: Laswell He has to come out on his own time, Soap!

From: Gaz Yeah, Soap. Stop being a dick.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Soap So remember a couple days ago when Alex said he thought he was being followed home? So we set up a cab to take him home for now?

From: Price Yes. Is he ok? Did something happen.

From: Soap Ghost bought him a taser. The lad is absolutely bewildered right now. He just handed him a taser and said "for safety"

From: Laswell Thats... kinda sweet? Dangerous, but sweet? Yes?

From: Gaz What, couldnt offer to walk Alex home personally?

-9 people liked this

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Price Ghost may have just given Alex a heart attack. He for sure gave him a concussion. Long story short: Alex was setting up some equipment for me. Ghost sneaked up on him and offered to help. It scared Alex so bad he bashed his head off the desk. Bleeding pretty bad. Ambulance is on its way.

From: Soap So THATS why he's moping around the lounge! Is Alex going to be OK?

From: Laswell With some counselling... we can only hope.

From: Price I spoke to Ghost about making his presence known more clearly in the future. He grunted and refused to make eye contact.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Gaz Why is it always me who see's this shit?

(Attachment)

From: Soap Is he Googling 'how to tell someone you like them?'

From: Gaz LMAO. The first result was "tell them"

From: Gaz The laptop has been destroy. He threw it and yelled 'Tha's fuckin' shite' and stormed off. He came back to tell me to fuck off. Charming man.

5 people liked this

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Laswell I think he's about to do it!

(Laswell shared a link) (Real-time Video of lobby)

From: Nikolai He's... just standing there. In front of the desk. Menacingly.

From: Alejandro This is a big step for him. Give him a moment.

From: Soap Alex looks terrified. Also... the swelling on his head has gone done.

From: Gaz He probably thinks he's having a stroke right now.

From: Laswell Fucking coward! He just said 'Tea?' and walked away.

From: Soap Alex looks so confused. 'does he want a tea? was he asking if I wanted a tea?' Poor lad.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Price Laswell, we may need to contact a lawyer. Ghost literally just tossed a full-grown man out of the lobby. Mind you, he was harassing Alex something fierce, but still... I can see a lawsuit coming our way.

From: Farrah Yes, Ghost! Defend Alex's honour!

From: Soap Knight in shining armour.

From: Gaz Emo-Skeletor to the rescue.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Alejandro Its happening! Finally! Its been weeks!!! Ghost has been waiting at the front door for an hour. Alex asked what he was waiting for and Ghost said he's going to walk him home. Too many incidents lately or some shite. Alex said he didnt have to. Ghost refuses to take no for an answer.

From: Soap Mah MAAAAAAAAAAN. FINALLY.

From: Price Ghost; don't fuck it up.

From: Gaz Y ou watch RuPaul?

From: Price Who?

From: Gaz nvm

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Gaz I asked Alex about the walk home. ~Super~ awkward, apparently. Ghost wouldnt stop staring at him. Said almost nothing. Gave him a shoulder punch before he left. lmao, man has no game. Alex has no idea what is happening.

From: Price Understandable.

From: Farrah Should we tell Alex?

From: Soap Nah. It would ruin our fun.

From: Alejandro But it might clear the air between them! Alex has no idea what the fuck is going on.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Soap Any anime fans here?

From: Price No

From: Farrah Nope

From: Alejandro No

From: Gaz Obviously.

From: Soap Ghost has Alex against a wall enemies-to-lover-confession style.

From: Soap LMAO. He told Alex he pisses him off because he makes him think 'gay things' and 'he never had those thoughts before' He is so close to making the connection.

From: Soap Alex said 'my condolences' and slid away.

9 people liked this.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Laswell So, Ghost was sent home today. He refused to go to the hospital.

From: Soap WTF happened?

From: Price Ghost got a little too close to Alex again, so Alex tazed him. Tazed him until he dropped to the floor. In his defense, Ghost was looming over him.

From: Gaz LMFAO. Ah, romance.

From: Laswell Alex is not going to press charges. Ghost really... cant. These chat logs alone are evidence against him.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Price It only took 4 days, but Ghost finally apologized to Alex for scaring him. Again. Alex accepted his apology.

From: Price Apparently it only took being tazed for Ghost to act normal. He has officially asked Alex out on a date. Well... specifically he said 'I want to go to dinner with you. Do you accept?' and Alex nodded.

From: Price Tomorrow night, 7pm!

From: Gaz YEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS

From: Soap !!!!!!!!!

From: Farrah Nice. Bets on how long it takes to fuck it up?

From: Gaz At the door

From: Laswell Give him a chance, guys. He's doing his best as a closet gay disaster.

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Gaz The date was a week ago. Any one got any updates? Alex has said nothing about it.

From: Price Nothing

From: Laswell No word

From: Farrah We need an update!

Internal Note: To: Ghost-Busting From: Soap (Attachment)

From: Soap He took his face mask off!!!

From: Soap (Attachment)

From: Soap: He KIsesd Alex@!)

From: Laswell [saves photo] lol. Keeping this moment.

From: Gaz HE DID IT!

From: Farrah Guys. I think he knows we know.

From: Soap Well, you did clap when he walked in and said 'took you long enough'

From: Price Is that why he's paralyzed with fear? In the lounge?

From: Gaz He's blue-screened on us.

From: Alejandro Maybe we can reboot him with a better personality?

From: Price Stop! Let him be happy... or whatever hes feeling.

From: Soap Hes gonna be feeling up Alex later tonight. ;)

#lgbtq #gay #writing #cod #cod mw2 #mw ii #ghost call of duty #soap call of duty #price cod #laswell mw2 #alejandro cod #ghost x reader

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Thief of your Heart - Chapter Two.

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE how thrilled I was, reading your lovely comments, some of you even leaving the writer’s dream of a full blown review. I am beyond touched, thank you so much! To express my gratitude, I have decided to give the next update a few days early. Do you want to meet Abi? You do? Good, here she is! 

I can’t wait to read what you think! 

Previous chapters - One

Tag list - In the comments, please reply below to be added/removed

Words - 3,924

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

She lifted her chin in defiance, her eyes, burning blue, never leaving the dark irises of the man who had foolishly dared to lowball her. “That wasn’t what we agreed, Yousef.” Her tone was biting, colder than a Siberian winter, steeped in all the quiet menace she handled herself with.  

“I grow sick of fucking IRA demanding more all of the time. More, more, more!”

She sniffed, her eyebrows fluttering. “More risk attracts a higher price. You know that, you’re fighting that. Our guns are what you’re using to hold that down, are they not? Two mil was our agreement. I am not leaving without my money.”  

He was resolute. “One point five.”

The disrespect for her status, and more so, her name, incensed her. Abi drew her gun from its holster, pointing it at Aftab, pulling the trigger, the young man screaming at having a hole blown in his foot. Immediately, all guns were drawn from the other side, her own men following suit. “Tell me, how much is it worth for me not to keep on blowing holes in your son? Because every time you refuse to comply, I pick another part of his anatomy to introduce a bullet to.”  

“You shoot him again and I will blow your head off, you fucking Irish bitch!”

She laughed, entertained. “Oh, come now, Yousef. We both know you’re too smart for that, not unless you want the full weight of the army to come and clout the bejesus out of you and your guys here! My death will incite a fuckin’ war, and you’ll lose your arms supply. Where else are you gonna buy from then, ay? The Russians? They’ll charge you a third more. The Americans? I wouldn’t even try. Saudi? Doubtful, their supply now runs through us too, so where does that leave you? It leaves you with your pants pulled down, about to let me slide my metaphorical dick straight up your arsehole, so it does.”  

She walked towards him, she and him gesturing for their men to lower their guns, Aftab still howling in pain on the floor. “I want my fucking money.” She stared unflinchingly, her eyes holding every last drop of identical menace that he remembered from her father. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree whatsoever. She was a Maguire through and through. He uttered the correct words her ears wished to hear, one of his men heading for their Jeep and unloading the bags full of cash. “Bren, count it.” she called over her shoulder, her eyes still locked on Yousef’s. 

“Aye, boss.” Brendan confirmed, taking the bags, he and the other three men quickly counting the piles of crisp notes. The necessary time passed in order to check that the full two million was there, Brendan confirming it. “Your shipment will port on the sixteenth. Until next time, gentleman.” Turning, she walked over to the Range Rover they’d arrived in, climbing in with a feeling of triumph. She always felt elated when people realised that she categorically was not to be trifled with. Sexism ran rampant in her world, though, and sometimes she did find men trying their luck, even though the very name Abi Maguire struck just as much terror into the hearts of the wise as her father's once had. Still, they tried. Always, they failed.  

She was glad of the air con hitting her, going a long way to cool the forty-degree heat currently stifling the population of Tripoli.  What made her even gladder was arriving back at her hotel, changing into more comfortable attire of denim cut off shorts and a grey vest, heading down to the bar to be furnished with a cold pint of beer, which she took outside to drink.  

Lighting a cigarette, she stretched her legs out, checking the messages on her burner phone first, and then her actual phone, which most of the time was switched off.  

‘Looking forward to seeing you when you arrive home, sweetheart. God bless x’  

Bridie, her mother. She hadn’t returned to Ireland for three months, brokering deals out in Saudi Arabia too while she was away, before making Libya her last stop on her way home. Usually, Abi was only gone for two weeks out of every month, but Jimmy had been putting her to further work in order to seal more connections, the IRA’s reach furthering once more thanks to her endeavours.  

She was just about to switch her personal mobile off when it began to ring, the number not one she recognised, but knew the country code of. 001. America.  

“Hello?”

“Abi, it’s me.”

Her heart jolted so hard at hearing that smooth, Scottish lilt, Abi felt like she was about to pass out. A million images flashed through her mind, them in the ruins of the church, laughing in front of the fires she’d lit in the name of freedom, swinging her around in his arms, love through a hail of gunfire, just them together in her old flat, in her bed, him in her, the forehead kisses he’d give. ‘I love you so much, CB.’

“Are you there?”  

His voice brought her back to the present, Abi gulping. “Aye, Fil. I’m here.” She paused, her heart thundering in her ears, her palms sweating, her mouth dryer than the Libyan terrain beneath her, insides blazing with light. “It’s been a long time, ay?”

He laughed softly through his nose. “It has, hen. How’ve you been?”

How had she been? Shit without him. That’s how she’d been, even almost fifteen years on. Filip Telford was the love of her life, after all. Even the mere memory of him eclipsed any other man she’d been with since. “Good, yeah. I've been good. And you?”

Swallowing back a mouthful of scotch, he fought the urge to tell her the truth, that living without her was, when he let himself contemplate it for too long, hell on earth. “Can’t complain. Listen, there’s something specific I’m calling you for.” He went on to detail all that had happened, Cameron’s kidnapping of Abel, Jimmy’s assurance that neither he or the child had arrived in Belfast, lamenting of course his distrust in Jimmy. “So, do you know of anything?”

Snatching babies, a son for a son. She supposed she couldn’t blame Cameron for it, wrongly thinking it had been Gemma to murder Edmond, but a baby? Abi’s morals swung upon a pendulum in whichever direction suited her favourably, but even she drew a line there, with a little infant who belonged with his family, not being used as whatever bargaining chip Cameron intended him for. “I haven’t seen Cammie for, god, six months or more now, and if Jimmy is secretly behind this then Christ knows, he wouldn’t tell me. He keeps me entrenched in our African and Middle Eastern dealings, I have nothing to do with any Irish-American ructions, unfortunately in this case. And you know I’d tell you, if I did know.”

He did. She'd never lied to him, and never would. He knew that deep down in his soul, no matter how long it had been since they’d seen one another. “Aye, pet. I know.” His voice softened, and it took her right back to when she was seventeen, the hardened arms dealer, the IRA soldier, the tenacious iron lady she was, crumbling as she felt tears prickle her eyes. God, she missed him. “Look, I’ve gotta go. You’ve got my number now, so if you do hear anything, keep me in the loop?”

“Aye, I will.” She almost couldn’t breathe. It was awkward, it wasn’t them, and they both knew it. They weren’t them any longer, though.  

“Alright. Bye, Abi.”

“See ya.”

She almost couldn’t put one foot in front of the other as she strode back inside to the bar, her breathing unsteady, pulse racing wildly. “Treble Jameson, straight up.” She needed hard liquor, to take the edge off of everything hearing his voice again had stirred within her. Once she was furnished with her required alcohol, she took it back outside, sitting down again and sinking it in one. Adjusting her bra, she grumbled when her nipple piercing got caught on the lace, discreetly unhooking the bead fastening on the same gold bar that had been put in the day they were both pierced.  

Piercings, Jameson whiskey and flickering candlelight. It took her back, Abi staring at the candle placed upon the table, illuminating the rapidly darkening space around her. Even certain songs could transport her back in time, closing her eyes, being able to hear Golgotha Tenement Blues by Machines of Loving Grace swirl through her head as she remembered, sitting on her bed with him, the light from many, many candles all around, sipping whiskey...

Belfast, 1994.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Chibs asked her, continuing to circle her nipple with the piece of ice that had previously been chilling his whiskey, Abi sipping hers with a nod.

“I am.”  

He tested her confirmation, moving the ice cube and biting onto her nipple, the action sending a little shiver through her. “Alright. Could you feel that?”

“Kind of, but not as much as I would have, without the ice.”  

He winked at her, circling the erect bud with his tongue, reaching for the needle and cork. “You ready?”

“Aye. I think.” Knocking her drink back, she nodded, setting the glass down. “Okay, do it.”

Making sure he had the needle straight, he lined up the cork and like lightning, punctured her nipple. Her entire body tensed, a small groan emanating her throat, followed by a hiss of pain, his fingers working quickly to slide the bar in and fasten it up. “Christ on a bike, that had to hurt! Sorry, CB. Here, lemme kiss it better.”

His lips pressed against it, a little drip of blood wetting his mouth, Abi softly exclaiming in pain. “Yeah, just a bit! Still, not as bad as getting shot, so it isn’t.”  

“You still want me to do the other, too?” he asked, moving to kiss her lips a few times, their tongues swirling. He had to admit, there was something very sexy about it, giving his lover such intimate piercings.  

“Yes, I have to match.”

He grinned, kissing her again. “Aye, cannae be lopsided.” Gesturing between her breasts, he made her giggle, kissing her neck softly. He then gave the ice treatment to her right nipple, moving his kisses back to her mouth as he did. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she hummed, Chibs frowning, shaking his head.

“Nae possible, lass.”  

“But it is.”

“Uh-uh, nah.” God, he was such a good kisser, her sex feeling prickled by arousal as they continued to devour one another at the mouth, the ice melting, a cold trickle dampening her breast. He took another cube from his glass, Abi reaching to top up each tumbler once more as her stiffened nipple began to numb, once again being tested with his teeth. A deep breath, a sip of whiskey for courage, and the needle went in. “Well, I have to give myself a pat on the back, there. I done good. They’re not wonky, at least.” He spoke after putting the bar in, sitting back to admire his handiwork.  

“They fucking throb, though,” she lamented, Chibs tutting, leaning to kiss her.  

“Want me to give you a distraction?”  

Her face was a picture of curiosity, sipping her drink, placing it back on the bedside table. “What did you have in mind?”

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk, grasping her underwear, pulling them off, hands stroking her thighs as he began to lay kisses descending from her knee, down her inner thigh, finally stopping on her...

“Ohhh.” The very first time they’d had sex, he hadn’t attended to her with his mouth, a regret that had led to him arriving at her flat two days later, ready to rectify. And when he had, lord, he’d made up for it. Having someone lick an orgasm from her was a sensation she had been in no rush to cease feeling, so much so, he’d done it twice more and then fucked her three times before finally leaving her sleeping and very satisfied.  

“Why do you like it so much, going down on me?” she asked, Chibs a little perplexed at her question, but answering all the same.

“Because your pussy tastes fucking amazing,” he began, dipping his tongue inside of her, looking up and winking as she watched him do it. “It’s pretty,” he continued, rubbing her folds with his fingers as he gazed upon her. “And I love how you react, the fuckin’ noises you make, when I do things like this.” Flattening his tongue against her, he swiped her folds with a long, firm drag, her clit sparking, her hips rising off the bed as she exclaimed the softest of cries. She’d had three boyfriends in the past who had attempted to get her off with their mouths, but they hadn’t really had much of a clue. That was because of what they were; boys. Now, in the capable hands, or rather mouth, of a man, she was kept extremely satisfied. He knew exactly how to please her.  

Her hands fisted his silky, dark hair, panting hard at the repetitive circles he drew over her clit with the tip of his tongue, pausing to suck on her every so often, Abi crying out as she shook against his mouth. Fire licked her veins, his tongue working her in a firm, hard beat, his dark brown eyes watching her, winking before closing, his middle finger sliding within the soaking velvet grip of her cunt, stroking her with the kind of precision that sent her stupefied with arousal.

“Fuck, you taste so beautiful.” He praised her, Abi wailing as he literally ate her alive. Tingles skittered through her at each firm lick, his finger joined by another, pressing her sweet spots, fucking her with them until she became utterly saturated, her silky wetness bathing his fingers and trickling over the back of his hand. Her thighs skimmed his face, her feet rested up on his shoulders, the suck of his lips around her clit sending her straight into bliss, shattering for him, Chibs sitting up, removing his last items of clothes. “I’d keep going, but I can’t. My cock’s getting envious of my mouth.”

She bit her lower lip, looking impossibly cute. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”  

“Oh, no.” He grabbed her at the ankles, holding her legs against his chest, her feet only just touching his shoulders, he was so much taller than her. She was, as he’d coined her in the past, a five-feet five pocket rocket, him towering over her at his six-feet two stature. She reached for his cock, guiding him to her dewy opening, gasping as he sank into her fully, stroking her legs, turning his head to kiss her ankle. Bottoming out, he dragged back again, his cock utterly slick with her, entranced by the sight of her split around him, being very careful as he leaned to kiss her, so he didn’t touch her fresh piercings.  

“Fuck, you feel so amazing,” she gasped, nails raking his chest, their kisses magmatic and messy.

“Yeah, is that what you needed, darlin’? A nice, big cock right up in ye?”

She purred against his tongue, stroking his neck. “I’ll never not need it. Especially the way you give it, fuck, you lay that pipe entirely too well, BDT.” BDT stood for big dick Telford, as she’d decided, wanting her own special abbreviated name for him just as he had one for her. He winked at her, pushing a little deeper, watching her abdomen bulge as he filled her. His thumb moved to stroke rhythmic, tight circles at her clit, Abi gasping, her eyes fluttering, moaning so softly and helplessly, the sound making his insides burn caustically.  

He had to concentrate hard in trying to both give her the kind of strokes she craved, but prevent himself from slipping out, she was so ridiculously wet, her aqueous little cunt clenching on him, but still, not quite managing it. “Shit! Fucking hell, it’s like trying to fuck a goddamned waterwall!” he cursed, pushing back in again, Abi giggling.  

“It’s your fault, you and your sexy face and your gorgeous body, and that big ole’ cock of yours. What’s a woman to do other than absolutely cream herself for you, huh?”

He shook his head, growling, grasping her neck and leaning to kiss her. “You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, CB.”  

She kissed him, hot and dirty, grasping his nipples and squeezing hard, making him grunt. “Just make me cum first, before you expire.” He laughed, loud and booming, continuing to fuck her hard until she came, howling, her hands held back to prevent her scratches marking him up in ways he definitely wouldn’t be able to explain to his wife.  

She’d believed him when spotting some on his chest, when he’d claimed Maureen Ashby’s cantankerous cat, Boots, had taken poorly to being picked up and petted, since she’d been on the receiving end herself in the past. However, Boots couldn’t be blamed for the state he knew Abi would leave his back in, should he actually let her.  

Afterwards, she lay against his chest, sipping whiskey and sharing a joint with him, content he didn’t have to go anywhere. She hated when he left her to go home to Fiona, but that night, he’d told his ole’ lady he had club business to attend to, Fiona not questioning it. He felt bad, all until he saw Abi smile at him upon answering her door. Any guilt faded as he sank into her arms, receiving her sweet kisses, her scent flooding his nose, hands stroking her soft, blonde hair. God, he was so in love with her, and she him.  

Abi knew right from the start that she’d never love another man the way she loved Filip. They had the kind of connection she’d never found in a single over person. She knew that night, lying there feeling the buzz of whiskey and the heady cloudiness of good weed that she’d found her soulmate.  

“Aye, but you were wrong, little girl. If he was your soulmate, you’d still have him now.” She muttered to herself, sipping her beer and lighting a cigarette straight off the end of her current one, stubbing out the butt in the ashtray and sighing. All she wanted was to call him back and scream her love for him down the line, but knew such was pointless. They could never be.  

For all she knew, he had a woman, it wouldn’t surprise her if he did. He could have remarried, had kids, she wouldn’t know if Fiona had divorced him, such was the bitter nature of the former Mrs Telford’s hatred towards her. Jimmy certainly wouldn’t make her privy to such, and she didn’t ask any of the SAMBEL guys he was still in touch with about him. It was too painful.  

Fourteen years and nine months on, and her heart still ached for him. It’d never cease, either. Much like it never wouldn’t for the man who lay back on a couch in the SAMCRO clubhouse almost seven thousand miles away, too drunk to ride home, deciding to sleep where he lay. When his brain let him, that was. Until then, it replayed memories of his time with Abi, his beautiful little CB, Chibs lighting a cigarette and smiling thinly, remembering.

Hearing her voice again after so long, he’d felt sick for a minute, to hear what he’d yearned for at long last. His heart had palpitated in his chest, his body tingling all over, such was the effect she still had on him. He smiled as he thought of her, betting she had taken to her role as an arms dealer like a duck to water. “Aye, the African lads will have’nae seen anything like you before, princess.” He spoke, holding the battered photograph he kept in his wallet of them together, taken after a night of clashes in Belfast he’d never forget...

Franklin Street, Belfast, 1995.

Smoke and fire covered the street, loyalists up against the clout of the republicans, Chibs scanning through the crowd, guns primed, searching for her. Police wagons roared down the street, windows shattered by bricks, rifle fire peppering the sides, and then, a Molotov cocktail hurled straight through the windscreen, the vehicle exploding into flames.  

“Fuckin’ have some of that, you dirty, loyalist cunts!”

There she was.

Her opposition came for her, street fighters from the opposing side charging, Abi holding her ground, dodging the brick thrown at her, swinging her fist at the man’s face, breaking his nose, her hand tearing her knife from her belt to slash at her next opponent, round kicking a third, hitting a fourth with a spinning backfist and a stab wound to the gut before grasping her gun and taking aim. She blew holes in three, her face a picture of delight even beneath the bandana covering her face, her eyes smiling, relishing in it.  

Fighting or fucking; it was where Abi Maguire truly came alive. However, when she became that gripped by it, her usual quick-thinking brain slowed, the adrenaline taking over, putting herself in danger she needn’t face. Chibs gave her a few moments, watching her, his tiny little war machine thriving as he fought on himself, the heat of the fires roaring in front of them as the loyalists moved back, further IRA soldiers hurling explosives at the police barricade, shield wielding riot coppers running around the flames, tear gas deployed.  

“Fuckin’ fight me! Come on, you pricks, fight me!” Abi screamed, picking up a brick and hurling at a policeman once she was out of ammo, Chibs running and grasping her around the waist, lifting her up and continuing as he and the rest of the club all made a run for it, taking his feisty baby with him, Abi laughing against the backdrop of fire and carnage, sticking up her middle fingers.  

They ran through the back streets, Chibs eventually letting her run on her own two feet, weaving through alleyways back out to where the club had parked their bikes, Abi jumping onto Chibs’ Harley behind him, the engines roaring into life and spiriting them away before the police could even see which direction they’d absconded in. When they arrived back at the club house, it was celebration all round, hopped up on adrenaline, Chibs swinging Abi around in his arms, grasping her bum as they shared deep, lustful kisses.

By that point in their affair, his brother’s all knew their secret, that while Fiona was his ole’ lady, Abi was his girlfriend.  

“Right in the fuckin’ centre of the carnage, as I knew you would be,” he exclaimed with pride, passing her a whiskey, kissing her forehead. He thrived on the chaos he found within her, got off on her bloodlust. She was insane, but he adored it. He often thought she was born in the wrong era. Back when the troubles were really kicking off in Northern Ireland, she’d have flourished. That brand of carnage was her calling.  

“Aye. Thanks for coming to pick me up.” Her joke made him roar with laughter, Abi tucking her head under his chin, kissing his chest. “Love you, Filip.”

“Love you more, crazy baby.”  

And he always would.

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