#those four years were too fuckin LONG

[covetyou]

egg hunt

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: oral sex (m! receiving), balls, questionable use of sex toys, semi-public blowjobs, eggs, Joel is a giant bunny, feelings, misunderstandings leading to angst. word count: 5.9k summary: Catching Joel dressed as a giant rabbit in your backyard wasn't on your bingo card for things to happen to you this year. But, what waits for you beneath the bunny suit, and in his basket, aren't the only surprises you'll have tonight.

A/N: truth be told I find eggs genuinely, criminally funny in every possible way, as well as disgusting, so happy Easter!

These egg things are hilarious, but also not nearly as fun as they seem, though if I'd had the genius idea to stick 'em on some balls I imagine I would've had a much better time tbh.

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You almost don't notice, too busy shoving your cup harshly against the ice dispenser before taking a long, deep, gulp of the cold liquid. But then you see it, and it's not the shock of cold to your esophagus that makes your eyes widen, spluttering icy water before sucking in a desperate breath.

No. It's the ghostly white figure rummaging around in your backyard on all fours.

You duck down just as it stands, holding on tightly to the counter edge with both hands, before crawling to the backdoor to check it's locked, keeping you safely inside away from whatever this thing was. But, just as you reach for the latch, the creature stands on two legs, stretching back with two thick arms on its waist.

The figure is broad, and tall, and... dressed in what appears to be a giant bunny onesie. Even with it's head covered in a white hood, bunny ears flapping as the creature bends and moves, you know what it is. Who it is. You'd recognize those shoulders just about anywhere, and no one else would pull something like this at 9pm on a Sunday.

It had been weeks since you last saw him, but you can't say that was a surprise - what you had wasn't exactly a regular thing, if it could be called a thing at all. That doesn't mean you hadn't been hoping for it, counting down the days to the next holiday in hopes you'd see him again - There was no denying your disappointment St. Patrick's day came and went with no sign of a leprechaun and a pot of gold. Now, he was finally here, dressed head to toe in a bunny suit, doing fuck knows what to your lawn.

"The fucker..."

Unlocking the door, you slink out into the night, sliding it closed behind you before creeping across the yard. This was new, getting to be the one to surprise him. He may have been in your yard, but with each soft step of your foot on the grass it looked like you were finally going to one up him.

But then he turns around, looking toward the house and seemingly straight through you for a moment...

Before his eyes focus on you in the dark, and everything in his hands goes tumbling to the ground as he practically leaps out of his bunny suit.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ."

"We've got to stop meeting like this," you say watching Joel's giant bunny ears flap in the air with his movement as he bends, reaching down to the grass to pick up the basket he dropped.

"You half scared the shit outta me, what're you doin' out here?" he grumbles as he rights himself.

"What are you doing out here? It's my yard. You Bunny Joel this time?" you joke, crossing your arms over your chest in a not-so-smooth attempt to cover yourself. Getting properly dressed had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled down the stairs, legs still jelly and head still fuzzy from post-orgasm bliss. The only thought that registered was how damn thirsty you were as you tugged a worn, old shirt over your head and made your way to the kitchen. It wasn't cool enough to blame the temperature shift on your quickly puckering nipples, and you didn't feel like explaining where your panties were or why your thighs were simultaneously sticky and slippery. You're just grateful you put on anything at all, and at the very least it was long enough to cover your ass.

Joel smirks, your fruitless attempt at modesty not going unnoticed. "Ain't no regular bunny, darlin'. I'm the Easter Bunny."

"And the difference is...?"

"Eggs."

You laugh, folding yourself over a little as you giggle into the night. The whole get up really is ridiculous enough on its own, yet here you are discussing the nuances of being a giant bunny with a man more fond of playing dress up than anyone else you'd ever met.

"Eggs?"

You spot them as soon as the word leaves your mouth - four colorful eggs sat neatly in his basket, and another nestled into your flowerbed. Only, they don't look like normal eggs at all. Squinting in the dark, the yard lit only by shitty solar lights you'd bought online last summer, you can make out the neat patterns swirled all over them. This was not the handiwork of some enthusiastic child dying eggs for Easter - they looked professionally painted. Joel shakes the basket at you as you continue to squint at it, and you realise not a single one has cracked or broken, even after being dropped on the floor.

"What are they? Egg shaped bouncy balls?"

"Got some balls right here if you're really that interested," he jokes, looking obscene as he waggles his eyebrows at you beneath the hood of the bunny onesie. "Here, they're just these... things. My brother got 'em for me as a joke, it's a long story."

He passes you one of the eggs, the surface smooth and cool in your hand. There's writing on it that you can just about make out, but you still have no clue what you're holding as you turn it around in your palm.

Sensing your confusion, Joel offers a choice gesture, as he explains that they're for "Y'know."

It clicks. Well, sort of. You know for sure then that they're not something you could sneak away for some solo playtime, like with the plug he dutifully left on by your bedside so many weeks ago but maybe, like the contraptions Joel had strapped over his balls your last two encounters, you could enjoy them together.

"Wait, so... you're giving me a thing for anatomy I don't even have?"

"No it's not like that, I just thought - I, well, shit."

"I'm just fuckin' with you, Bunny Joel. Though giving me a gift that's really a gift for yourself is a bit of a dick move."

"Ain't a dick move if you like 'em, sweetheart. And it's Easter Bunny Joel," he corrects with a wink, smiling at you as he drops the basket on the ground to pull at his neck tie. The man looks good in pink, you think, as he fiddles with the floppy satin.

"Y'know, Easter Bunny Joel doesn't quite roll off the tongue."

"Don't it?"

"Nope," you say with a pop, pinching the material of Joel's Bunny onesie to feel the fabric between your finger tips as your roll the egg across the palm of your other hand. "Think you need a better name than that."

"Okay, I'll bite. What you got in mind?"

You're walking your fingers down his chest now, dancing them in a criss-cross pattern across the fastenings at the front of the suit until you reach his hip and slowly you drag the tips of your fingers closer to his crotch until you're cupping his bulge. You wouldn't say he's entirely flaccid, there's certainly something there, but the length of him still feels pliable beneath your hand as you stroke over the front of his costume.

"I was thinking... Flopsy," you say with a squeeze of your palm against his cock, biting back a laugh when you hear him hiss a breath of night air through his teeth.

"Real funny."

"What? If you're committed to the bit, I can be too," and before he can protest you slip the fingers of your free hand between the fastenings on the front of his suit. You can feel his skin underneath, hot and sticky, trapped beneath the synthetic fabric of the bunny costume. At the very least, he's topless under there, and eager to find out more, you quickly yank at the front, grinning devilishly at Joel as the fabric pops open slightly.

"You really wanna be gettin' into this out here?"

"You scared, Flopsy?" you say, with another squeeze to his now much harder cock. "That side is up for sale, and Janet is out of town until Tuesday. No one's seeing anything. Unless you're scared someone might hear something... but I guess you'll just have to keep quiet."

"F- you're gonna be the death of me, darlin'," he mutters, pulling at his pink tie so it hangs loosely around his neck, giving him better movement to look down at your hand where it strokes his cock over the soft plush of the rabbit costume.

You tug again at the suit and with a rapid pop pop pop, the remaining fastenings hiding his chest from you pull open, revealing him to you and... he's a mess. From the neck down he's covered in streaks of paint, multicolored blooms splattered across him, dusting his ribs like a rainbow of bruises.

"Kid had some powder paint stuff - y'know that festival of color thing? Well, kid had some left after a party with a friend from school... had a little fight in the yard earlier before I dropped her back with her mom for the week," he explains quickly, rubbing a hand nervously against his chest and smearing the splattered rainbow there. You make a mental note, adding has a kid to the very short list of confirmed facts you know about Joel. It's not exactly a surprise revelation, all things considered - the costumes had to come from somewhere, and most grown men don't just have fairy wings and toy bows and arrows lying around.

"Well, Flopsy, you make a mighty fine canvas, but I think I might need a hand with this."

The egg you'd been turning in your hand is deposited back into his grasp just as you tug him forward giving him a peck on the chin as you look at him expectantly. Joel knows he shouldn't pull you toward him and kiss you out here, he thinks he knows that the expectant look is nothing to do with kissing him and everything to do with the egg in his hand, but he does anyway. Slotting his mouth against yours, he pulls you into his chest, the sweat of his skin transfering blotches of paint from his chest to your old shirt. But you don't care, holding yourself tighter to him, pushing your fingers underneath his hood to card them through his hair. Joel groans into your mouth when your fingertips rub at his scalp. You're in half a mind to call him such a good bunny but the air, and the thought, is knocked out of you the next second when he presses a hand against your ass, pulling you further into him so he can grind his hardened length against your lower belly.

It's been far too long since someone held you against them like this, and far too long since Joel had had someone like you in his arms. As he kisses and kisses you, you're starting to feel more and more insane, and maybe you are - maybe accepting this man into your home with such regularity is the mark of insanity, some kind of as-of-yet undiscovered syndrome that's going to be named after you.

Eventually, you muster the strength to pull away, slapping a hand gently to his chest and nodding down to the egg gripped in his fist. You're eager to see it in action, even if you still can't quite picture what it is.

"C'mon, open it for me. Gotta properly thank the Easter Bunny for bringing me Easter eggs."

Joel slips the wrapper of the egg, something you never could've figured out on your own without decent lighting to guide your way, and presses a thumb into the side of it, popping the top off the egg in one smooth movement.

Before he can hand it to you, you slip down to your knees, bare shins resting against the cool, damp grass. It's a beautiful clear night, not trace of the moon in sight just yet, but the glimmer of stars sparkling relentlessly overhead regardless. You hadn't noticed how hot you'd gotten, but being around Joel always seemed to do this to you. Your cheeks felt hot, your heart beat faster, and your head felt slightly dizzy - the result of it emptying itself of all thoughts except the ones that made you make questionable decisions it seemed. Of course, this time the heat wasn't just from proximity, but from that damned fabric of his costume, the synthetic fibers making you feel sweaty as you held onto him. The grass beneath you is a welcome relief against your warm skin, sending the fine hairs on your body prickling at the sensation.

"This how you say thank you to everyone? On your knees?"

"It's how I say thank you to giant bunnies, Joel," you quip back, pressing a kiss to the softness of his belly. You litter a string of kisses down the trail of hair until you reach the boundary of the bunny suit. Whether he's commando or you have another layer to get through, you don't yet know, but you waste no time finding out. With the hook of your finger and a final swift pull, the last fastenings bursts open, revealing Joel's heavy length straining against the front of his boxers. Where his tip tents the fabric, a darker patch blooms, turning the gray practically black with precum.

In your dreams, and there had been many of them, it didn't go like this. Dream you rarely went three rounds with themselves before Joel popped up to come fuck her brains out. Dream you was clever. And, as good as your solo session this evening was, you can't help but have a little regret for ruining yourself before the surprise main event. It was like eating a big meal right before someone suggested getting pizza. You could (and damn well would) eat pizza, but you couldn't enjoy it the same way. Pizza or Joel, you were going to savor it as best you could.

"Such a tease, Flopsy," you murmur as you kiss across his covered cock, nuzzling your face into it and watching in glee as his hand grips the opened egg that little bit tighter. Your fingers are pulling again, this time tugging down at his waistband. Joel is in half a mind to rid the egg of its shell and use the damn thing as a stress ball. It had been too long since last time, and since he last came two fucking days ago, to be seeing you on your knees for him in that flimsy t-shirt. It felt like a gift from the heavens and divine retribution wrapped up in one you shaped package.

As you pull his cock from the confines of his boxers, feeling the deep pulse of the blood in his veins as you wrap your fingers around him, you can't believe your luck at getting to see it in the flesh again. As brilliantly as your mind can concoct the image of it, the reality of it is so much better than any fantasy. Before you let yourself get lost in it, you reach for Joel's hand, grabbing the egg back from him and watching the top fall to the ground and roll across your lawn.

"It stretches. Goes over and you just - uh - stroke with it I guess."

The inside is far from what you expected. You almost find it gross, the translucent white interior far squishier than you expected that it'd be bordering on slimey if it was wet too. Joel laughs down at you, seeing your face as you try to work out what the fuck you're holding, pulling it free from the rest of the shell and seeing a hole stuffed with a plastic tube. You can see what he means now, and you let a soft oh fall from your lips as you tug the tube filled with a sachet of lube from the middle of the toy. You feel inside, running your fingers over soft ridges, and you can only imagine how nice it must feel sliding wetly up and down a cock and, not for the first time in your life, you wish you could experience it yourself. But, the next best thing is right in front of you, and that'll have to do.

"These feel good?" you ask, his eyes turning glassy as you examine the inside of the stroker while your hand still tugs slowly up and down his cock.

Joel sighs deeply, nodding down at you, the obscene bunny ears still flopping on his head with each movement. "S'good. Nothin' like the real deal but, yeah. Feel nice."

Gripping Joel's cock in your fist, you begin to stroke gently up and down, sliding his foreskin back and forth over his cock until he's steely hard beneath your palm. The solar lights are starting to dim, their charge from the day already running out, but you can still see the dusky red tip, and the blue of the vein that runs down his shaft. You squish the toy in your other hand, the temptation to taste too strong to just leave all the fun to the squishy silicone. So, you press a delicate kiss right to the tip.

"Oh fuck," Joel hisses.

"Missed it," you confess on your knees with another kiss.

"Yeah? Well, s'all yours." Mine.

"Really? Your bunny wife not going to chase me out of my own yard?"

"Know damn well I ain't got a wife, I ain't the cheatin' kind, darlin', don't you worry."

And that admission alone sends your aching cunt throbbing between your legs, wishing even more desperately now that you weren't completely wrecked and oversensitive from your ill-timed playtime upstairs.

"Good," is all you say before taking his head in your mouth with a swirl of your tongue, a satisfied moan vibrating against his tip as you taste him properly for the first time in 4 months. "I've been thinking about doing this."

"Yeah? Been thinking about sucking my cock?"

"Mhm."

"Shit."

A simple continuous swirl of your tongue and small bob of your head was apparently enough to have him gripping his hands into tight fists, clearly fighting some internal demons to keep himself from coming so soon. Your mind absolutely fizzes with it, that this man wants you, likes what you do to him so much that you can have such an affect on him. And when you suck lightly, his head tips back so far the hood slides back off his head. All you can see is the underside of his jaw from where you look up from your knees, and when looks back down at you with heavy eyes, he looks the most normal you've ever seen him. He's not Santa, nor Cupid, and the costume that had rendered him Bunny Joel just a second ago instead drapes around him like nothing more than a soft, white coat.

"Thought about you tasting you," you mutter between mouthing at his cock, slicking his entire length with your saliva. "Having you come in my mouth. On my face."

Joel groans again, much louder this time and you can't help but laugh, mouth pressed to his balls, at his feeble attempt at silence. You press the tip of your finger, egg still clutched in your fist, to his dribbling slit, and drag a tooth grazing kiss across his sensitive ball skin as you silence him with a whisper.

"Shh, Flopsy. You don't want us to get caught."

"Fuckin' Flopsy, I should -"

But you don't hear what he should do, because you engulf his tip with your mouth once again and Joel finds himself speechless as you immediately slide your lips further down his slicked length with ease. You work him in your mouth, sucking him as you move up and down. He can't stop moaning, he doesn't even try. He should, he thinks. You deserve better than getting caught in your backyard doing something like this, but all he can think about each time you move your tongue just like that is how fucking good your mouth feels.

He feels like he's going to come. Your hand is massaging gently over his balls, your mouth working his cock to a near frenzy, and he is absolutely, one hundred percent sure he's going to come. You know he's almost there. If the groaning wasn't enough, the tightening in his balls and the twitching of his cock were a clear sign he was about to blow.

Then you stop.

Just like that, your mouth is gone. Your hands too. And he's having to force himself to look down at you where you stare in awe at the stroker in your hands, glistening with lube you'd poured into it as he bit his lip and fought off coming, untouched, into the breeze.

You want to use it on him, to listen to him groan as you stroke him with the soft silicone, and watch his every move as you work him over the edge. And his cock, as if calling to you like some kind of siren of the sea, beckons you in, accepting an offering of one last kiss before you raise the stroker.

"It's so stretchy," you gasp, as you slide the toy over the tip of Joel's cock. You can pull it almost all the way down the length of him. You make a few experimental twists and jerks, before settling into a slow rhythm, teasing him just as you'd teased yourself and dragged out your own orgasm upstairs.

It's interesting. Slipperier than your own hand, easier than your own mouth, but not quite the same as either. You can't feel him like this, and you certainly can't taste him.

"Do you like it?" you ask, and Joel doesn't quite know what to answer. He does like it - he likes having your hands on him any way he can get it, but he can't feel you in the same way like this. And it's definitely not as good as your mouth, or any other hole of yours he's fucked.

There's just enough light to see his face give a noncommittal twitch and you're peeling the toy off of him, sucking his tip back into your mouth quickly, moaning as the taste of him hits your tongue.

"Good, because I prefer it like this too."

"Fuck, yeah."

Now though, you have a lubed up, saggy egg in your hand and nowhere to put it. Until an absolutely inspired idea hits you square in the face and you're grinning with Joel's cock in your mouth.

He barely sees the fiendish look in your eye, just notices as you pull off him again, and he could scream. Then, something smooth and cold coats his balls. Your fingers are cradling him delicately, thumb and forefinger stretching open the toy until with a gentle wiggle, his balls are encased in the squishy silicone. And holy fuck, is it like nothing he's ever felt.

"Don't think that's how you use it, darlin'. But, shit, it's good," he gasps as you gently massage his balls through the toy. It's like having a soft cool mouth encasing his entire ballsack, while your actual mouth kisses delicately all over his cock. "C'mon now, stop your teasin', gotta come in the pretty fuckin' mouth."

He's back in your mouth before he even finishes his sentence, your mouth sounding wet an obscene as you work him up and up and up all over again. You draw him in deeper, his cock meeting the back of your throat, over and over, his hand coming to cup your face and delicately wipe away a tear from your watering eyes. Fuck, you're wishing more than ever that you could just jump on him, that your cunt wasn't wrecked, or that it didn't matter, that you could go infinite rounds and still want to be touched again and again. But that wasn't you. You had a limit and, even though you'd reached it, the want in you didn't go away and neither did the slick feeling between your legs or the deep throb of your pulse beating away in your clit.

Joel's fingers grip tighter on the side of your face, a soft thrust of his hips meeting every movement of your head. Catching his eye almost kills you then and there with his cock wedged at the back of your throat. He looks as wrecked as you feel, dark eyes shining down like black holes from space now that the light from your solar lamps has all but fucked off. The paint and rabbit ears almost fade away into the background as you hold yourself down on his cock, making yourself whine around him. You're starting to think if you sucked his cock for long enough you could make yourself come totally untouched, but you don't want to think about it. You can't.

He takes over then. Each slip of your lips down his cock met with a gentle hold, until you both do it all over again. It's easier to hold for longer each time, almost feeling deeper with each slide of his cock across your tongue, the taste of his precum making you salivate as much as having your mouth filled and occupied is.

Then, he presses you down, holding your head as you moan and whine and try desperately to swallow around him, to take more of him as he only seems to get harder.

"Not so Flopsy now, huh?" he asks, releasing you and pushing your head down on his cock once more.

He's fucking into your mouth now, small shallow thrusts hitting the back of your throat, your hand working the toy slickly across his balls as he moans more desperately than you've ever heard him moan before. Despite your teasing and edging, he's the one holding back now, the feel of your mouth on his cock, your nails scratching at his belly, and that damned toy sliding across his balls far too much for him to want to let go of any time soon.

But fuck is he close, and if he's not careful he's going to ruin it for himself by holding back and exploding without warning. He's waited too long for that to happen.

"I'm gonna -"

"Mhm!" you groan around his dick, nodding as much as you can with it in your mouth. You steady your hand against his waist, taking over all movement as he stills the slow gyration of his hips, bobbing your head faster as you suck him down. The swirl and flick of your tongue is positively relentless, and everything feels so wet and warm and fucking perfect that he knows he's a goner.

"Hn-uhhhhh, fuck. Ah, fuck, don't stop, don't stop, fuck, ugh!"

He bursts, salty in your mouth, filling your throat as you swallow around him, massaging and gripping his heavy balls as they twitch in your palm through the thick silicone.

You're only a bit of a mess when you pull off of him. Your lips are swollen and tingly, your hand slippery with lube, but you are totally, utterly content. The slick feeling between your legs is still there, so is the throb, but you're as satisfied as you could possibly be.

Pulling yourself to your feet is another story. Your legs have gone a bit numb from sitting on your knees for so long, and you stumble as you fight to right yourself, Joel catching you just before you tumble into the flowerbed. You laugh in his arms, his mouth pressed to yours as he swallows the sound, consumes it, wills it to make home in his body so he never forgets it.

Joel's fingers work their way under your thin shirt. He'd been looking between your face and your nipples the entire time you were on your knees for him, and he suspects you're entirely naked under there. When his fingers meet your sticky thighs, he thinks he's hit the jackpot, and is ready to return the favor through the haze of his own orgasm, when you stop him.

"I, uh... sorted myself out not too long ago. A few times."

"Damn, if I'd known I woulda come right up and helped you out myself. Thought you were sleepin', house was dark. Jus' playing with this sweet thing all along, huh?"

If he had known, he would have known how much you thought about him as you fucked yourself on your fingers. He would have known how you used the plug he left on your bedside table more than any of the others, crying his name out into the lonely expanse of your bedroom as you came quicker, and harder, than you had any right to. If he had known, he'd know how well and truly fucked you were over a man you still knew practically nothing about.

Of course, you knew some physical things. You knew what he looked like naked, how broad he was and how sweaty he got when he fucked you. You knew what he sounded like groaning into your mouth or laughing at a silly quip you'd thrown at him. You knew what he tasted like, and what you tasted like off of his tongue. But that was where your knowledge of him ended. You didn't know what he did for work, or if he even liked his job. You didn't know his favorite food or color. You didn't know what he sang in the car. You didn't know where he lived or what he drove - you didn't even know his full name, and you knew exactly why.

You were scared. Terrified, actually. Terrified to really get to know him, to break that blissful illusion of the tall, dark stranger who rocked your world on a seasonal basis, only to find you didn't like him at all. Or worse - that he didn't like you.

So, when you walk him through your house, egg disposed of and hands washed, listening to the soft snap of his suit being closed up around his bare body, you desperately try to ignore the longing ache in your chest, stopping any request for him to stay, to take you out for coffee in the morning before it stupidly tumbles out of your mouth. That's not what this is.

Instead, you wordlessly reach for your keys, smiling sweetly to him as if you hadn't just been waging war against yourself inside your head.

"What're you doing," he says, pointing to the keys held in your hand. "Goin' somewhere, or comin' home with me?"

"No, smart ass, this is a key, it locks doors. Just gonna lock up after you leave."

Joel's smile drops from his face. And you don't know why, but it has alarm bells immediately blaring in your head.

"What?" you ask nervously, eyes darting around his face as if you're trying to read his mind as he takes a slow step toward you, a frown slowly pulling his brow down as he pieces some mystery together.

"The door locks when it closes, then you the take the key and lock it again after?"

"... Maybe? Yes?"

"Wait. And you're tellin' me you do that every night."

"Yes, I lock my door every night Joel, what's wrong with that." Obviously your lock was no match for his lock picking skills, but you didn't consider that Joel perhaps didn't know how locks worked at all.

"What's wrong with that is you're unlocking your door every night and leaving it unlocked all night."

Your blood turns cold. You don't know why. You could just not believe him, or test for yourself, but something about his reaction, and his seemingly easy ability to get into your house, tells you that what he says is exactly right. It's your turn for your smile to drop, and you can feel it slip off your face just as your heart starts rapidly hopping in your chest.

"Oh. I - I thought..."

"It ain't that kind of lock, sweetheart. You never checked it after lockin' it?"

"No. No I - My last place, the lock, I had to - oh my god." There's dread now. A sickening cocktail of feelings swirling through your body, turning you red hot and cold over and over as you think of all the things that could've happened, how lucky you were they didn't, after all this time. Damn near a year, and you hadn't figured out how to properly work your own fucking door.

"How d'you think I been gettin' in? Didn't exactly climb down the chimney or fly in through the window the last two times. Maybe shouldn'ta done it that first time, but your tree was driving me mad, seein' it bare like that every time I drove past. You weren't in and the door was open, was only gonna be quick and then..."

You're not listening. Your heart has just stopped like it's been hurtled into a brick wall at 100mph. "Wait, you drive past my house?"

"Where else am I gonna fuckin' drive?!"

A thousand million volts straight to your chest, and your heart is beating again, racing, your voice raising with it, brandishing the pointy end of your key at him like it could save you now. "Have you been stalking me?"

"What? No! I live down the fuckin' street, I drive by to get to my house, I thought you knew that."

"Down the street?"

"Yes. I'm hardly gonna come from outta town just to fix your lights and your sink and fuck off again. I was just... bein' neighborly, I guess."

"You've been in my house fixing my shit without me here?"

It's just revelation after revelation. You can't believe it. You can't believe yourself for one, but you can't believe him either. Only you can. You very much believe him, and you hate that you do and you hate that, deep down, you know he's right and you're exactly the kind of idiot he's undoubtedly thinking you are.

"You ain't fuckin' noticed?! You had a light out in here, your kitchen faucet was drippin', your railin' in your hall closet was bust... you didn't notice anythin'? Are you even fuckin' in that pretty head o' yours?"

Suddenly you're feeling very stupid. The door is one thing, the minor home repairs another, but you'd been under the impression you were both on the same page this entire time. That it was some silly game you played, two strangers who had next to no clue about each other. All this time he knew who you were, but you were too fucking preoccupied and distracted and stupid to see that he was right there.

The heat in your checks crackles in your ears, misting over your eyes and making your entire body feel fuzzy. That fight or flight you'd been wondering about for the last few months has suddenly decided to make an appearance, settling on both as you fight back tears with a quivering lip.

"Get out." It's silent fury, building white hot as the seconds tick by with him standing, staring at you like you're the one dressed as a giant rabbit and not him.

"What? Darlin', c'mon, it's okay -"

"Get. Out." You wrench the door open, pushing him and his stupid fucking bunny costume out, shoving the basket of eggs into his arms once he crosses the doorway.

"Bye." You slam the door, the stupid fucking self locking door, and slide down it, head in your hands. You have never felt so fucking stupid.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics #big bawl jawl #never forget the balls #fic: dress up joel

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello !! if it’s not too much of a bother can you write another piece featuring Lion 🫶 maybe another angsty piece, maybe a lil lion + farah combo or something else like lion and gaz getting separated from the 141 during a mission and having to fight their way back to the extraction point (?). totally up to you !!! also thank u for keeping us well fed 🙇‍♀️

Lions and Ibexes

PAIRING: John Price x Wife!Reader 'Codename Lion'

SYNOPSIS: Impulsive was what John always called you - affectionately, of course. But he sure does worry when you disappear without him.

WORDCOUNT: 4.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, death, canon typical violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, banter, no connection to 'I'll Take the Night Shift' except codenames, protective!Price, suggestive jokes, etc.

A/N: I wanna give Farah a big smooch on her forehead.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“So this is the woman that the Captain won’t keep quiet about,” you smirk and place your hand into Farah Karim’s, eyes shimmering as you both share a tight grip. 

“Commander,” greeting the black-haired woman, your light gear hangs off of you easily and efficiently; clean and well-taken care of. 

“Lion,�� she nods, smirking back. “A pleasure.”

“Please,” you huff a laugh, “I wish it could be.” Expressions dim as you instantly get to work, the hot sun and dry air sticking to your flesh like a second skin of humidity. Releasing Farah’s hand you sigh and look around the old town, skimming over the forms of other Urzikstan Liberation Force soldiers. 

Farah does the same, breathing lowly. 

“On that, I believe you’d be right.” Brown eyes flick to yours, looking you over before the woman nods. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Lead the way,” your feet push you onward, following behind the Commander as your wedding band clinks against your chest. Held on that long chain, a hand comes up to brush it carefully, letting the man who wears the mirrored piece bring you comfort even from so far away. 

John was set to ship out in two days—there were some other important operations that had taken precedence. While you could have stayed behind with him, as you had wanted to do, a plea from one of the far-distant operators of One-Four-One had caught your ear. The name Farah Karim was known. 

If you didn’t offer assistance, you’d never feel right with yourself. One call to Laswell and it was all set up. 

“I’ll be there in two days,” John had muttered into your scalp as you both lay in bed, tight to one another; lashes fluttering. “Wait for me, yeah? No running off.” 

Your smirk had made him sigh a chuckle. “No stunts of heroics, my Love? Please, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know?”

“Well,” the words are uttered into his neck and John pulls you tighter into him. “I think that’s just about the most romantic thing to happen to someone.” 

Smiling to yourself, you bring the ring to your lips and kiss it lightly before letting it drop. In your head, John is still in your shared flat in London, and you’ll be back by the hour. If only. 

“You contacted Laswell and said you had encountered more of Barkov's remaining cells?” Your voice carries easy authority; ingrained confidence. 

Farah looks back and nods firmly. 

“They’ve taken over a town in the mountains, my forces can’t break the line.” She sighs aggressively and you stare with a sliding frown. “Even dead, Barkov cannot leave my people alone.”

In the back of your throat, you hum, “Well, parasites tend to be resilient.” Farah leads you into a home with maps on the tables and low talking of strategies from others. They pause when you enter and you nod politely. Many here knew your husband as the Commander did—all those years back when he was still only a Lieutenant and had broken Farah and her brother Hadir out from the Russian’s jail; labeled as prisoners of war. 

John had told you about it during one of the many late nights in your joint offices. Eyes tired and his hands playing with your hair.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask genially, standing near the table and placing your hands down on it—standard M4A1 resting over your chest and your secondary weapon strapped to your thigh. Unlike most, you’d opted for lighter gear to allow you to move faster. 

Fewer packs sit on your vest, and the gleam of the knife on your shoulder was a testament to your preference to close, silent, encounters. Though you liked to use your silver tongue to get out of situations, unfortunately, that wouldn’t work in this instance. 

“Captain Price told me you’re one of the best undercover agents he’s seen.” You perk at this, looking over with raised brows.

“Hell,” your chuckle echoes, “when you said he couldn’t keep quiet I thought you were exaggerating.” 

Farah smiles cheekily at you before pointing to the map of a mountain town surrounded by red Xs.

“My soldiers have marked off choke points all around the area. They’re the only pathways to the town, but heavily guarded.” She glances around the room and you hear her sigh heavily. “I wouldn’t have asked for assistance unless I knew I needed it. I’d prefer to leave foreign fighters out of this conflict, unlike my enemy.” 

“I understand,” your head shakes. “It’s your home—I’ll go where you need me to. John should be here in two days to assist.”

Farah’s face flashes with surprise, her full brows rising on her head. “Price is coming?”

You shrug and laugh, “he’s stubborn.” 

The woman chuffs before moving to fold her arms over her chest. “I think perhaps he’s more of a smitten husband, hm?” At the sheepish expression on your face and dipping eyes, Farah barks a laugh.

The band around your neck clinks into the stock of your gun as you stand to your full height. 

“Is it that obvious,” you tease, tilting your head to her. You knew it was.

“I believe the simple action of asking is proof enough, Lion.” The commander looks at her work on the table, smiling easily but focusing still on her plan of attack. “But, regardless, I give my thanks for flying out on such short notice.”

“We help our own.” Resting your hands on the body of your weapon, you smile fondly. “Now, who do I need to kill?” 

—

As it turns out, killing was the very baseline of what you needed to do. 

Shuffling into the dark armor of the dead Russian soldier at your feet, you grunt at the slick spread of blood on the ground as you strap arm braces to your limbs. 

“Heavy as all hell,” you grumble under your breath, picking up the large helmet and shoving it over your head with a puff of air. 

Farah was going to lead a distraction on the far side of the western choke point while you slipped into the ranks, placing packs of C4 in some of the large-stocked weapons buildings. Easy enough for you, you admitted. You’d done things like this a million times over. 

When all was said and done, slipping your knife into the new belt at your waist, you gaze down at the dead man with a huff of air; seeing the blood still pooling from the very obvious signs of a slit up the left armpit. You blink and stuff your wedding band down your shirt. 

“Bad day, buddy,” grabbing his legs, you bare your heels and drag the body behind a large outcropping of rocks—long streaks of crimson left behind. “I’d hate to be you right now.” 

Grunting, you drop the limp flesh with a thump like a paper-towel roll meeting the counter. 

Shuffling back into the open, your feet make tracks to get you closer toward your targets. You hike the small pouch Farah gave you farther up your back without a word more. 

John had always said you were quick-witted, but when he got here he’d lose that hat of his in disbelief. The truth was that you had forgotten what little of the Russian language you’d initially known, and the situation you found yourself in now was frankly not ideal.

C’mon Lion, you think to yourself, just pick up social cues and you’ll be good. 

Oh, your husband was going to lose his shit.

—

“Come again?” The Captain barks. “What do you fuckin’ mean she’s in the base?!”

“I just explained it,” Farah levels, raising a brow. Blue eyes narrow with a growl until the Commander's lips flicker in a smirk. “We just had word three minutes ago. She’s fine, Captain.” Fingers find John’s nose bridge, digging deep into the flesh in large exasperation and worry.

He had caught a C17 and came here a day early after he’d gotten a bad feeling—internal wife radar going off as it usually did when you placed yourself in danger without him. Which was more often than not.  

I told her not to be impulsive. 

John sighs long and low, shaking his head. “Farah…you sent her in alone?” 

“She is quite capable, Price.”

“I fucking…” He stops himself and puts his hands on the table in the center of the building. Men and women were snickering from the corners, sending amused glances. “I know.”

Farah sends a glance to her soldiers and they turn away to cover their smiling mouths. Enjoyment was in her tone as she grabs the walkie-talkie from the table top and clips it to her vest. 

“There were more men than we anticipated—she had to be more careful when placing the charges. Captain,” John glares up at her when his eyes leave the maps. The Commander teases, “She is fine.”

As if on cue, the radio fizzles with your voice. Farah looks down with surprise and the Brit's eyes snap to it immediately; body tense. 

There’s a moment of garbled static where the Captain feels his heart beating out of his chest. The panic that had snapped through him when you hadn’t come out to greet him when he’d landed was primal; genuine fear stuck in his bones like spiky grass. The bond the two of you had was closer than anything on this plane of existence. It was rare to not see one without the other.

Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

“You should tell your men to move unless they want to be scorched, Farah!” The woman in the room smiles ferally and raises a smug brow as she looks at John. 

“Copy, Lion. You have my thanks.” 

“I didn’t know you could improvise Russian—it’s like the Slavic blood just entered my body!” The Brit covers his eyes with his hand and groans at the base of his throat. 

“Tell her to get her arse back here before she gets bloody shot.” John takes off his bucket hat and tosses it to the table with a gloved hand, punching his hair back from his forehead. “Giving me gray hairs,” he grunts. 

Farah laughs and says eagerly into the walkie, “Someone’s here to say hello.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Your panting breath clears and after a long glare at the device, John hears you say in a slow and awkward tone, “Hello, my Love!”

Farah tilts the radio closer to him and looks highly pleased. 

“Get back here. Now.” John grunts out, fingers digging into his arms as he crosses them. “I told you to wait for me.”

You laugh nervously, deflecting, “...did you, Dear? I guess I misheard you.” The Brit’s jaw clenches but Farah can speak before he can.

“Lion, are all the charges set, then?” You seem thankful for the distraction, sighing over the line.

“All good over here! I just need the O.K from your men and then it’s about to get a whole lot brighter.” 

“I’ll relay the news—get away, as far as you can.”

“Already on it,” your breathy chuckle exits and you pause before saying. “See you soon, Love!” 

Tiny blue eyes bug, “Wait–!” The line clicks off and Farah is already tapping into the frequency for her soldiers, turning slightly away to converse in quick Arabic. 

—

Evening rolls around and you jog back into the Liberation Force’s base, greeting the guards stationed with a breathless sigh; utterly sweaty but happy you’d gotten half a ride back from some locals. You’re back in your original gear, sear marks on your cheeks and hair slightly burned, but nonetheless unharmed. 

Everyone welcomes you back with handshakes and pats on your shoulders—brushes to your arm as people pass. You guide yourself back to the main building with chuckles and deep smiles of achievement. 

“Someone’s happy.” John’s voice freezes you halfway into the home and you cringe like a leaf. After a moment your eyebrows slide up with a cheeky smile.

“John,” you draw out his name and turn, seeing him leaning against the house with his arms crossed and legs stiff. He looks unimpressed in all of his handsome glory. “Well, don’t you look nice—did you trim your beard before coming out?” 

Walking slowly towards him, you loop your hands around his waist and press kisses into his neck sweetly. The man sighs long and you feel his large palms rest on your hips heavily. You blink innocently into his orbs. 

“Your silver tongue won’t work on me, Love.” The glint in his expression eggs you on as his nose tints down to touch yours. You smile brightly, seeing the wrinkles on his forehead dim as he melts into you easily. 

Whispering, you utter to the air, “I’d say you like my tongue, you brute. Tell me often enough.” Not a beat is missed, but you feel his cheeks go slightly red.

“Keep it on a leash and maybe I’d like it more, yeah?” You snort loudly, head dipping only to feel his lips press into your scalp; his smile is teasing as his beard drags against you. 

John breathes you in along with the scent of sand. One of his hands travels up to lock into the back of your neck, playing with the chain of your necklace. The one that mirrors his own down to the very dents and scratches. 

“You alright?” The words are a murmur into your flesh. You let him play with your wedding band as your smile softens to the same sensation of warm pelts on a wooden floor. 

There was no use telling you to stop your crusades, the Brit knew that. You did what you wanted and damn the consequences; John was stuck with damage control but knew you had the skills and know-how to break all odds. You still held that same fire that the woman he married wore like a crown of fangs without fail.  

“Always,” you reassure him, hugging his waist tighter and staring into his eyes.

The both of you lapse into a delicate hold. John’s arms cage you in and you’d have it no other way as fingers drag over warm flesh, never mind the brutal dig of gear or the stain of blood. Neither could keep you away from the other. 

“When will you stop making my heart rip out of my chest, Sweetheart?” John asks, smirking down at you. “Trying to give me a heart attack before forty, eh?”

“Oh, please,” you whisper against his lips, eyes alight with mischief as he watches you closely—pulse pounding against yours. He could never be angry at you. “We both know that if you have one, I’ll be having one too. We’ll end up being brain-dead at the same damn time, no doubt.” 

He laughs against you lowly, having to pull back to shake his head at your bland confession. “You’re fuckin’ mental, Love.” He breathes in soft puffs of breath. You gaze up at him, laced with affection and care, as he rests his forehead on yours. “Ah, but that’s alright, isn’t it? We’re all a bit crazy.” 

“You might be a little bit higher on the metaphorical scale,” you tease, face serious but eyes betraying you. They always would when it came to John; the only person to break through that ‘cunning nuisance’ that everyone always mentioned in your file. 

“Really, now?” He blinks, smirking and rubbing at your hip absentmindedly and leaning closer—pushing your neck to the side. 

“Just a bit,” you huff, not even realizing. 

Before you can utter another word, firm lips capture you like a beast in iron bars, bulky forearms stuck at the curve of your spine. You chirp into John’s mouth in surprise but melt into him as his large purr resonates into your bloodstream. Singing, you bring your hands to his cheeks, digging through those bristles to feel the burn on your hands. 

Humming, your husband nuzzles his nose into your cheek like a dog would, letting him take in your scent as you feel your legs go weak. You enjoy the worship he gives you; always would. Your body is tightly held against his own and you gladly would have shown him how much you enjoyed him being here if only for the small fact you needed to talk to Farah. 

With one last pass of his reddened lips, you slip back and kiss his bristly cheek with a chuckle. 

“Later.” 

He groans into you. “Tease.” 

“I didn’t even do anything!” You laugh loudly, moving out of his hold to walk into the house as he follows at your heels. John’s hands go to the top of his vest collar to rest. 

He leans down and whispers, “Don’t need to, Love.” 

Your face burns for him and only him as he grumbles out chuckles at your blown pupils. Huffing, you turn and roll your eyes, trying to dispel your flaming blood. Farah waits for you and with a happy glance up she comes from around the table and claps you on both shoulders. You grunt in surprise but grip her elbows with a laugh. 

“Barkov’s remaining cell was wiped out—my soldiers are hunting down the remnants as we speak.” She squeezes your gear and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, Lion, for coming out when you did. The Captain was not wrong in his assessment.” 

You turn your head to the side and glance back at John. “Hear that my Love, I’ve heard you talk about me. That’s so precious.” 

His face goes red under his beard, and his feet shuffle as you and Farah share a joking glance. John releases under-the-breath grumbles before the Commander addresses him. The woman releases you but speaks past your person.

“Some of my younger soldiers wanted you to mentor them with the use of their weapons, do you plan on staying the night?” You and John share a look, a seeming telepathic communication going on. 

He nods at you and you smile. “Only tonight, we ship out at first light. I’ll do what I’m able.”

“Then you also have my thanks. They’ll learn much, I’m sure. Lion,” John comes and gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving. You watch him go for a moment before rubbing at your dirty neck while you listen to Farah. “Come with me, there’s fresh water on the roof.” 

“Oh,” you perk, suddenly realizing the fatigue in your bones and the dryness of your throat. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

As you both ascend the stairs to the roof, there’s a still silence that falls, a calm nothingness. When you finally stand on the flat roof, you look over the vast land as Farah hands you a chilled water bottle from a mini-fridge. You take it with a small nod in thanks. 

“Nice view,” you motion with the bottle before taking a long sip—downing half of it in one go. 

Farah smiles and hums. “Urzikatan is a beautiful place,” you listen and wipe at your mouth; seeing people walk the streets below as the red sun grows even lower. In the wind, your nose twitches to sand and dust, with some hint of floral notes and arid cleanliness. Farah’s face seeps with a low sadness when she looks out to the land and you pause your drinking. Brows pulling in, you watch her. 

“Farah?” You ask, carefully. It’s a moment before she responds.

“I…” She crosses her arms and sets her feet. “I wonder if this place will ever see its freedom. We’ve been fighting for so long already. My family has known war more than anything else.” Brown eyes drift to you from the side of her eye. 

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t imagine what Farah feels right now, what she has felt. Years of this…and still her home is under foreign subjugation. A frown grows on your face and you put the half-full bottle to the small wooden table near the roof’s corner. 

“You’ll get your sovereignty, Farah.” You try your best to speak your mind to the woman but remain truthful to your belief. Farah stares out as you sigh lowly. “Maybe not now—maybe not in this generation—but someday the sun is going to set on a free Urzikatan. You’re plenty strong enough to assure that and you’ve done a proper job so far. The frames are already set.” 

The Commander hums and gazes at her soldiers below as they mull about, laughing with each other and enjoying the company of their fellow countrymen.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” Farah asks you, and you study her genuine interest in her own thoughts. “Who we would be if nothing ever happened to us.” 

You stare for a moment, skull tilting down to gaze at the top of the roof. It’s not an easy question to answer. 

“Sometimes,” your lips admit. Farch eagerly pivots to your form like you hold the greatest answer imaginable. She’s been through so much—losing her family, and her home. Humming, your eyes shift to the setting sun; blinking at it. Against all of this, your lips flinch up into a smile. “But not often.” 

Farah’s eager gaze turns confused, her brows furrowing deeply with a scrunched face. 

“Because right here, right now,” John walks down the street below, and your eyes fall to him as easily as a leaf dances to the ground. The expression on your face eases. “It couldn’t have happened if there were never bad days.” Your husband looks up, and you see him pause among the ranks of other fighters. You chuckle softly, head tilting to the side. 

John stares at you as if you’re the only person to exist, moving one hand from his vest to jerk two fingers in a subtle greeting. Farsh watches the interaction closely, tension loosening from her body. Your head nods slowly to your husband and you say to the woman, absent-minded, “I’m right where I need to be…And the sun has never looked brighter.”

Farah huffs a laugh, eyes running back and forth between the two of you. 

“He loves you,” she says, “deeply.” 

“God,” your laugh echoes, “I sure hope so.” The both of you laugh. 

It felt easy to speak to the Commander, truthfully. Being surrounded by four men all of the time can get catty even with such a strong bond as you had with One-Four-One. 

You dare to share more.

"In my mind, John and I are still in Hertfordshire for our wedding,” The words come out of you slowly, unwrapping emotions one layer at a time as if swaddled in a dark veil of internal nostalgia. You watch John as he walks along, oddly sad but filled with something that makes you want to take him up into your arms with a wet laugh. “Sitting back on the grassy hills outside of town in my gown and him in his tux. The wind is cold…but neither of us can find it in ourselves to shiver. The sun's setting on our heads and making everything glow gold. His fingers are running through my hair…” You pause and hear Farah’s soft breath in the air, but you don’t look at her. Your eyes stay stuck on one person only. “When I die,” your words continue, “I can't ask for anything more than just a glimpse of that again. Just a flicker of that hill. Of those blue eyes looking into mine. I don't think it would be all that bad if I could live in that moment for senseless eternity. If I could live in it for only one second." 

John looks back at you from over his shoulder, your form shrouded in the setting sun as he slowly walks away from you. You gaze with melted eyes, the ring around your neck shining all the brighter. 

“I’m right where I need to be,” finishing, you turn your glossy eyes to Farah, who stares with a wide pull to her lids. “And you need to believe that even if you never get to see that freedom—that hill—you’ll make sure someone else can climb it just an inch farther.” 

It’s a long moment before Farah answers.

“The both of you will do this until one of you dies, hm?” You blink before you shrug. 

“Not one.” Your tone is easy, and John’s shadow turns a corner; out of sight. “I’d never let him go without me.”

TAGS:

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#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #mw2 #call of duty #mw2 2022 #call of duty mw2 #x female reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #captain johnathan price #john price fic #captain john price #john price #captain price #cod mwii #john price x you #john price x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #price mw2 #price cod #cod price #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare #cod fandom

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

horny, sulky, kinda mean, kinda roughhousing könig thought bc it's my birthday, it's 2:50am, i have been horny like a fuckin werewolf for like a week now. f!reader ig for talk about pussy.

So our man König doesn’t keep normal hours—not that you do, but dude is two days back from KorTac and pretty much strung out on the “fun” amphetamines KorTac req officers pass out like candy if you even wave smth that looks like a form at them. So kind of out of the worst of it, exhausted, but wired and feeling kind of shitty and toothy and wound up.

He wants to fuck. Easiest way to diffuse, decompress, and he’s hard as shit by the time he lumbers his way into bed with you—over you—all around you. You were reading off your kindle, not anymore. He plucks that shit right out of your hand and puts it behind him, tangling those long, heavy limbs around you like a boa constrictor.

“Was wondering when this was going to happen,” you say, hissing when he’s none to kind in nipping the skin of your neck, wrapping his arms around your torso, pushing your breasts up under your t-shirt. “Shit, you’re moody,” it’s half a laugh, and a grapple at not immediately just folding and giving into him. You like to bite, too.

“Give me your mouth,” he grunts, nose pushed into the spot behind your ear. He’s pushing down your underwear, singlemindedly stripping you down. His words make your skin humid, “Gonna play with your pussy, want you fucking wet for me.”

You give that little bit, turning your head over your shoulder, smirking into a kiss that drives deliriously deep as soon as contact is made. König isn’t a prim kisser, but a primal one. It’s not a clean act; sloppy, yes, and somehow tinged with something kin to restrained violence. Challenge? Dick swinging? Maybe something more biblical in nature—gluttony, or greed.

He’s a fearsome thing, and he may only be beautiful to you. A needful thing, too, twisting nest of starved serpents—6 feet 10 inches and pushing-300-lbs of fucking muscle, battering-ram-body housing more than thirty years of neglect-crushed memory out for retribution.

But you never were a target. He didn’t have a choice in that matter. You both know good and goddamned well that you picked him. Everything he gets away with is at your allowance, and good fucking Christ, he loves you for it.

His cock throbs against your bare ass through his boxers as his arm wraps around you, craning his hand to pump two big fingers into your sopping cunt, angling his wrist so he can press and rub your clit with his thumb.

Man’s got his perversions, and he’s the most physical person you’ve ever met in your life. He’s had a fraction of the sex he’s fantasized about, but you’ve covered hectares of that ground since you’ve gotten together. He’s a quick study, and his mind’s a nightmare of steel trap memory. He never forgets what you like.

Two fingers turn to three, and he almost pushes it to four—assured torture, too much stretch too fast—before you snap a hand around his wrist and buck hard back against him, seething his name in warning. “Don’t fucking dare.”

“Ja. Ja, Schatzi,” he mumbles, breathing hard and too collected. You’re both sweating already, and the bed feels too damn warm, but neither of you shift. The spooning position is perfect as-is, only needs acted upon. In the mean time, he draws his slicked fingers up, leaving them in the air before your mouth in question. He groans and shudders harshly when you take the digits into your mouth, almost laughing at the ever-fresh amusement of your own taste. Salt and cold coins, your own metallic tang a complement to the one on his skin. His voice shakes as he warns, “Time, now. It’s time, bitte, aw, fuck.”

Just like that, he sinks right into you, to the base, balls pressed tight against your lips due to your body’s contortioning to meld against his form. An ungodly moan bellows out of his throat, rattling from his chest into yours, arms tightening around you. You meet the fuck-weird noises, turning your head to keen into your pillows and pressing back against him. Your hand anchors behind you on his hip, as if pinning him in place, affixing your bodies together.

You both hang in a moment of suspension, hearts pounding, minds blank, stomachs rising as if careening over a hill with momentum not sparing you a moments reprieve.

When that finally snaps, you have to force him to focus, to fuck, and he’s slow about it, grinding into you as your cunt sucks him deeper.

That huge hand you know so well drops between your legs, right back to toying with you. Oh it doesn’t take long to get you off, bent in half on your side, holding onto him and gasping as you’re hit with wave after wave of pleasure.

He’s not subtle to signal when it’s his turn. He pulls you back up and clamps his teeth into your shoulder, biting down hard through the fabric of your shirt, fucking you rough, now, and unheeding, like an animal in heat. When he finally finishes, spasming and jolting all over now that his balls have been emptied into you, he leaves his heavy arm over your waist, keeping you close. “Good shit,” he mumbles, throat sticking to itself it’s so dry as he pants, parched, “we split a smoke?”

You’re not much better, even though you’ve bravado to fucking spare. “I smoke. You go the hell to sleep now,” you try to sound stern and dismissive, but there’s a laugh in your tone some place. And fondness, undeniably. You feel his grin against your neck, his body purring mhm in question. “Feel better?” you ask, at length, stroking the hair on his forearms.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, weak and sweet with relief, “can sleep now.” A pause, you can hear him thinking. “Won’t, though. Because you were an asshole and had to bring it up first.” His laugh wheezes, low and susurring.

#konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #teehee and as usual it's just my oc dressed up as a reader yall know the drill by now

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge

The reader has a bit too much to drink and ends up making a deal she might regret...

Originally, it had started out as a good bit of fun. 

The boys had just returned from a mission, broken down and bone tired but glad it was over. It was one of the more rough ones, where they lost more friends than anyone would have liked, but a success was a success. 

To celebrate they went down to a nearby karaoke bar, and somehow they convinced you to come out with them, even though your specific skill set hadn’t been required on the mission. 

You turned them down multiple times, stating that it was your self care night (to which they responded that having fun is self care) but really, who were you to deny the four men anything?

Which is how you found yourself standing on a stage screaming the lyrics to “Sexy” from mean girls. 

Quite honestly, you were doing a pretty damn good job, which was evident by the encouraging screams of both military personnel and civilians alike. the entire bar seemed to thrum with life as you sung and dance, and the task force just watched in awe. 

maybe you had had a bit too much to drink. 

Finally, after the song was over (and after a standing ovation) you stumbled back to the corner booth, laughing at the boy’s bewildered expressions. 

“What, never heard me sing?” You asked, sliding into the booth with only a smidge less grace than you usually possessed. 

“Well lass, i wasn’t under the impression you could sing,” Johnny fired back, smiling wildly. “was fuckin amazin’ kid!”

You smiled at him and ducked your head in a mock bow. “I took theaters in high school, it’s nothing special.” 

All four heads snapped to you so quickly one of them had to have gotten whiplash. 

“You. Took theater?” Price said, fixing you with a disbelieved look. 

“Yes, captain. Yes i did.” You lean back in the booth, just now noticing that Ghost has draped his arm over your seat. 

“Now this is gotta see,” Gaz said, laughing to himself. 

“Oh- good luck finding anything. I got rid of all those photos years ago.” They all look at each other, before turning back to you. 

“Is that a challenge?” You hear Ghost’s deep voice rumble, dangerously close to your ear. 

“Yes…” you squeak out, not dairing to move away from him. “Actually, let’s make it just that. Whoever can find more than 10 photos of me before my junior year of high school wins.” 

They all look at each other again, before Johnny speaks up. “Why tha’ year?” 

You just shrug. “Changed schools then, looked like a completely different person.” 

They all nod. “What do we get if we win?” Gaz questioned. 

You took a moment to think it over, pretending to tap on your chin and everything. “I’ll do whatever you want for a day.”

Maybe you did have too much to drink. 

Their eyes practically bug out of their heads, even Ghost looks shocked at the prize. 

“Whatever… we want?” He questions, his eyes still wide. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“Mhm,” You say, nodding. “As long as it’s not a mission day or something, I have to do whatever you tell me to do for twenty-four hours. Kind of like an ‘I cant say no’ day.”

They all not hurriedly, quickly agreeing to the plan. 

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a deal!” You smile, downing the lasts of your drink. 

(may be a series i have a few ideas for this)

My Masterlist

#cod x reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #simon riley x reader

[wtftarot]

PAC: The World

We've come full circle and it's about fuckin time, right? Time for the end. The World is harmony and the end of a cycle. She is that moment when you remember that you are the universe, you are One with everything and you feel it in your bones. It is recognizing your place as a human on this planet. The World is an ending, the inevitable conclusion but he is also the herald of a new beginning. What do they want to tell you? Let's fuck around and find out

As always this reading is for entertainment purposes ONLY and is not a substitute for professional advice in any capacity. Remember, use common sense and don't be a dumbass.

Four groups today, you can pick The Bird (eagle?), The Lion, The Person, or The Bull and head on to your reading.

The Bird/Eagle

The Nine of Cups and The Nine of Wands on the bottom of the deck.

This is fuckin gorgeous for y'all. The cycle that's ending for y'all is one where y'all had to fight tooth and nail for everything you wanted. I'm seeing the end of the Lord of the Rings, where the eagles fly Frodo and Sam out of Mordor after they destroy the Ring. I don't remember if Frodo actually says it, but I'm hearing him say "It's done". Y'all have been dealing with a rough ass cycle, huh? For it to show up as the One Ring? There may be one last battle of sorts? Like a boss battle. This is my nerd group (affectionate), I'm getting a lot of fantasy imagery. Think of it as one last challenge so you can truly close this cycle once and for all. For some of y'all, this cycle has been a long and very internal one. Something that's been weighing you down, that you're finally letting fall from your shoulders. What I'm seeing is that this 'boss battle" is a choice of sorts. You've been growing and figuring your way out of this cycle and all at once you're faced with a choice. This cycle has been more internal and you may have not seen much externally about it. It's like this choice embodies the cycle externally and you have a physical/material choice to make. Continue this cycle? Or Step forward with growth? And it will be that clear to you. Again with the imagery, I'm seeing a game screen with a choice. This path is unknown, keep going? Press X: Keep going. Press Y: Turn Around. Listen, I'm not much of a gamer like at all, so I don't know if that's a thing that happens in games? The last game I played was like three years ago?? So, the fact I keep getting gaming imagery means I'm really tapped into some of y'all's guides. Ok, the guide that's doing a lot of this is practically screaming in my ear to yell at y'all TO PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR DREAMS. FOR FUCKS SAKE. If you're into gaming and have been playing a game that's set in the woods, that message goes double. Don't ask me, I just work here. Now the cycle y'all are stepping into? Fucking beautiful, ok? Y'all are gonna be getting a lot of shit you have been wishing and crossing your fingers for. I'm hearing/seeing "yes, those too" and imagery of a belt and other accessories? This group is loud and I love it. Yea, even the "little things" you've wanted that aren't high on the priority list will be coming your way soon. And y'all are going to be rightfully smug about it. I think some of the blessings coming your way were things that people around you have tried to dismiss or downplay or talk you out of, so yeah you can be a lil bit smug about it. You've earned it. The past lil bit for y'all has probably felt very stale and stagnant but now that it's closing, things are going to be moving and improving. It may jolt y'all a bit at first. Cause this energy is so fucking different from where you've been, that even just dipping your toes in it will be a shock. It will be a welcome shock though, refreshing. The way this will manifest will be different for all y'all, but one thing's for sure, y'all are gonna fuckin run with it. After that initial choice, falling into this new chapter will be the easiest thing in the world.

random ass vibes: video games, d&d, 999, leaning into a new clothing style, fish, moon cycles, someone have a moon tattoo? birthday cake, HAPPY BIRTHDAY?

The Lion

The Moon and The Tower on the bottom of the deck.

Ok, you need to take a break. Full stop. Even if it's just ten minutes of sitting in nothing and silence. Your brain needs a rest from everything. I feel like y'all need to be told that yes, this thing does need to end. The cycle you're in may have become your comfort zone and you feel safe repeating it cause you know what to expect. It does have to end though. Y'all may have some idea that this ending is coming but you don't know just how much things will change when it does. This may be about a belief about the world or yourself that's really holding you back. Once clarity comes, you won't fit in the same places, with the same groups you used to. I don't blame you for resisting this, it can be terrifying to start questioning belief systems or old worldviews. Some of y'all may be questioning the religion or politics you were brought up in. It could be an understanding of who you are vs who others want you to be. Y'all are feeling a bit overwhelmed and confused as to what all this means. Sweetie, that's okay. This IS confusing and overwhelming. It is hard and scary and can leave you feeling very vulnerable. Babe, you need to stop pushing yourselves to have all the answers already. This one takes time and it's okay to let it. That's probably why the message I got for y'all before I even pulled the cards was for y'all to take a break. Not only that, but you don't have to tell anyone about this. Yes, if you can find some safe support through these periods of life do it, but you don't owe anyone what you're going through. Y'all are putting soo much pressure on yourselves to know everything already, to have all the answers. To know every aspect of who you are and what you believe. Wanna know something terrifyingly liberating? You never will. You will never know every single aspect of yourself cause you're always growing and changing. Same with your beliefs, you're always learning new things about how the world works, so your beliefs will always be shifting, even slightly. This is all coming from The World card cause y'all, more than anything need to let yourselves just BE. Be in the moment, stop interrogating them as if all the answers will be found there. The answers you're seeking will come in time and letting yourself live. I know the world we live in pretty much demands you have everything figured out at all times but that's bullshit. It's okay to change your mind.

random ass vibes: small-town vibes, doves or white birds, 919, the goth kid at the family reunion, lightning, trees, dragons, red clothes. nature vs nurture.

The Person

The Sun and The Hermit Rx on the bottom of the deck

Y'all it's time to come out of hiding. You've been hiding your truth for a WHILE. lol I'm hearing that lil Sunday school song: "Don't hide your light under a bushel, NO!" ( I grew up in the bible-belt, don't judge). That's a song for little kids if y'all don't know it, you don't have to look it up. It's telling me though that y'all have been hiding your light, so to speak, since you were a little, little kid. Like four-ish years old. Now, I don't know y'all's situation, it may not be safe for y'all to be fully yourself, and cause it seems like y'all have been hiding your whole damn life that's probably the case. So, BE FUCKING SAFE, okay? Because you're at this reading though, there are probably some ways you're hiding yourself that you don't have to. It's like y'all have just been letting people decide who you are when you're around them? Y'all are wearing other's projections of you like masks. I'm hearing "too much". Ooh boy, y'all listen, this group feels like I'm talking to my younger self. I cannot tell y'all the number of times I was told I was "too much", too loud, too quiet, too stubborn, too whatever. Unless y'all are being too cruel, too bigoted or whatever, y'all have a place here okay? Y'all seem to have taken being told you're too X, or not Y enough to heart and have whittled yourself down piece by piece cause that's what the people around you want. Y'all are like the fucking sun and everyone is demanding you be a candle. I think it's people you care about telling you this too. And because you care about them, you want them to be happy and comfortable. So, of course, you can be a little smaller, whatever they need, right? Now though, you've been doing this so long, you've lost yourself a bit, haven't you? The World is telling you it's time to call those parts of yourself back. Dig up those parts of yourself that you've buried. You can start as small as you feel you need to. It may be hard and confusing at first but soon it will be as natural as breathing. If you're not even sure where to start or have forgotten those parts, ask your guides and the universe for help. Ask for signs and to be put in situations that bring out those buried parts of you. You may have outgrown some of them and that's okay. Just prepare yourself, it won't be easy. Ya know that tingling feeling when your leg has been asleep and it's waking up? I feel that even though my leg has been fine this whole time. So it will probably be uncomfortable too. You should probably expect some hard reactions from the people around you too, especially if they've only known you as the you you've pretended to be for them. But that home you've been looking for? Felt calling? That can only be built by you being your authentic self. Otherwise, it'll just be another place where you have to wear a mask to be welcome. I wish I could end this one on a lighter note for y'all. This isn't an easy one. Take some alone time and please, take care of yourself through this. Whether you realize it or not, you are working through something really difficult and need to go easy on yourself through this.

random ass vibes: Halloween, candy, ghosts, 11:11, turtles, alligators, Frankenstein's monster, Venus, halos or angels?

The Bull

The Page of Pentacles and the Eight of Swords with the Empress on the back of the deck.

Y'all have so much fuckin potential, okay? Y'all are doubting yourselves so fuckin hard and The Universe and your Guides are sick of it. We all know someone who's amazingly talented but is so fuckin hard on themselves about it, to the point where you just want to grab em by the shoulders and shake them screaming YOU ARE WONDERFUL AND TALENTED. That's how your guides are feeling about you, all the damn time. I'm serious. I was only taking One card and the bottom of the deck for each group but the Eight of Swords came out too for y'all. Y'all are stuck in your head, questioning your every goddamn move and wondering why you're exhausted and never seem to move forward. This reading's tone is much more direct, like fed up snap the fuck out of its energy. Not that your guides are fed up with you, just fed up with your self-doubting bullshit. I'm hearing "..but they'll think I'm x" So, you may feel like if you truly lean into your potential and fail, people will have shit to say. Sweetie, they will and they will if you succeed and they will if you never do jack-shit. One of the few guarantees in life is that people will talk shit no matter what you do. The only control you have is why they're talking shit. Would you rather them talk shit about you cause you went after what you want, win or lose? Or because you never went after what you wanted, which is exactly what they wanted. The cycle that needs to end for you is one you have to end. End the cycle of shitting on yourself just cause you may not be where you want to be. End the doubt of your own capabilities. You really have NO CLUE how fucking amazing your life will get the second you start questioning those shitty thoughts. Like just questioning them, not even fully disbelieving them yet. Just questioning them will do fuckin wonders for you. If you're a beginner let yourself BE a beginner. If you want to try something new but are afraid of being a beginner then say fuck it and fuck you to those thoughts and start anyway. Hell, you don't have to tell anyone you're starting at first. You have the potential to be a whole-ass fuckin meadow and are doubting and even criticizing yourself for having to start as a handful of seeds. This is you're pep talk, in case you haven't figured that out yet. One other thing, some of y'all may be fearing the work that'll come with believing yourself, that it'll be tiring and all that. It's gonna be the opposite, sweetie. I mean, yeah it'll be work. But it's gonna be energizing. Do you know how much energy you've been hemorrhaging by shoving down allllllll that potential constantly? All of that will be freed up in a second and spent on fun shit. I believe in ya, babe.

Random ass vibes: thrifting, rainbows, makeup, cinnamon, puppets, purple, birds, card games, heart tattoos.

#tarot reading #tarot #divination #tarot community #tarot cards #pick a card #pac reading #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a picture #wtftarot #pick a photo #tarot readings #pac

[poeticandors]

Soft Touches

Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Part 1 of the TOUCH series

Summary: You and Steve Harrington have been friends for so long, and he finds out that you have never once pleasured yourself. He takes it upon himself to help you learn just how to do so.

WARNINGS: 18+ Content (Minors DNI), sexual language, sexual content, masturbation (Female with male assistance), fingering, cursing

Not my GIF

The hand on the clock seemed to be moving slower and slower the longer you stare at it. There were only a few minutes left until your shift ended, but you had been counting down the seconds the moment you clocked in to work. Did you hate your job? Not necessarily, it gave you money you needed for school and rent, but it wasn’t the greatest. From a not so great manager, to asshole customers, it was hard to actually want to be at the video store.

“Enjoy your movie, have a nice night.” 

You glance over to the counter, seeing your coworker and friend, Steve, hand over some change and a video to a customer. It was actually Steve who helped you get this job. Not that you needed the help since everyone who comes in practically gets hired on the spot, but you still appreciated him doing so. 

The man quickly takes the video from Steve, and you happen to notice the slight flush on his cheeks as he tries keeping the cover of the box hidden against his chest while walking out of the store. Thinking nothing of it, you turn back to your task of reorganizing the shelves.

“Jesus, this is the fourth time that guy has rented that fuckin’ movie.” Steve shakes his head, stretching his arms up.

“What movie was it?” You ask, returning video cases back to their original spots on the shelves.

“A fuckin’ porno, that’s what. He’s come in four times in the last few weeks to renew his rental on that same one!” 

“Gross,” you scoff, finishing up with your task before walking over to the counter. “Remind me to disinfect that when he brings it back.”

“I mean, watch whatever porn you want, but at least broaden your horizons, or whatever shit it is they say.”

“You act like you’ve watched those films before.” 

“Yeah? Haven’t you? Oh, wait–I forgot you’re a little prude,” Steve teases as he ruffles your hair.

“Asshole,” you huff, trying to ignore the comment. 

While you wouldn’t call yourself a prude, you were definitely inexperienced when it came to sexual intimacy. Not that you didn’t want to have sex, you just… never found the right person. It didn’t bother you one bit when people came in to rent those types of films. You just never found any interest in doing so, plus you wouldn’t know what to do while watching one. It just seemed like a waste of time. 

“So?”

“So what?” You look at Steve as he leans across the counter, now eye level with you. 

“Have you watched porn before?” 

The question catches you off guard a bit. In reality, it shouldn’t because it was coming from Steve, and after knowing him for years he could sometimes be a bit blunt and straight to the point. No, it catches you off guard because of the way Steve looks at you. The way his brown eyes bore into yours as he patiently waits for you to answer the seemingly intimate question. It’s as if he truly wants to know your answer and isn’t just teasing.

It wouldn’t be the first time Steve has asked you questions like this one. He knows that you haven’t had much experience. Knows that you’ve been on a few dates with guys who were total douchebags, but never went any further than a kiss or two, maybe even a feel up here or there. He never fully judged you, though. Teased you, yes a little, but never outright judged you for your lack of experience.

He’s also told you about his past endeavors, however. Never too much detail unless you asked which, sometimes you would. He would answer every single question you had without an ounce of judgment. With Steve, it was easy to talk with him.    

You become nervous, suddenly aware of just how long he’s been staring at you while you try to come up with the words to respond. 

“I, uh… huh?” 

“Have you… watched porn before?” He asks, articulating each word slowly as he repeats the question. 

It takes you a moment to realize how close his face is to yours, his nose mere inches away from your own. If you truly wanted to, you could easily press your lips to his. But you wouldn’t do that.

You couldn’t do that. 

“...No. No, I’ve never watched… porn before.” Your voice comes out almost as quiet as a whisper. 

Steve scans your face and is quiet for another few seconds, before he pushes off the counter. You trail him as he flips the ‘open’ sign over to ‘closed’, before making his way towards you, and taking your hand. The action shocks you, even though it shouldn’t. You’ve held hands with Steve before in a playful manner and it has never once felt strange to you. For some reason, this feels different. “Steve, where–”

“We’re just going for a stroll past the beads,” he answers nonchalantly, pulling you along towards the backroom. 

Your eyes widen, and you try pulling from his grasp. “Steve, seriously–”

“You don’t have to rent any of them. We’re just going to take a look, babe.” 

Babe, honey, sugar… You’ve heard practically every pet name come out of Steve’s mouth. It was just how he talked with you, and you never took any of it seriously. 

The beads lightly clink against each other as Steve pushes them away, and you’re now left standing in the small room with shelves filled up with the raunchy films. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t ever been in here before, it was part of your job to put the films back, take inventory, and make sure that it was organized correctly. 

“Steve, seriously. What are we doing back here?” 

“Just here for a look. 

��I come in here to organize, I know what it looks like–” 

“No, we’re actually going to look, honey. Not just quick glances, and not for work.” 

“But why? I don’t watch any of these–”

“Exactly. Now you’re catching on,” he grins, letting go of your hand as he reaches for two videos. “What do you think you would be into more?”

“Damn it, Steve, we need to get out of here before someone comes in.”

“No one is going to come in here. We’re closed now, remember? I flipped the sign.” He motions with one of the videos in his hands. 

He was right. Technically, you were closed as of… five minutes ago. Plus, it wouldn’t be weird if two employees were in this room. You really just wanted to hurry and leave and not think about how close you are to Steve in this small room and the fact you can smell his shampoo while surrounded by a bunch of porn films. 

But why should those details matter? You’ve definitely been close to Steve multiple times and never have you once felt this awkward. There were nights after a party that Steve would be so drunk you would have to help him get out of his clothes and since he only slept in a single pair of pajama pants, you’ve definitely gotten an idea of what he has to offer to other girls. You’ve shared beds when you would stay the night after those same parties, too. Not to mention, he literally spends most days being clingy with you–keeping his arm around your shoulders or little touches here and there. Big bear hugs and small kisses on the cheek or temple were normal because you were friends, and friends did that sort of thing, didn’t they?

“So? Take a look at these two. Honestly, I feel like this would be right up your alley.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because I know what you like,” he shrugs. 

“That’s bullshit. Even I don’t know what I like, Steve.” 

“Oh, come on,” he places the videos back on the shelf before turning back to face you. “I know you don’t watch porn, but you must have an idea on what you like. Right?” 

You stay quiet for a moment. The truth was, you did not know what you liked. You never once tried getting yourself off, mostly due to the fact you were nervous you would do it all wrong. Steve leans against the shelf with his arms crossed and head tilted slightly as he waits for an answer.

“...Holy shit,” Steve lets out a small laugh. “Seriously? You’ve never masturbated before?”

“Steve–”

“I mean, I knew you never had sex, but I at least didn’t think you were that much of a prude to not get yourself off.” Steve snickers, but you don’t react in a way he probably thought you would have. 

Jaw tight, you shake your head as you take a step back. “I’m leaving. You can lock up, Steve.” 

He calls your name as you swing the beads out of your way and storm out of the room. Heading to the back, you grab your bag and keys from your locker before slamming it shut, and leaving. You continue to ignore him as he calls for you, walking straight to your car, and throwing your stuff in the back before getting in and driving off. 

You don’t even know why you’re so upset, you should be used to Steve’s teasing by now. Something just set you off this time, and you weren’t sure what that was. Whatever. You would have a nice relaxing day at home, considering your family just went out of town and you have the day off tomorrow. This would give you time to be alone with your thoughts, and forget about what just happened with Steve Harrington. 

Or, so you thought. 

++++++++++

It felt nice having the house to yourself. While you still lived at home, you agreed with your family to pay rent until you found a place of your own since you were in college now. It seemed a fair trade… you guess, but there were times you would be lucky to have the house to yourself such as tonight. Your plans for tonight consisted of dinner, a good book, and perhaps a movie if you were feeling up for it. 

Your phone kept going off the moment you arrived at home, and you absolutely knew it was Steve trying to get your attention. He hated when you wouldn’t talk with him, and was almost always the first person to cave and vye for your attention, considering you were one of his closest friends. You ignored each and every call, almost deciding to unplug the damn thing just so you could get some peace and quiet. After a while, the ringing eventually stopped, and you were grateful that Steve finally decided to take the hint. 

Lying on your stomach while in bed with your feet propped up, wearing an oversized shirt and pajama shorts, you flipped through the pages one by one through your current book. With your walkman on and music blasting through your headphones, you almost didn’t notice the sound of your window scraping as it lifted, and you quickly gasp as you see a figure standing in the dark. Steve stumbles inside, catching himself before he hits the ground as you stare at him, yanking your headphones off. 

“Steve, what the hell?” You huff, as he fixes your window sill and closes the window. 

“You weren’t answering your phone. I got worried.” He dusts himself off, before looking around your room. He strolls along the carpet, acting as if he had never stepped foot once in his life when in reality, he is here almost every week. “Parents not home?” 

“No, and I didn’t answer the phone because I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, plopping on the bed next to you as he snatches your book away. “So this is what you are spending your night alone doing, hm?” 

“Give it back–” 

You try reaching for it, only for him to hold it further away. Letting out an annoyed breath, you lightly shove his arm. 

“This is boring. You could be watching a movie or something.”

“I was planning on doing that after I finished this chapter, thank you very much.” You pause, looking at him. “Steve, what are you doing here?” 

“I told you. I got worried when you weren’t answering your phone. Plus, I wanted to hang out. I brought a few things for us to do.”

Before you can ask, he tosses your book onto the floor before reaching down into his backpack. He pulls out a few of your favorite snacks, along with a few movies from Family Video. Frowning, you look at him as he grins. “Movie night.” 

He tosses the movies in front of you as you freeze. You recognize them as the two Steve had picked out from the backroom, along with a third. Glancing up at Steve, you hand them back.

“Very funny, Steve,” you huff, looking away from them.

“Just hear me out before you kick me to the curb, sweetheart,” he kneels in front of you, taking your hands. “Look, I know I was a dick for what I said back at the store. You can hate me all you want, I don’t blame you. But… I had an idea that I think you might like.” 

“If you’re going to suggest watching these films–”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Damn, you must be a mind reader or something, huh? Get out of my head.” He grins. 

You shake your head. “You’re insane–”

“Look, all I am saying is to just watch at least one. Broaden your horizons and shit, remember? Maybe this will help you get laid or something.” 

“Jesus, Steve.” 

“Listen. You don’t have to do anything. It’s just a movie, and I can sit and watch it with you, okay? Maybe this can help you come up with some fantasies or something later after I’m gone. Get you in the mood.” He bounces his shoulders up and down as he winks.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to just sit and watch one of these movies to… come up with fantasies?” 

“...Yep, exactly!”

“Fantasies to do what, though?”

“To get off, of course. So you can make yourself feel good.” 

Your throat becomes tight, and it’s almost as if you have forgotten how to breathe just for a moment. Steve wanted you to watch a porno just so you could pleasure yourself. The look in his eyes tells you that he is completely serious, and is being sincere. Why he was doing this, you didn’t really know the answer to that yet other than he claims he wants you to feel good.

Clearing your throat, you look away. “And… What are you going to be doing while we watch this?”

“Sit next to you and watch along, eat some popcorn,” he shrugs. “We’ll just be watching it, nothing more.” 

He takes his spot back next to you, as you glance at him. “So? What do you say? I’ll pop the movie in and we can sit back and relax. If you get uncomfortable and don’t want to continue, I’ll turn it right off, and we can do whatever you want. Sound good?”

He’s saying all of this as if he just asked to watch a regular movie instead of a porno. Like it was the most casual thing in the world to ask and that you weren’t absolutely mortified at the idea. 

“…You promise we can turn it off?”

“Scouts honor, babe,” he holds one hand over his heart while raising the other.

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you finally agree with a slight tilt of your head, and Steve grins. 

“Alright, I’ll put it on. You just sit and relax— wait. Which one do you want to watch?” 

The excitement in his voice isn’t hard to miss, and you find yourself biting back a small smile. 

“Whichever one you think looks best, Steve,” you scoot back against your headrest, as Steve grabs one of the videos and fumbles with the VHS player. 

You couldn’t believe you actually agreed to this. What were you thinking? Watching a porno and with Steve, nonetheless. Steve grabs the remote and plops right next to you, your arms brushing together as he gets comfortable. 

The movie starts, and your room soon fills with horrible jazz music that is supposed to be sexy. You scrunch your nose, but lean back as you watch the first scene play out. The main woman comes out wearing nothing but a robe which is left open, revealing her perky breasts, and she bends down to rub lotion along her long legs. You cross your arms across your chest, suddenly realizing that you discarded your bra the moment you came home.

If Steve notices, he doesn’t say anything. He’s kept his eyes on the screen, and you can’t tell if he is just bored or trying to keep his cool. You don’t realize you’re watching him until he looks down at you, and you quickly turn your attention back to the screen. 

“You might want to pay attention to this part,” he comments, as you look back at him.

“What for?”

“Because this is the scene where she touches herself.”

“…Have you seen this?” 

“I mean, just this first part. I wanted to see if you might like it, first.”

He takes his finger and turns your cheek back so you’re facing the screen again. On it, you watch as the woman drops the robe to the ground, settling onto the bed as her manicured hands roam along her body, squeezing her breasts and sliding up and down her torso. After an anticipating few minutes, she finally trails her hand down between her legs, her fingers slowly teasing her folds for a moment before going back up to her neck, while the other hand brushes just under her breasts. 

Your breath hitches slightly, and you find yourself entranced as you watch her pleasure herself with just her hands. Could you really just sit and do that to yourself? Your mind wanders at the possibilities, and you find yourself extremely sensitive to everything surrounding you. The moans released from the woman go straight to your core, sending a shiver throughout your entire body. You are aware of the way your nipples tighten, brushing just barely against the fabric of your shirt– of one of Steve’s shirts that you borrowed long ago and never bothered to return. You try ignoring the slight moisture that builds up between your thighs, and try straightening your legs to cross them over one another, which only seems to heighten the feeling.

Not only that, but it suddenly dawns on you how close Steve is to you. His arm stays pressed against you, a warm and familiar sensation that you never thought anything of before. His breathing stays even, that much you can tell even as he watches this scene play on. The scent of his soap surrounds you both, and you realize he must’ve taken a shower first before coming to see you. 

“See that? See how she uses her fingers?” He says after a moment, and your eyes stay on the screen of your television. “You can do that too, you know. You can do that to figure out what you like.”

“Mmhm…” you respond, not trusting yourself to use actual words. 

“...Do you want to try?” 

You quickly turned to face him, seeing his eyes directly staring into yours. “Wh-what?”

“Do you want to try touching yourself?” He repeats, his voice now a low timbre. 

“...Steve, I don’t think–” 

“I don’t care if you do. This is all for you. So you can make yourself feel good.” He continues looking down at you, and for a moment you think he glances down to your lips before moving back to your eyes. “If you don’t want to, you can say no.”

You swallow thickly, trying to ignore the way his words send tingles throughout your entire body. There he goes again, saying this is to help you feel good. For someone else, they might think that was just a way for Steve to get to see their tits. But to you… you really do believe he is not truly pressuring you and being sincere in trying to help you give yourself some sort of pleasure and excitement. 

So, you only halfway catch yourself by surprise when you agree with a small nod. 

“Alright, come here.” 

Steve shifts over, moving you to sit in front of him, his legs on either side of you as he pulls you to lie back against his firm chest. Again, this isn’t something new to you both. You’ve sat in this position before watching movies, usually with Steve massaging your shoulders or even when you just needed to hug, and he would be willing to hold you close like this. 

This, however, seemed so much more intimate. 

He gently runs his hands soothingly up and down your arms, as if sensing your nerves and trying to help you relax. You feel the rise and fall of his chest as you lean back against him, and the warmth of his breath as he exhales each time. 

“This okay?” He asks, his voice soft, and you respond with a nod. “Good. Whenever you feel like you want to touch yourself, go ahead. I won’t do anything but sit here, okay? I promise.” 

You don’t realize just how dry your mouth is until you try to speak, only for you to find yourself unable to. Trying again, you clear your throat and lick your dry lips. 

“Where, uh… I don’t… what should I do?” 

“Whatever feels good to you, honey.” 

“But, what if I don’t know what feels good to me?” 

Steve pauses for a moment, before he slowly reaches down for your hands, and brings them up. “For starters… you can just run your hands along your body.” 

He takes one of your hands and places it up by your neck, making sure your fingers lightly brush your skin before placing the other along your torso just under your breasts, and pulls his hands away as you leave them there. “Take it nice and slow. Barely brush your skin with your fingers and slowly make your way down.” 

With your throat tight and heavy, slowly begin moving your hands around almost awkwardly. It was almost hard to feel good when you were pretty much touching over your shirt. Sure, with a faint brush against your nipples it did sort of feel good, but it was nothing compared to what the woman on screen was probably feeling. You become almost frustrated, and drop your head back against Steve’s shoulder. 

“It’s not working.” 

“That’s because you’re thinking too much. Don’t think, just touch yourself.” Steve rubs your shoulders, trying to loosen the tension building up. 

“It’s hard to do so when this shirt is in the way,” you huff, closing your eyes. 

“Then take it off.” 

Sometimes, you just cannot understand how Steve’s mind works. The way he suggests taking off your shirt as if it’s not a big deal at all? Mind boggling to you. You look over your shoulder at him, seeing a completely serious expression. 

“Steve, I can’t just take off my shirt.” 

“Why not? You said it’s getting in the way,” he says, as a matter-of-factly. “If it’s not relaxing, then take it off so it can help you relax.”

You hate that he’s right, but still. “I’m not… I mean… I don’t have a bra on.”

“That’s fine. If you’re comfortable being shirtless, then do so. If you want to try and then realize it’s still not helping, then you can put it back on.” 

Steve removes his hands from your shoulders, and you almost find yourself aching for him to put them back. Maybe he was right. Maybe it would help to just take off your shirt. Even if he is here, Steve is your best friend. You trusted Steve. Why were you overthinking things like this? 

Finally, you push yourself up as you discard your shirt and toss it to the floor, before slowly leaning back against Steve. You keep your arms folded across your chest, and you look up at Steve. He simply smiles, before placing his hands over yours. 

“Now… try again.” He moves your hands back in place where they were before, his voice low as he talks just above a whisper in your ear. “Watch what she does on the screen, and copy her. Or don’t. Whatever feels good to you, you’ll know.”

You turn your attention back to the screen, and begin to mimic her movements. If she trailed her hand up to her neck, you did the same. If she brought it down to graze against her nipples, you also did so. You experiment by lightly pinching and rolling each nipple between your fingers, only to find that you really enjoyed the feeling. You find yourself leaning further into Steve, who shifts against you. When he does so, you try not to think about how hard his bulge feels through his jeans against your lower back. 

You try, but ultimately fail.

Feeling him pressed against you only makes your pulse race, and you soon realize he also has his hands back on your shoulders. He doesn’t move them, almost keeps them there as a bit of support as your hands continue to explore your body. 

You decide that you really enjoy the feeling of touching your breasts, so you go back to that. With each squeeze, tug, and feather light brush, you soon feel the dampness begin to grow between your legs. Just like the woman on screen, you begin to slowly trail your hand down to your shorts. You stop just short, realizing that you are about to touch yourself down there. Not only that, you are about to touch yourself down there while Steve sits right behind you, getting a one-man show to all of this. What could possibly be going through his mind as he watches his best friend do all of this?

“S-Steve–”

He places his hand over yours as you try pulling it back. “Don’t stop, baby. I know you were feeling good. Keep going.” 

“But, I… I don’t know what to do.” 

“Sure you do, sweetheart. You were just making yourself feel good all on your own,” his cheek is lightly pressed against yours as he whispers to you, keeping your hand in place just before your waistband. If he really wanted to, he could easily press his lips to your cheek, and you try shoving that fantasy deep down. 

“I just…”

“Do you need some help?” He asks, and it feels like the air has been knocked out of you. Steve was offering to help you touch yourself. Down there. 

“I… are you–I mean, I couldn’t ask you to do that–” 

“Sure you can. Go ahead. I might just say yes,” he chuckles lightly, his thumb brushing along yours as he waits. 

His big hand stays on yours, waiting for permission to continue. You almost forget how to breathe;  imagining that hand a few inches lower, rubbing between your legs while you press yourself back against his chest. His fingers circling around and around before he sticks his fingers–

“Well?” His voice breaks you from your trance, and you let out a shaky breath. 

You look over your shoulder to him, your lips mere centimeters from his own. He doesn’t move, though, and neither do you. Your eyes trail up from his mouth, up to his dark eyes as they stare directly into yours. 

“...Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“...I want you to help me. Please.” 

“Help you… what?” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a teasing manner, trying to get you to elaborate more on what exactly it is you want him to do. 

Licking your lips, you look up at him through your lashes, your voice soft and pleading, “I… I want you to help me feel good. Please.” 

A low groan releases from the back of his throat, but he tries to cover it up as he clears it. 

“I can do that. Yep. Totally.” 

He keeps his hand on top of yours, and begins to move them both under the waistband of your shorts. You look down, watching your hands disappear under the piece of clothing– a shiver trailing down your back. 

“Open your legs, baby,” he taps your thigh with his free hand, and you bring your legs up, feet flat on the mattress, and knees bent as you slowly bring them apart. The pads of your fingertips move lower and lower, and you release a breath at the soft graze against your most sensitive part. 

“Oh…” you sigh softly, feeling Steve shift behind you, his hard cock more evident against you.

“Feel that?” He whispers, and the low husk of his voice practically sends your thoughts into haywire. “That’s where you want to try to touch the most. But not just yet…” 

He slowly circles your fingers, barely applying any pressure as he guides you before soon moving your fingers down even further, until they meet the wetness of your pussy. He runs your fingers up and down, having you carefully explore yourself. 

“You want to tease yourself. This is how you make yourself more wet.” 

A shaky breath escapes you, and you find yourself relaxing more and more against Steve. There’s a throbbing between your legs that almost hurts in the most delicious way, and you’re not sure if it’s due to the fact that you’re being touched there, or that it’s because Steve is the one helping you. He has your fingers teasing your wet hole, not quite pushing inside, but enough to let you know that you wanted more.

“You can even stick your fingers inside. Since you haven’t done this before, do just one,” his lips brush against your cheek. “I can feel how wet you are, so it should slide right in. Might feel a little awkward at first, though… but it’ll feel good the more you do it, baby.” 

You let out a barely there whimper, and you’re not sure if Steve heard you or not, considering the moaning of the woman on screen slowly begins to fill the room. But the movie was long forgotten, all you could think of was the way Steve’s lips felt as they brushed against your skin when he whispered directions to you and how much you just wanted this ache between your legs to relieve itself.  

Steve maneuvers your hand so that you are now slowly pushing one finger into your pussy. He was right, it did feel uncomfortable right away. It wasn’t a sensation you were used to, and part of you wondered if sex always felt like this and you were slowly starting to second guess yourself. But Steve made sure you kept your finger there, moving it in and out slowly with whispers of praises. 

I got you, baby.

It’ll feel so good, watch.

You’ll love this.

The words coming out of Steve’s mouth only make the sensation between your legs practically unbearable and before you know it, you’re automatically curling your finger as you try to ease the ache. A soft moan escapes, and you’re quick to cover your mouth but it’s too late. Steve had heard. 

He lets out a breathy laugh, keeping his hand in place while the other keeps hold of your shoulder. “Oh, that felt good, didn’t it?” 

Nodding, you feel him lower his head until his lips brush against your jaw, and you find yourself tilting your head. 

“Keep going, then,” he presses a light kiss to your jaw. “Go on, honey. Make yourself feel good. Let me hear you moan.”

“Fuck, Steve…” you whine as you close your eyes, moving your finger again at a smooth rhythm. You find your hips trying to lift up to meet with your finger each time you push it inside, and you slowly begin to lose yourself that you don’t realize the way Steve is watching you. 

With his hand still on top of yours, he has you pull your finger out, and moves your fingertips to your clit, swollen with the need to be touched. 

You gasp, following along with the movements of his fingers. Steve presses closer against you at the same time you push back against him, and he lets out a deep groan, which only sets you off even more. You feel so fucking good– you never knew that this was what you were missing out on. 

“You make such pretty noises,” Steve whispers. “Do you feel good?”

“Yes– God, Steve,” you mewl, starting to move your fingers faster. 

“I can tell. You are fucking dripping all over my fingers, sweetheart,” he pants softly, his lips parted against your cheek. “Want me to keep helping you out?” 

“Please…” 

At this point, you don’t even question if this is what should be happening between you and Steve, because suddenly he brings the hand off your shoulder to grab one of your breasts, and you feel like you could explode from pleasure right then and there. He massages it, first soft and then a little firmer, and all you can do is moan because fuck, you like the way his big hand feels on you this way. His thumb brushes against your nipple, and all the thoughts in your head are just gone because he is touching you just like you were earlier, as if he watched you do so the entire time. You didn’t even mind that Steve was touching you like this–his warm hand was tranquil and soothing, his touch a drug you were slowly becoming addicted to. 

The movements of your fingers circling your clit, Steve’s hand doing wonderous things to your tits, and the feel of his lips against your skin causes a wonderful feeling to build up within you. 

“Oh, Steve… I-I… oh fuck–”

“I got you, baby. Just let go, fuck… listen to how wet you are.” 

Steve starts to move both of your hands even faster, and you hear the wet sounds of your fingers moving around your pussy. The sound is practically erotic. His other hand pinches your nipple, and you’re not sure if you’re just lost in the lust of everything but you swear you feel him sloppily kissing your neck. Even the image of him doing so is stuck in your mind, and you feel yourself tipping over the edge of the precipice as you finally come undone. 

Moaning loudly, your back arches against his chest as your legs begin to shake, and your pussy clenches onto nothing. White flashes behind your eyelids and you swear you see stars and feel them rattling down your spine. Steve keeps hold of you, still playing with your chest while making sure your fingers still move. This time, you’re certain he is kissing your neck between soft praises. 

Yes, there you go.

Fuck, your moans are so pretty.

I got you, baby. 

Baby.

Falling slack against him, Steve soon sits back against the headboard, pulling you with him. His chest also rises along with yours, and you stay against him as you slowly come down from your high. Foggy brained, you slowly blink your eyes open and take in your room. The ridiculous jazz music from the porno plays again, and you completely forgot it was even on, too lost in your own lust-filled event that just took place. 

You finally realize that Steve’s hands are still in place, and it seems he does as well because he suddenly pulls them away. You become aware of your naked chest, and even though Steve was literally touching your chest mere minutes ago, you find yourself suddenly shy and cover up with your arms. 

“Oh, here,” Steve reaches down, grabbing your shirt as he holds it to you. 

“Th-thanks.” 

Slipping on your shirt, you move from between Steve’s legs to sit next to him as he clicks the remote, and the tv turns off. The silence hits both of you like a wave, and you feel as if you are stuck underwater as you both try coming up with something to say. 

“So, what’d you think?”

“Huh?” You look over at him as he motions to the tv. 

“The movie. Did you like it?” 

“Oh, um… I mean… it was okay.” 

“Yeah, it was actually pretty shitty,” he shrugs. “This shit isn’t nearly as real as it seems. Or as good as the real shit.” 

He looks down at you, his cheeks slightly flushed and pupils blown. You happen to glance down, and see the way his dick presses against his jeans, begging to be let out and touched. While you had no idea really what would feel good for Steve, part of you was dying to try to make him feel the same way he had helped you. 

“Um… do you… I mean, do you want–”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I can take care of that when I leave. Which…” he looks at your clock, stretching his arms over his head. “It is kinda late. I should probably get going. I know you have to open tomorrow.” 

“Oh, right,” the disappointment in your voice confuses you. You weren’t sure if you wanted Steve to go or not. 

He stands up, fixing the front of his pants before running one hand through his hair. He looks around, grabbing the different tapes he brought before getting the one out of your VHS player. 

“I could leave these here for you if you want. You could use them before you go to bed, help you relax,” he smirks. 

You roll your eyes, before shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Steve.” 

He lifts his shoulders up before he grabs his bag and shoves them inside. Before he walks to your bedroom door, however, he leans across your bed, and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. 

You freeze, only to remember that Steve was always one to depart with a kiss on the cheek, temple, or forehead. He’s done this to you plenty of times. It doesn’t mean anything different. But… you can’t help but think maybe this one kiss is just a little different than the rest. 

“See ya, sweetheart.” 

With a final grin, Steve departs from your room, and you wait until you hear the closing of the front door to finally let out the breath you’ve been holding. Your mind races–recalling the events that just occurred on your bed moments ago. 

You just had your first ever orgasm.

With Steve Harrington helping urge you on. 

You think about the soft touch from his otherwise rough hands, and how they guided you through your pleasure. How his lips felt against your skin, and the way his breathing sounded as it fanned against your ear. While thinking about this, your hand soon begins to trail right back down under your waistband.

That same night, you had your second ever orgasm. 

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x f!reader smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington gif #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things gif #joe keery

[courtingchaos]

There’s Levels To This

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

A/N: oh my god It’s the beach episode! Dip your toes in kids, the water is fine. This is for my dearest @chestylarouxx who has me yearning on the daily for beach shenanigans with one Edward Munson.

Warnings: Just sex and drinking in the sun.

18+ NSFW No Minors

To say Eddie wasn’t your friend would be wrong. At every level he was dear to you, from a simple ride to work in the mornings all the way to your petty crimes partner now that the two of you were old enough to know better.

“A fall guy.” He’d said.

“Or at least someone with better eyesight.” He’d said, this time pushing your glasses back up your nose.

“Someone that has a getaway car.” He’d said while spinning his key ring around his finger. That callused digit bounces in the corner of your vision, thick and longer than yours. Nails bitten short with grime from the shop still under them.

You’re trying to hand the store over to the night manager and Eddie’s come in early. Beelined directly for you standing behind the elevated register and leaned all cool and carefree on your counter.

“I don’t want to get involved tonight Ed. Trying to leave town tomorrow if you remember.” You mutter at him while you try to finish counting the till.

“Well duh, I’m not gonna get us caught. We need to leave at what, 9?”

“We?” You lift your head and he reaches over and pushes your glasses up again.

“Yeah, you didn’t know?” He gives you mischievous smile. “Your mom invited me. Sorry you had to find out like this.”

“What’d you do to butter her up this time?” You drop the pencil on the till log and shove your hands onto your hips.

“Nothing! I simply told her how Wayne was going on his fishing trip this week too and I was gonna be rotting around the trailer all…by…my lonesome…” He leans in, props his chin on his elbow and gives you big puppy eyes.

You haven’t fallen for those in about four years.

(This is a lie. One of many but this one is a repeat offender in your repertoire of excuses for Eddie Munson.)

“Rotting?” You jerk your hand in front of your hips. “Is that what they’re calling it now?” You grab the till and hand it over to your replacement and she gives you a nod and directs a long suffering sigh at your shadow.

“You think I wait for Wayne to leave town? Barely can wait to get home sometimes.” He grins. “Your bathroom is remarkably soundproof, did you know.”

You smack him in the chest with an old stack of magazines. “You’re a pig.”

“Yeah well what’s that make you?” He follows you to the back, management having long gotten over trying to tell him anything.

“The prize pony whose stall you keep breaking into.” You seethe at him. It’s all in good fun but he still pauses in the doorway and squints at you. He opens his mouth, plush lips forming around a word before he seems to think better of it. Runs his tongue along along his top teeth and leans again while you get your stuff together.

“Do you even have swim trunks?”

“No, that’s why we’re going to goodwill.”

“Please tell me we’re not stealing from goodwill today.” You ask when you walk past him again.

(You do this thing where you never ask him to move. He wouldn’t anyways but you always use this excuse to brush against him. You think he’s gonna complain about tits pushed into his chest? Ha.)

“God no. I wanted to break into Harrington’s pool.”

“Oh, a little B and E before we skip town?” You do a little shimmy and Eddie laughs.

“Yeah. Running away to Florida with your mom and her boyfriend. So inconspicuous.”

Eddie finds the most obnoxious pair of neon pink trunks and you run him into the ground with your teasing.

“Between your pasty ass and these, you’re gonna blind those poor panhandle girls.”

“Listen pet, they’ve never seen something like me before. I’m gonna have jaws in the fuckin’ sand.” He keeps flicking through hangers of swimsuits and misses your face exploding through 10 expressions before you hack out a sound that makes his head whip up.

“Pet?!” The disgust is thick in your tone and on your face.

(Another fake out. The day Eddie stops giving you nicknames is the day you cease finding happiness.)

“Yeah you know what, I don’t like it either. I heard it somewhere and wanted to give it a shot.” He shakes his head and grimaces and quickly yanks a hanger to hold up the worlds tiniest bikini.

“Found your suit.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“You’re slime.”

“Oh come on, you need something to wear to the beach. Unless you’re going stark because then I need to rethink my whole outfit.” He snorts and playfully tosses his suit over his shoulder onto the ground.

“I’ve already got one.”

“Aw, we didn’t even get to go shopping together!”

“Eddie?” You sigh and his head pops back up over the rack after picking up his dropped clothes. “Shut the fuck up.”

He drops you off at your house so you can finish packing and he goes to his trailer to start. You agree to be ready by 10 so it’s dark enough that Steve’s neighbors won’t call the cops.

(You spend the two hours mindlessly folding laundry and imaging all the tanned southern belles chasing after Eddie and his tattoos on white sand. When you try to pack your socks they’re shoved into tight balls and none of them match.)

“Is this even crime if Steve knows about it?”

“Steve doesn’t know when we’re going so yeah, still crime.”

The drive into Loch Nora is full of Eddie’s ‘songs about weed’ mix until you hit the neighborhood entrance and then Eddie kills the radio. He drives the speed limit and keeps the windows rolled up and slides seamlessly into the Harrington driveway like he belonged there. It isn’t long before you’re both shimmying over the fence and stripping clothes, leaving them like a trail to your crime scene. Eddie cannon balls into the deep end and you wade down the stairs slowly.

The water is hot like the air is hot, barely a difference between the wet and dry parts of you.

(The wet parts of you are definitely wetter when Eddie breaches the water. He’s got chlorine in his eyes so you get to stare longer at his curls flattening to his head. The blue light of the pool reflects off his pale skin and his tattoos come alive under moving water.)

“Oh okay good, I can still swim.” He sputters and runs his hands through his hair while he treads water. “Can’t be playing possum in front of the babes now can I?” He starts his slow paddle over to you until his feet touch the bottom and he can walk. The wet glistening on him has you clenching your hands under the water and hoping that he doesn’t see it.

(You’re good at this, the lying. To yourself and everyone else and especially to Eddie.)

“Is this the infamous bathing suit?” He flicks the zipper on your chest before miming an explosion around his head.

It’s a high necked, high cut one piece split down the front with a long black zipper. When you’d bought it you’d felt like the Babest Babe to ever Babe. Now though, with Eddie giving you an up and down glance you have some second thoughts.

Too much skin? Thigh? Ass? It’s no string bikini but it is tight and that zipper was hanging lower with every shift of your chest under the stretchy nylon.

“Gonna have to keep you in the cooler, baby.” He presses his finger into your bare shoulder and hisses. “Too hot.” He slinks backwards and falls in slow motion, arms spread outward to float.

(You notice it then and you think about it later, how he keeps his hips dipped below the water line. You won’t lie to yourself about keeping your eyes on him in the hopes you’d catch a glimpse of too tight trunks.)

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” He says to the night sky while he floats away from you.

You would if you could, but this isn’t that kind of relationship is it? Eddie is your friend, on every level imaginable.

Except that level that you don’t think about and keep locked in the basement of your imagination.

So you swim in Steve’s pool and Eddie pretends to be an alligator to try and pull you under.

He dives off the board and sits on the bottom of the pool to see how long he can hold his breath.

You sit on the edge and watch him wear himself out with laps and handstands and somersaults.

You sit and watch him glide through the pool like he was made from it.

You two get out of there without anyone noticing and he asks about the trip on the way back to your house. He asks about the drive and if your mom’s boyfriend will let him drive and what the hotel situation is like.

“Am I gonna have to share a bed with you?” He leans away from you, an overtly grossed out look shot at you. “You have those glacier feet and I’m not going to be held liable for any elbows in stomachs if they touch me.”

“You snore like a tractor.”

“But at least my feet don’t kill with their icy touch.”

Wayne drops Eddie off in the very early hours of 8 am. You can hear voices talking downstairs but then there’s heavy footsteps and then a huff and a shove of your shoulder and clammy skin pushing into your own sleep warm skin. Eddie smells like his morning cigarette and his peppermint toothpaste and for a fleeting moment you forget exactly what this is. That level you daren’t imagine is abruptly surface level and you roll back into him. Your nose smushes into his shoulder, your leg winds over his and you settle back into the pillow.

A solid few minutes of waking up and with every braincell that fires, your heart beats faster. He’s motionless like a corpse. Barely breathing judging by the little huffs against your pillow case.

“I am…so sorry.” The regret rolls off you and you shove off him to the other side of your bed, back pressed up against the wall.

“It’s okay I-“

“I was still asleep, I didn’t-“

“I shouldn’t have climbed in your bed unannounced.” He stares. You stare. The sheets between you two shift when you sit up and slide off the end of your bed to get up.

“I’m gonna uh…bathroom.” Stuttering and rubbing sleep out of your eyes you grab your pile of clothes and then sit in the bathroom for ten minutes.

(You lie the whole drive to Florida. 11 solid hours of kidding yourself, keeping a pillow shoved between yours and Eddie’s knees so your thighs won’t touch. Every pit stop you stare at him while he folds out from the back seat and think about wrapping your leg around him again.)

The motel is pink and blue and right on the water. The big arch that indicates the entrance to the beach welcomes you to Emerald Shores and while you don’t consider yourself a beach girl, it’s actually quite beautiful.

Your mom and her boyfriend have a room on the second floor and you and Eddie have been relegated to the bottom floor.

“Just call us peons and get it over with.” Eddie whispers at you from the corner of his mouth and you laugh before The Boyfriend can turn back around with your room keys.

Eddie spends all of ten minutes in the room before he just disappears while you’re in the shower. He comes back an hour later with a handful of shells and a pizza.

“What a resourceful Indiana raccoon you are.”

“Yes, and if I didn’t forage for us, who would?” He tosses the box on the bed next to your legs and you don’t miss his lingering stare on your calves. He covers it with a nod and a joke.

“You better wear socks tonight. I’ve already got the A/C set to 65, I don’t need you putting me on ice too.”

(You withhold the truth from Eddie the next morning by not waking him when you wake at 6 AM and find him latched around your middle.)

Eddie rents a spot with two chairs and an umbrella and he gets to talk to every girl walking the shore that afternoon. You’ve been alternating between PBR’s and waters and now to avoid the dark cloud trying to damped your mood you ratchet the chair back and scoot out from under the umbrella to take a nap. Eddie asks about 100 times if you remembered sunscreen and you tell him 101 times that yes you did and no you don’t need him to reapply it for you.

(Yes you do! If you’d stop being insane for two seconds you could have his hands on your back and over your shoulders and up along the high cut of your hip and maybe he’d dip those musicians fingers behind your convenient zipper and-)

“You might want to pull your zipper up then.”

You peak one eye open to stare down at your chest. From this angle your don’t have cleavage so much as a valley but the zipper on your suit has popped down a few more teeth and Eddie seems to have noticed.

“I just don’t want you burning is all.” He sniffs. You roll your head to look at him and catch his quick shift of attention away from you.

In your light napping you hear a few voices asking Eddie where he’s from and if his tattoos hurt. One girl says she loves his hair, “especially tied back like that, so cute.”

Another girl asks about his girlfriend.

“Oh her?”

You imagine he points over his shoulder at you with a big thumb.

“Yeah. You sure she doesn’t mind you talking to me?”

You’d love to sit up and point out that you’re awake and also that she walked up to him but Eddie beats you to it.

“Oh this is all a cover. She’s actually scoping out this beach.” He gets a conspiratorial lilt to his voice and you imagine he’s leaning forward and turning on his Munson Charm.

“For what?” Mystery girl number 10 asks.

“She’s an international jewel thief and she’s heard there’s some real old money around here.”

You snort and alert them that you are, in fact, listening.

“Wait, seriously?” Suddenly this girl sounds wary. She makes up an excuse and scampers off down the beach back to her tan friends.

“Swing and a miss, Munster.”

“No. I made you laugh didn’t I?”

If Eddie has to watch that zipper unzip another zip he’s also going to unzip all of his zips.

It’s hot, and he and his brain have been baking under the sun but he refuses to leave. With you laid out in that fucking bathing suit he can’t miss a single moment of you in it. He’s on his…sixth, maybe eighth beer and his looks get longer with every empty in the cooler. He can make out the tan line on your hip when you roll over and he almost inhales the last of his drink because you’re all legs and ass. He can’t wait for later when you’ll be laid out after your shower, shorts hitched up from you sliding down the comforter and he’ll be able to catch a glimpse of that darkening line along your butt.

“Fucking hell…”

“You wanna head back in?”

(He does. He really does. He’ll carry the cooler and his towel in front of himself to hide his eagerness. He’ll carry your shit too just to watch you walk unencumbered in front of him, leading the way back to the air conditioned heaven and your thin pajamas.)

Three days in, two left to go and Eddie has decided he’s done lying to himself. He watches you every afternoon out in the sun in your bathing suit or the worlds shortest shorts and the most cropped band tees that he thinks might have been his at some point. He watches you run and roll over sand and wade cautiously into the ocean. There’s this part of your stomach he’s positive he’s never seen before and he watches very closely for the soft roll of it to peak out from under your shirts.

(He’s wanted to sink his teeth into you for a while but this new body part makes his teeth hurt. He drools after your thighs and dreams of digging his fingers into the soft dough of your ass. He imagines while he watches you stretched out on your towel that you’d be so soft in all those hidden places and he imagines so long he lets his beer go hot in the sand.)

He walks to cheap little gas stations over hot asphalt and hotter sand to get beer with you. He’d worry you two were going a little hard in the paint but it’s Florida where it’s practically state law that you drink shitty beer by the 12 pack, daily, if your staying on the beach front.

He follows you around like a loyal hound and acts like a guard dog when these fucking dudes start sniffing around you. Tall and tan and smelling like sunscreen and ocean. Eddie walks close behind, your constant second shadow and these fucking dudes get the hint when he glowers at them.

“I don’t think Floridians take too kindly to us midlanders.” You chew on a fry thoughtfully, knee hugged to your chest.

“What do you mean?” Eddie is finally drinking water after two days and a midnight migraine reminded him why you can’t just exist off of piss water beer.

“That girl the other day didn’t think you were funny which, come on.” You roll your eyes and say it like it’s so obvious how funny he his and he’s instantly convinced he could chuckle his way into your cutoffs. “And these dudes, they practically cross the street when we walk down the same sidewalk.”

Eddie just hums at you and finishes his water. He watches you wipe your fingers on your rapidly darkening thigh and he wants to lick the salt and sunscreen off your skin.

You find this little seafood place for dinner and Eddie is surprised he even sees your mom and her boyfriend show up. They’re not unwelcome but he’s sure they haven’t left their room since they arrived.

He has to put real shoes on which throws him for a loop but it’s not fancy. Neither of you are that, especially after almost four days of bumming it at the beach and being mildly drunk for most of it. He’s still watching everything you do, convinced and baptized in the Florida sun and sand that he can tell you his truth finally.

He waits for a break in your conversation with your mom to tap his index finger on your knee. “Can we go to the gas station before we head back?”

“Of course. Need more beer?” You nod as you ask. “I don’t know if we’ve had our daily allotment.”

He laughs through his nose and when you turn back to answer your moms question his stomach does a nervous flip and he doesn’t trust the shrimp on his plate anymore.

“You didn’t finish your dinner.”

“Okay mom.”

“I just wanted to know if everything was okay. You’ve been quiet today.” You stroll beside him, sandals in hand while he carries a fifth of southern comfort that he nervously bounces against his thigh.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “just taking it all in a guess?” The sunset paints the horizon in a way that is alien to the sunsets in Hawkins. “It’s pretty.” He says that to the side of your head while you look at the sky over the ocean. Even in his shorts and his chopped up tee he’s sweating but the breeze coming off the beach tells him this is all nerves and maybe he wasn’t ready to say it.

“Wanna take a walk on the beach?” You stop at one of the entrances and nod your head over, soft smile laid out on your face.

“Sure.”

The light paints both of you in a soft pink light and Eddie really needs to buy your mom something, anything to show his appreciation for the invitation. He could have missed out on this, instead probably working overtime at the auto shop and drinking sadly by himself, counting down time till you or Wayne got home.

Instead he gets to watch you walk ahead of him and lead the way to a tall fishing pier. He watches you kick the sand around and look for shells to add to your new collection.

“Can I ask you something?” You don’t turn around, just trust that the wind will blow your question to him.

“Anything.”

You only stop when you get to one of the massive pilings, turning to lean your shoulder into it above the mess of barnacles. You stare at him, raking your eyes over his body and when he’s about to open his mouth you ask him.

“Can I kiss you?”

He’s 23 and not never kissed, just never been asked. Your open look shows your sincerity, eyes shining in the waning light, lip worried at by your teeth. He wants to sooth those nerves and kiss the salt air off of you. He chuckles, a light huff through his nose.

“Yeah.”

Your eyes light up as you get closer, dropping your handful of things into the sand.

“I’ve wanted to…for a while.”

“It’s not just my laissez-faire beach attitude drawing you in?” He drops the bottle behind him.

“No.” You smile before you kiss him. Soft hands on the side of his face bring him down and in, his curtain of hair blocking out the rest of the world. His lips are plush and a little chapped when they touch yours, damp from him nervously licking them before you’d bridged the gap. His hands find homes on your waist and he doesn’t miss the small sound you make when his fingers creep up under your shirt. You hold on to his face and push up into him and for a moment, he forgets you’re both on a public beach. He lets his hands wander to those hidden places and eats up your groans that you place directly in his mouth. It’s only when he hears the distant roar of an approaching atv that he comes to. Reluctantly breaks the kiss but keeps his forehead pressed to yours.

“Can we go-“

“Yes, please.” You snatch your things off the sand and start walking back towards the motel, his hand clutched tightly in yours.

Later he’ll come out of the bathroom still shaking sand out of his hair even after his shower, to find you watching tv. Still naked but wound up in the starchy sheets, one long leg left out so he can stare.

(That’s where he’d started as soon as the door closed. Backed you right up against the bed till you fell and he followed your leg up to your knee up to your hip, kissing off the sand and the salt and your sunscreen like he promised. He calls you sweetheart and beautiful and sweet like honey and he gets to watch you preen under his words.)

“Have a good shower?” You’re soft and relaxed into the bed, biting on a nail and watching him.

“Eh, so-so.” He didn’t bother with a towel, you’ve just seen him and he intends on you seeing him more.

(He was right. He was able to laugh you right out of your shorts. Nervous giggles while he inched up your stomach, tongue tasting soft skin and dipping in along your bellybutton. Like magic you were out of your shorts and out of your top and he’d had an idea that you weren’t wearing a bra but the light v of tanned skin between your breast makes him pause all the same.)

“Water pressure no good?”

“No, I still have fucking sand everywhere.” He kneels on the bed to slowly crawl over to you.

(He likes how you watch him. He realizes when he has one pebbled nipple in his mouth that you’ve been watching him for longer than today. Your heavy gaze directed down at him while he licks and nips at thin skin. He grabs and gropes your breast and you sigh and he thinks about buying this motel and never leaving.)

“Oh I’m sorry baby.” You coo at him. He hovers over you and shakes his hair above you.

“See?” And you squeal as sand litters the pillow.

(Your noises kill him softly. He’s heard you laugh and groan and yell before but not like this. Your laugh when he kisses up your neck sounds different that before. When he slides your underwear off and wastes no time pushing his fingers into your wet heat, that groan is deep in your throat. He’s not even fully undressed before he has you undone, loudly yelling his name and clutching his arm while he abuses that spot deep inside that makes you gush over his palm.)

“What the fuck Eddie!” You slap at him to get him off but he drops his weight and pins you in place. You still smell like sunscreen and ocean and cheap beer and he swears he’ll find a way to bottle it.

“I don’t want to leave.” He says sincerely.

(He can’t leave actually because this is the room where he got to touch you. A hundred kisses before he even gets his pants off, 50 more before your hands pull him from his boxers, another dozen or so while you lazily run your hand up and down his length and one final one before he pushes into you slow. He forces himself to keep his eyes open so he can watch. Your gasping and your reaching. The way you bounce under him when grabs the headboard for leverage and soundproofing.)

“This is nice, isn’t it?” You sound sad as you card your fingers through his drying curls.

“I mean…Hawkins can be kind of nice too. If you want.” His chest is tight when he asks his non question. Drops his truth out into the open like that.

(That tight feeling isn’t new, he’s always gotten that with you. Now though the levels are all different. You’ve kissed him and made him cum hot across your belly and you keep holding on to his head like he’s something precious to be kept safe and and and-)

“Hawkins can be nice.” Simple agreement makes his heart swell. He takes a deep breath and finally relaxes into you. You shimmy around to get the blankets over both you and Eddie’s dead weight. He plays with the ends of your hair laying against the pillow, white sand flecks sparkling in the dim motel lighting and decides he’s seen enough of the beach this week.

(You don’t lie to him much anymore, just enough to keep his ego in check. If he had any idea just how deep it all went, you’d never be able to pull him off the ceiling. He’s still a pig and he’s still slime but he’s your pig and your little plastic trash can container of slime. You’d be lying if you said Eddie wasn’t your friend, but the levels got all gummed up with sand and shells and now you don’t have to lie to yourself anymore.)

((Sacrifice for the read more))

#Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson Smut #Eddie Munson Fluff #My Work #My Fic

[pigeonwit]

It’s a thing now. Davey doing his hair. It’s not bad – honestly, it’s heaven, because Davey’s fingers are long and gentle and kind as they ease out the tangles from his curls, and his thighs are hooked over each one of Jack’s shoulders, creamy skin just barely hidden by his sleep shorts pressing close to his jaw like a dream – but it’s also hell, because Davey (as usual) insists on talking all the while, which means Jack has to pretend he’s paying attention and not thinking about turning exactly one-eighty degrees and doing some very, very bad things to those aforementioned thighs.

“Too tight?” Davey asks, giving the braid he’s finished a questioning tug – Jack has to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying anything embarrassing.

“Nah,” he smiles gently. It’s a gargantuan effort just to say the word, but it fools Davey well enough.

“Chin up,” he says softly, pressing his fingertips to Jack’s jaw and pushing it just a scootch higher – that’s exactly the phrase Davey would use, just a scootch. God, Jack could cry. “There we are – perfect.”

“All you, man,” Jack chuckles – he’s not entirely aware of what he’s saying, he just needs to say something that’ll keep him from buzzing over how Davey says the word ‘perfect’, the soft ‘p’ that bursts from his lips, the light smacking sound of the ‘c’ against his soft palate, the echo of his tongue on the back of his teeth as he rounds out the ‘t’, all of it directed at Jack of all people. “Fuckin’ hate doin’ this part by myself.”

The nape of his neck prickles under Davey's scrutinizing stare.

"Your wrists acting up again?"

"I don't have carpal tunnel and I'll fight you."

(Jack would be proud of the way Davey laughs at that, if he didn't tug on Jack's hair again - just to be playful, of course, but Jesus fucking Christ-)

"S'just boring is all." Jack mutters, hoping his voice stays even. "I try watching shit while I do it, but I just get distracted."

"Ah, so it's your goldfish attention span that's the problem. Gotcha."

He can hear the little smirk wrapped around Davey's words.

“Like you can talk!" He scoffs - he almost leans back to look at him properly, but then the soft of Davey's inner thigh brushes against his cheek, and he has to weld all his bones into place to keep himself from doing anything stupid.

"You think I don't see you Wiki-spiralling under your sheets at four AM?" He manages to utter once he gets his voice back. "Fucking obnoxious, Jacobs, I swear, I think I'd actually prefer it if you were looking up weird shit, but no, it's always military dolphins, or the history of Velcro, or-"

There's a pressure against his scalp and a writer's callus against his jaw as Davey levers his head back into place, cutting him off entirely with a small, strangled breath.

“Chin down," Davey says softly, pretending to chide, but Jack knows he's smiling, the little shit.

God, he needs to start going to church. Or see a therapist, or - fuck, live on cornflakes or something. It's the only way he's getting through this year alive.

#davey with his 200 step skincare routine vs jack with his 200 step wash day routine: FIGHT (and by fight i mean kiss) #love is stored in the mundane thank you for coming to my ted talk #javid #javey #newsies #uksies #pigeon scribbles #davey jacobs #david jacobs #jack kelly #this essay is driving my insane just let me write soft shit man

[mudhamster]

Fake freckles (Bkdk, humor, 700words)

Katsuki held up the tape barrier and Izuku, his hand on his aching hip, slipped underneath with difficulty, panting: "Thanks, Kacchan."

The blonde let the tape snap back without a word, the unmistakable sign for the reporters to storm the scene. They watch as they come, and Katsuki squares his shoulders in resignation.

"I hate this part."

Izuku quickly limps in front of him, a filter for both parties, and looks reassuringly over his shoulder into a dirty, grumpy face, "You did great. Don't worry."

"Hero Deku," the first round of questioning begins, "how long does it take to repaint your freckles every time?"

Izuku actually gasps in surprise at this, and the reporter leans further over the barrier, "What product do you use? I'm Mako, from the beauty channel-"

"Fuckin' what?" Kacchan's deep, scratchy voice asks from behind him and Izuku lets out a small, disbelieving laugh, fighting sudden goosebumps.

"Sorry," he apologizes immediately, "but I don't-"

"You think those are fake freckles?"

"Kacchan-"

"Are you guys fuckin' stupid?"

The reporter swings the microphone up while Katsuki crouches over Izuku like a shadow, "Have your shitty eyes checked, you-"

The reporter has no objection at all to changing the subject to the blonde in order to stop his impending barrage of insults.

"Hero Dynamight, you too are often seen with freckles in the summer-"

Literally smelling the nitro, Izuku jumped in, "Kacchan doesn't have any - ugh, it's mostly ash that sticks to his sweat-"

"Deku used to have freckles when every motherfucker and their aunt out there called them ugly," the blonde cut him off and Izuku pursed his lips a little embarrassed, "he has freckles on his elbow, behind his knees and on his goddamn ass."

"Kacchan-"

"How the hell is he supposed to paint there? Huh?"

Izuku rubbed the bridge of his nose and looks apologetically into the camera, but Katsuki wasn't done yet.

"You think he's got nothing better to do than get his ass fake-freckled after a fight?"

"Oh my god," Izuku breathed, subtly tugging at one of Kacchan's gauntlets, "I think that's enough. No one even remotely thought about my butt-"

But Katsuki had wriggled out of his grip and pulled out his cell phone. To Izuku's growing horror, he opened a rather green album and almost stuffed the phone into the reporter's mouth.

"Eight years ago, see? Four of them, right under his eye."

Izuku had never seen anyone flip through an album so violently. All cameras zoomed in on Kacchan's fingers, which aggressively zoomed in on his cheeks frame by frame. 

He tries again, "Kacchan-"

"Fuck off, Deku."

Then he takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Six years ago, four years – last year! Look, you dump jackass."

The whispering grew louder and Izuku bit his lips, mentally playing bingo as to what the headlines would be tomorrow. His ears burned. His face was warm. 

"Seen enough?"

The crowd backed away as Kacchan reared up to his full height, and Izuku was too slow to slap away the hand that gripped his collar tightly. With shameful ease, he was lifted from his feet and held up to the camera like a plushy.

"Kacchan-"

"Four here," he turned his wrist until Izuku's other cheek was almost stuck to the camera lens, "and four here. Amateurs y'all, shit."

Izuku pinched Katsuki's hand until the grip on his collar loosened and he found himself safely on his feet a second later. He was flushed from his knees up to his ears by now.

With what was left of his dignity, he tried to bow, thank the civilians for their support, and turn away - but he only managed the first as he was dragged away by the collar again. A storm of flashbulbs exploded behind them, the shouts drowning each other out. The reporters were ecstatic.

"Fake freckles," Kacchan hissed beside him, his little finger crackling with murderous intent, "I've never heard such a load of shit before."

They turn the corner and Izuku side-eyes his best friend.

"You've got a soft spot for my freckles," he concluded with a tiny grin. 

Katsuki punched him hard in the upper arm.

"Ow-"

"Shut the fuck up."

#bkdk #mha #deku #kacchan #bakudeku #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #tumblr fanfiction #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #reporters #crack #softspot #short #pre relationship #is it as funny as i think it is #where did this come from? #fake freckles #bkdk fanfic

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hello

I want to see cowboy reader get captured and hurt by unsub and JJ worried because those two seem to have chemistry

Description: Cowboy reader's father visits, things don't go too well...

Warnings: abuse, abusive parents, abduction, claustrophobia, judgy nurse, hospital visits, child abuse mentions

A/N: I'm panicking that this feels rushed but equally, I started writing this on the 15th of May so it can't be that rushed can it? Lmao (Also I'm so sorry it's taken this long). Posting this before I can doubt myself some more :))

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @wizardmon3 @aphroditeslovr @ducks118 @azeal-peal @13thdoctor-run @introvertpan84 @goth-boi-atlas @iliketozoneout

You and Spencer stood in front of the geographical profile, to be honest, Spencer was doing most of the work, you were watching the wheels in his brain tick. Since meeting the young doctor, you had almost been in awe of his intelligence and the way his brain worked (and you couldn’t help but want to protect him from the world). 

This precinct was set out slightly different to the others you had been to, this station’s conference room had no windows, purely lit by shitty lights that were screwed into the ceiling. The only way you were able to read in this room was if you also switched on a bright light that was a lot less warm-toned to actually see. 

"(Y/N)?" You snapped out of your train of thought, turning to the voice, it feeling vaguely familiar. 

"Yes?" When you turn to him, you instantly know who it is but you force your face to stay neutral.

"You don't remember me." He manages to look somewhat defeated, you'll give him that. 

"No, I remember you." You said, folding your arms, "You just don't mean anything to me." 

"And why’s that?" 

"You're not worth my energy." 

He places a hand on his heart, "You wound me, son." 

"Shame." You answer, you turn to Spencer, "Can you go get Hotch?" 

Spencer looks at the scene hesitantly, not wanting to leave you alone with the man. Especially if he is your father. "It's okay, Spence." You reassured with a tight smile. 

"Yeah, it's alright, Spence." Your father says as he takes a step towards Spencer. 

When your father takes a step closer to Spencer, before you know it, you have him pinned against the wall. "Don't you even fuckin' dare stand near him." You growl, "I don't care how much you think you've changed, come near him, I'll break you." 

Chuckling, despite his head pressed against the wall, your father turns his head to look at Spencer. "I have changed." 

"Bull. Shit." You force the words out of your mouth, anger flowing through your blood. "Spencer, go get Hotch." You wanted Hotch here for a multitude of reasons. The main three being:

Make sure you don't nearly kill him

Make sure he doesn't nearly kill you

Make sure Spencer is safe 

As soon as he's gone, your father's demeanour shifts and he smirks, "I thought we'd never be alone,"

And with that, he manoeuvers himself and slams your head into the wall, knocking you unconscious. 

When Hotch and Spencer ran back into the room, three minutes later, you were nowhere to be seen. 

You didn't know how long it had been, just that it must have been ages - at least four days. You had been there for ages, in the dark, a closet to be specific. And everywhere hurt - so, so much. Your father had been in multiple times and it was like you were twelve years old again, stuck at home with a monster with no one to save you. Except you knew that you had people in the outside world that actually cared about you (your team).

Each time your father visited you, dragging you out of the closet and throwing you to the floor, he inflicted a different pain that reminded you of your childhood while he hurled insults in your direction. It had been a while since his last visit - a few hours, perhaps - and, to your dismay, you were beginning to worry whether he would come back.

"This ain't creepy at all," You muttered to yourself, perhaps if you closed your eyes and simply pretended you were at home that would help.

You leant against the back of the closet, trying your best to get comfortable. You closed your eyes, picturing your bed at your Mama's house. Everything was okay. "You- You're fine," You mumbled to yourself, clutching your arm tight to your chest, trying to stabilise your shoulder. It had been dislocated on your first day here (wherever here was).

Everything ached heavily, throbbing in beat with your heart. Between the cuts, scratches, and burns, you felt like you couldn't take a full breath. It was dark and you couldn't see. You didn't know who was there, if anyone was really there. God you hated the dark. And it was cold, so very, very cold, you knew there was no way that you had lost enough blood to make it so. You knew that the only way in which it was so cold was that bastard had made sure there was no way heat could get into the room (assuming there wasn't a thermostat).

The beat of your heart filled your ears, mixed with the roaring that was occupying your ear drums. All with such force and such volume that you don't hear the gunshot in the background.

"Everythin's fine, you're gonna get out of this. Team'll find you. It's fine. It's fine-" Your feeble attempt at self-reassurance died in the back of your throat when you heard the familiar unlocking of the closet doors. You curled into yourself further, not looking up when the doors creaked open.

"(Y/N)?" JJ approaches you slowly, and you stare at her, trying to figure out if you've finally gone crazy or if she's really here. God, you hoped it was the latter. You couldn’t help but notice that the air around her seemed slightly brighter.

"JJ?" You wince, not only from the pain it caused in your throat and chest to speak, but by how utterly defeated you sounded.

"I'm here," She answers, "We're all here." With that, there was a small click and light flooded into your room. You winced, quickly ducking your head down and squeezing your eyes shut. When your eyes had adjusted, you opened them, forcing yourself to stand. 

The team's eyes widened at the sight of you, covered in blood and dirt, stripped of your shirt and socks. When you finally looked up, you curled into yourself slightly, trying to ignore the damage. 

You took a breath, "What about-?"

"He's dead." She answers and your shoulders deflate. They did come for you. He was wrong. Of course they would come for you.

"Who- Who shot him?" You asked hesitantly.

"I did," Morgan replied, frowning slightly. No matter what the man had done, he was still technically your biological father. You stumbled over to him, wincing and limping as you did so.

"Thank you," You mumbled, collapsing into a hug when you finally reached him. 

”How about we get you sit down?” Morgan asks gently as Prentiss places a seat next to you. Despite you protesting that you were fine, Morgan helps ease you into the chair while Hotch calls the paramedics to check how far out they were. 

When the paramedics arrived, they were quick to transfer you onto a gurney and then into the ambulance - the team keeping close. 

“Do you want us to call your emergency contact?” The paramedic asked and you shook your head.

“No, no thank you,” You mumbled, giving her a small smile. 

“Are you sure-?”

You nodded, “She, er, she’s already here,” You don’t notice Morgan shoot JJ a knowing smile - who responds with an eye roll and shaking her head.

“Okay, just so we know, who is it?”

“Oh, er, JJ,” You said, nodding to her, “The blonde haired lady,”

The paramedic takes a note of this, jotting it down on your form. “Thank you,”  

When you get to the hospital, you’re settled into a rather uncomfortable hospital bed (but you know better than to complain). They start by giving you pain killers and treating your major wounds - the burns along your side and chest, a variety of deepish cuts along your arms and torso, and finally checking your ribs and collarbone for fractures. You had tried telling them you were fine, but they weren’t having it - especially when they poked it and you cried out in pain.

"We need to take you upstairs," The nurse said, "We need to do an x-ray."

"Upstairs?"

"Yes, the x-ray department is on the fourth floor," The nurse said and you drew in a deep breath. "We need to transfer you into a wheelchair."

Eventually, you were out of your room, trying desperately not to think about the elevator. Being trapped in a small metal box.

"No, I- I'll take the stairs." You mumble, shaking your head as you approach the lift. Not now. You can do this right now. You begin to stand when a hand is placed on your shoulder, instantly making you feel relaxed. You know its her without even having to look.

"You know you can't take the stairs right now," She responds quietly.

"JJ, I'm fine." You answer, grinding your jaw. You did not want to go in that lift under any circumstances.

"It's the only way to get there."

"Then I won't go,"

"You need to get an x-ray,"

"Don't need to."

"What would help you feel safer?" Her voice is soft, calming.

"You." Your answer is instant, that's not the embarrassing part though. The embarrassing part would be asking to hold her hand. The embarrassing part would be asking if Hotch or Morgan could also come with. You knew that they wouldn't let anything happen to either you or JJ - and they were physically healthy and therefore actually able to protect both you and her (normally you wouldn't have a problem with protecting the pair of you if needed, but you were currently slightly incapacitated).

"What's the other thing?" Damn, she can read you like a book.

You swallow, frowning slightly as you flush red and look down at your hands, watching them tremble for a moment, "H-Hotch or Morgan?"

JJ nods in understanding, gently rubbing her hand along your arm. "Does it matter which one?" When you shake your head, she turns to the nurse, "Can you get Agent Hotchner or Agent Morgan please?"

"For an elevator?" You frown, staring at your hands more intently as your face grows hot, watching as they continue to shake from adrenaline at the idea of being in a lift right now.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying, he's a grown man, he can ride an elevator-"

You can sense the anger radiating off the blonde so you shake your head, "JJ it's fine..." You mumbled, "Let's just go n get it over with."

"No. You'd feel more comfortable with Hotch or Morgan here, so we're going to make sure that one of them are here." She says strongly, not breaking eye contact with the nurse. "So, can you get Agent Hotchner or Agent Morgan. And another nurse."

The nurse stares blankly at her for a moment before nodding and walking off. "Are you alright?" JJ asks softly and you give a small nod, hands continuing to shake. Seeing this she slowly reached down, lightly taking your left hand in her right.

"I-I'm sorry," You mutter before your tone turns bitter. "I shouldn't be feelin' like this. It's just an elevator."

"(Y/N)," You look up at her, "You've been through something most people can't even imagine. You're okay to feel shaken by that."

"M an adult." You said, trying to ignore your eyes began to feel the familiar sting of tears. "I shouldn't be-"

"I'm scared of dogs." JJ said. "I- Spencer was taken by an unsub years ago and his dogs attacked me and now, I'm afraid of dogs. Is that unreasonable? I'm an adult."

"That's different."

"Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"Wha-? No. Because you went through a traumatic experience."

"And this wasn't traumatic?"

"No! This was my childhood! I got over it! I should be fine with this! I shouldn't be here shakin' like a leaf over somethin' I must have gone through a hundred times!" You exclaim, "I should be able to get in an elevator without vibratin' so hard I’m creatin' my very own massage chair!"

"You're allowed to feel this way," JJ says gently as she crouches in front of you. "It's okay to acknowledge things that scare you. And doing this? Getting in an elevator shows how strong you are. Even if it's with two friends."

"Is everything okay?" JJ looks up at Hotch, who let's his gaze settle on your form - he can't see much, but he watches as you lift a trembling hand to your face, presumably to massage your temples. JJ says nothing, unsure of how much you want her to say, so you take the lead.

"I don't wanna go in." You mutter. "I wanna take the stairs."

Hotch had never heard you sound so small. "I get that," Ensuring that his voice is calming, he continues, "But we both know you can't make it up all those stairs right now."

"Its- I feel like 'm trapped and 'm not even inside yet."

"We'll be here the whole time," Hotch adds and you nod.

"Is the other nurse here?"

"Yep," Another voice chimes, "I'm Nurse Maddison."

"Hi," You whisper. "I-I'm not normally like this," You mumble, this was slightly mortifying to say the least.

"That's alright," She replies, "We've all got our fears. I find it difficult to go on public transport - I'm scared of a lack of control."

"I-I'm scared if I get in the lift, I won't be able to get out." You admit. "I'm scared the lights will flicker, n I'll wake up, n I'll still be there. Or worse, the lights will go out n he'll be here."

"Who?" Nurse Maddeline furrows her eyebrows when you don't answer.

"I just really don't want this to be a dream," You whisper.

JJ squeezes your hand lightly, "I promise you, this is real."

"We're here, (Y/N). You're safe. You're with us."

You sat, taking deep breaths outside the elevator for a minute or so. Just catching your breath.

"Are you ready to get in?" She asks. Despite the question, her voice is full of understanding. "We don't have to push any buttons yet, and I can stand in the way of the doors until you're ready."

"Can- Can we do that one? With you in the doors?"

"Of course!" Nurse Maddison gives a small smile before pressing the call button for the elevator.

When she wheels you into the elevator, you forget how to breathe. Shaking your head quickly, you find Hotch and JJ (which is easy as Nurse Maddison placed the wheelchair so that you could see both of your colleagues), "I was wrong, I can't do this-"

"(Y/N), look at me," JJ speaks this time, "You're okay, it's okay."

You shake your head, "No, no, I can't-"

"I need you to calm down for me, okay?" Nurse Maddison says.

"No! No, I can't- I can't do this!" You bow your head, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands.

"(Y/N)." Hotch's voice is stern and makes you look up, "You can do this. I know you think you can't, but you can."

"Do you trust us?" JJ asks and you nod. Because you do. You trust the pair of them with your life. "Then close your eyes." You look at her for a moment before doing as she says, letting your eyes flutter shut. There's a warmth that floods through your body as she takes your hand again and you grip it lightly.

When the doors close, your grip on JJ's hand tightens and your eyes shoot open. "It's alright," Hotch is quick to reassure as JJ rubs soothing circles on your hand. "It won't be long before we reach the floor we need."

"No, no, Hotch, I need out-" You shake your head, desperately trying to get your breathing under control. "Hotch I need out, I can't breathe-"

"(Y/N), look at me." JJ's voice drew your eyes away from Hotch. "You're okay."

"No-"

"Yes you are, you're okay." She says softly, gently squeezing your hand in hers, "We're nearly there."

You pushed the palm of your hand into your eye, trying to force the tears back. "Not a coward." You muttered bitterly to yourself, not caring if the others could hear. You needed to get yourself through this ride without having a panic attack (and it was close). "Not a coward. Not a coward." You mumble the phrase, over and over. Intent on repeating it until you believe it. Of course, before that could happen, there was the familiar ping of an elevator door and your head shot up as they opened.

"Can we get out now?" You asked, looking up, "Please?"

Both Hotch and JJ give you a reassuring smile as Nurse Madeline gently pushes the wheelchair out of the elevator. 

JJ leans forward, so only you can hear her as she whispers, “See, I told you you could do it,” 

The x-ray went relatively smoothly, except for finding out you had three broken ribs and had broken your clavicle. You were also a lot calmer on the way down (still with both Hotch and JJ), feeling relatively calm (in comparison) when they wheeled you back into your room. 

The team immediately greeted you with smiles as you entered your room, Garcia standing up from your bed (where she may or may not have laid down on it).

“So, what’s the verdict, cowboy?” Morgan asked. 

“Um, three broken ribs and clavicle.”

“Clavicle?” Garcia asked.

“Collarbone,” Spencer added. 

“Does that mean no baking for a little while?” Both you and Garcia asked, turning to Hotch (who had to fight off a smile).

“Probably.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #emily prentiss #david rossi #jennifer jareau #x male reader #male reader #reader #x reader #bau x male reader #bau x reader #bau x cowboy reader #cowboy reader #x cowboy reader #child abuse #torture mentions #criminal minds fanfictions #criminal minds fanficiton

[willsdreamgirl]

off to the races — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy x fem!reader

tommy and you are in rival gangs, and the peaky blinders interfere in your business. will you be able to let it rest? or will you give tommy the opportunity to realise his feelings for you through your conflicts with each other?

cw: mentions of guns, knives, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut if you squint, arthur is an ass

a/n: you guys loved the first tommy fic i wrote, so here’s another one!! couldn’t do too much hardcore enemies to lovers bc i’m a big ol softie. anywho, don’t be a ghost reader and enjoy!! 💌

word count: 3.2k

“fuckin’ peaky scum.” “what’s up, johnny?” you asked quizzically. “what’s up? what’s fucking UP? look at this shit.” you leaned over his shoulder to find your crates of whiskey disguised as hardware empty. you sighed knowingly. “can’t even enter bloody small heath without having our shit raided.” “tell me about it.” johnny laughed humourlessly.

you sat in your office, making sure the books were in order. you listened to the silent ticking of the clock. but your peace didn’t last long. “they did it again, eh?!” an angry max entered your office. you took your glasses off and put down your pen. “maximillian, if you must enter my office, do not enter it screaming maybe?” your words fell on deaf ears, max already seemed blinded by rage. “honest to god, i’ll cut every single one of those bastards!” he yelled yet again. you stood up from your chair, clearing your throat. “no need for that, max boy.” “what? what the fuck do you mea-” “i’ve arranged a meeting with the big man.” “who? tommy fuckin’ shelby?” you threw on your coat and made your way to the exit. “yes max, tommy fuckin’ shelby.”

tommy shelby was, at this point, the most powerful man in all of small heath. every government official was on his payroll and he practically had the coppers eating out of his hand. after the sabini incident, rarely anyone decided to fuck with the peaky blinders. you’d known tommy in school, you were even friends with him, but that was before your parents decided small heath was no place for a growing lady and decided to move far away from small heath, far away from tommy. but they underestimated how much spending time with tommy’s family had affected you. your parents were good people, you knew that. tommy’s family got involved in all sorts of illegal shit but made tenfold the money yours made. eventually, you realized that the shelby way was the only way you could create wealth in dirty, old birmingham. no one takes a 13 year old girl seriously when she says she wants to start a gang. so you had to start taking extreme measures. stealing, lying and gambling, to name a few. but your weakness was also your strength. you were a woman. and men underestimated women. no one ever believed you to be a threat, so they let down their guards around you. (it usually only took a glass or two of whiskey anyway) when they were vulnerable, that’s when you struck. over time, you became feared in your city, the girl who fools the men. and here you were 12 years later, your gang, the bishop ryders, being the peaky blinders’ rival gang. now, you were open to forming an alliance with them, reminiscing your time with the shelby family, but you learnt fairly quickly that the tommy you knew before the war was not the tommy that you came to know after. he was bitter, and vengeful, and after an explosion at one of your warehouses where four of your men had died, the bishop ryders and peaky blinders became sworn enemies.

you entered small heath, coppers surrounding the car. you muttered under your breath, “must’ve recognized the damn license plate.” you stepped out of the car. “mornin’ coppers, what can i do for you today?” you said, a fake smile plastered across your face. one of them stepped close enough to you that you could smell his breath. they were trying to intimidate you, of course. “who the fuck are you here to see, eh? such a pretty lady shouldn’t be in these parts of birmingham.” he spoke, a disgustingly devilish glint in his eyes. you spat on the ground next to him and knee’d him in the crotch and you yelled. “i’m here to see your king, now FUCK OFF.” the coppers seemed to back away, the guy you kicked now crouched down in the middle of the road. you got back in your car and resumed driving.

you saw a building with a big sign on it. ‘shelby company limited’, it read. tommy was becoming a pompous arse, you thought. you walked in and took a moment to look around. they had definitely upgraded since the last time you were here. the woman at the desk spoke to you. “oi, do you have an appointment?” you scoffed, a secretary, how… civilized. “who might you be?” “i’m lizzie, mr. shelby’s secretary.” she spoke, proudly. you gasped in faux amusement. “oh! so can you tell your precious mr. shelby that y/n’s here to see him?” she rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. “can’t let random fucking people in without appointments. besides, he’s not here anyway.”

after a little probing, you found out that tommy was in his new mansion, grieving over the death of his wife. when did he get married? you went over to his house, pushing aside butlers and maids to get to his office. you scoffed, for what seemed like the hundredth time today, he really was the king of small heath, eh? you walked in, the sound of your hand on the wood echoing in the big office. he motioned for you to leave without even looking up. “fuck off.” he muttered in that deep voice of his. you cleared your throat so he’d look up. his hand stopped writing for a moment, but resumed writing when he didn’t get a reply from you. you sighed, realising you’d have to vocalize yourself. you took big, exaggerated steps towards his desk. “tommy bloody shelby, sulking in his big house bought with his huge stack of cash. never thought i’d see the day.” you said mockingly. he sighed when he recognized the voice. he looked up, setting the pen down. he spoke, resting his elbows on his desk. “what the fuck do you want?” you could taste the venom in his voice. you laughed dryly. “i should be the one asking you that.” tommy’s eyebrows furrowed. “what are you fucking talking about?” you took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. the bloody nerve of this man. “don’t fucking play stupid with me, tommy. you don’t think i see how your men are raiding my whiskey crates every fucking day?” he looked ever more confused but spoke slowly, almost cautiously. “what do you mean ‘my men’?” “i mean your bloody men, tommy! fucking peaky blinders!” “my men did no such thing, i assure you. they only do what i order them to. and i have no reason to search or raid your crates.” you scoffed at him and mimicked the way his elbows were on the desk. “now, either you’re not very good at giving orders, or you don’t know what the fuck’s going on within your own organisation. whatever the fuck it is, you better fix it, and you better fix it fast tommy.” he looked at you in disbelief. “tommy shelby doesn’t take orders from anyone, especially not from a rival gang.” “i didn’t think tommy shelby sulked over a girl either, but here we are, eh? now pour me a fucking whiskey.” he got up, and poured you a glass. he looked down into your eyes as your hands brushed when he handed you the glass.

he downed the whiskey in one sip and immediately phoned the small heath shelby co. ltd. office. michael picked up the phone. “hello, tommy?” “tell polly, arthur and john bring their arses here in the next hour. family meeting.” 20 minutes later, the entire shelby family had assembled in tommy’s office. arthur was the first to speak. “what the fuck’s she doing here?” he motioned at you. “i have unnecessary business to deal with because of you fucks.” john stepped closer to you, sizing you up. “you don’t scare me, shelby. fuck off.” he looked at tommy in disbelief. “get off her, john.” tommy replied. “right, so one of you gave our men the order to raid every bishop ryder crate that comes into town. it sure as fuck wasn’t me, so who was it?” everyone looked at each other in confusion, except john and arthur. “you two. you did it, eh?” you looked at them. “we’re not tommy’s fucking guard dogs! we’re equal shareholders of the bloody company and we will do whatever the fuck we see fit!” john yelled. tommy slammed his fist on the table. “god fucking damn it! legitimate business is priority! when i say something there’s a fucking reason! when i tell you to do something, you fucking do it!” even though you’d known tommy for years, this rage was unfamiliar to you. you spoke assertively. “i have no idea how i got roped into this family drama, but it’s affecting my business. i will not have you fucking cunts pull this shit again. you try and i will cut each and every one of you.” you gave tommy a look that told him you meant every word of what you said, and with that, you left.

the next day, you were in your office, going over important paperwork. that’s when you heard commotion outside. you heard fighting, and then you heard a voice. arthur bloody shelby. he stormed in your office, going around your desk. you stood up. “what the fuck do you want, arthur?” he put his hand around your throat and slammed you against the wall. you had a tight grip around his wrist, trying to push him away. you struggled to speak. “insult the peaky blinders one more time and i’ll fucking kill ya.” when you looked in his eyes, you didn’t see arthur. you saw someone completely different. you reached into your coat pocket to pull out a gun, but arthur already had one next to your head. he pulled the trigger, the bullet grazing your ear and embedding itself into the wall. “next time, it’ll be your head, not the wall.” some of your security heard your conflict with arthur and barged into the office and pulled guns on him. arthur, in his rage, shot two of your men on sight. arthur let you go, and stormed out of your office. you’d had enough. enough disrespect. as if it wasn’t hard being a woman and running a gang in birmingham.

you went to speak to tommy. he was in his office this time, and you walked in to find lizzie typing something. “where is he?” you asked frantically. “not you again. like i said, you need to make an appointme-” “where. the FUCK IS TOMMY?” you yelled in her face. she looked at you for a moment, then spoke. “mr. shelby’s in the middle of a meeting.” “fuck his damn meeting.” you barged into his office, to find some copper sitting in front of him. you snapped your fingers to get his attention, even though you already had it. “we. need. to. talk.” is all you said. “get out.” he spoke, and you crossed your arms. the copper sitting in front of him looked at you, waiting for you to leave. “i was talking to you, dimwit. leave.” he said, pointing to the copper this time. he nodded and left quickly. “what brings you here, mis-” “your rabid dog of a brother shot at me yesterday and killed two of my men, in my office, in front of me.” you spoke, oddly calm. “what.” tommy was truly at a loss for words. “yeah. anyway, you’ll be at the epsom derby this year right? i’m gonna kill you tommy. it’ll be fun.” you said, laughing sarcastically. before he had a a chance to respond, you left his office. tommy was infuriated. not only had he lost his wife, he had gained a new enemy who now wanted to kill him, and his brothers couldn’t step up and do tommy’s job for two fucking days.

epsom rolled around, and you gathered all your men, and other men you borrowed from allies. you knew small heath men, so, you knew tommy’s men. you knew their vices: whores, whiskey and cocaine. you brought prostitutes with you, who had several bottles of alcohol and vials of ‘the snow’ on them, and had your men stationed everywhere. the plan was, distract tommy’s men, get him alone with you, and kill him.

as soon as the race started, you saw your plan unfold. all of tommy’s men were either fighting with yours, drunk and high in a corner somewhere or fucking a whore. you scoffed as you remembered aunt pol’s words. men and their cocks never cease to amaze me. truth be told, you missed that family. you missed going with the shelby brothers to steal whiskey from a pub as kids, and you missed aunt pol yelling at the boys, telling you how they were bad influences. and you missed tommy. your tommy. the tommy that would sit with you, talk to you for hours, the one you could laugh with endlessly. and here you were, plotting to kill him. how did it all get so fucked up?

while your men were distracted, you hunted tommy down. he was in the stables, alone, where they kept the racehorses. he turned around as he heard the familiar sound of a cocking gun. he raised his hands. “i’m unarmed.” you walked closer to him, gun still pointing to his forehead. “you and your stupid fucking gang have been doing so much damage to everything i’ve built all along. you got handed this tommy, you don’t know what it’s fucking like to build this from the ground up with your own hands.” you said, your hand on his shoulder. “someone has to pay, eh?” he said, take the hint and getting on his knees. you walked around him so that his back was facing you. you inhaled deeply. “ready?” you said. “give a man one last smoke?” he asked. “fine.” you turned around as he lit a cigarette. “this is the end of the line, eh? i was in this same position a year ago, maybe this is how it’s meant to be. tell arthur and john to stop fucking shit up, tell pol to take care of the boys, tell ada i love her and karl, and y/n? check in on charlie every once in a while? i don’t want him to feel like a lonely orphan, alright?” tommy spoke sombrely. you felt memories rushing back, memories of you and the boys playing with guns, getting drunk. you took a deep breath as you held back tears. tommy smiled when he felt the cold metal hit the back of his head. “don’t go soft on me now, love?” he spoke, you could hear the smile in his voice. your hand trembled as you put your finger on the trigger.

you pulled the trigger, and the bullet hit a hay bale somewhere in the corner. tommy exhaled and opened his eyes slowly. you kicked the back of his shoe, your voice wavering. “get the fuck up.” he stood up, turning around to face you. you hugged him tightly. “can’t bring myself to kill you.” you spoke, your head buried in the crook of his neck. “shh, i know sweetheart. i know.” you two always had an inextricable bond, and without either of you saying anything, both of you understood what the other felt. tommy cupped your cheek with his hand. you felt tears rolling down your cheek, tommy wiping them away. you leaned into his touch. “i fucking hate you, tommy.” he looked at you with adoration. “i love you too, y/n. it’s always been you.”

*a year later*

tommy carried you to your shared bed. you gasped as you felt him leaving kisses down your neck. “tommy-” “welcome to the family, mrs. shelby.” he said, smiling when he heard you giggle. “tonight’s gonna be a long night, eh?” he said, smirking. you smirked back. “oh, i’m counting on it.” you heard abrupt knocking, and then finn’s voice. “uh, tommy? i’m sorry- but um, it’s the russians?” you both looked at each other and instantly got out of bed. he groaned as he put his pants on and wore his gun holster under his blazer. “can’t catch a fucking break. not even on my bloody wedding night.” you rolled your eyes at him, as you wore your own holster, loading your gun and cocking it. “who told you to do business with the fucking russians?” he walked over and kissed you passionately, your tongues fighting for dominance. eventually, you pulled away for air, both panting, his forehead resting against yours. he looked you in the eye. “ready?” “always.”

“welcome to the family, mrs. shelby.”

#cillian murphy smut #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby smut #cillian murphy #tommy shelby x reader #cillian murphy x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby headcanon #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby angst #cillian fic #cillian smut #cillian series #cillian x y/n #cillian fluff #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x reader #cillian one shot #anna’s boys

[its-time-to-write]

Hello! I absolutely love your work. You’re a fantastic writer. Is it possible for you to do something based a bit off of the song London Boy by Taylor Swift? If not I understand. I just feel there’s some cool way to tie it with Jamie Tartt. Sorry if it’s a bit of a generic request

ALRIGHTY gotta preface this, I actually hate this song 😂 Lyrics aren’t bad, but the like accent thing she does makes me die a little bit. BUT. I saw what you were going for (I think)! So here it is, I suffered through listening to this song bc you asked for a fic and I am nothing if not eager to please.

This is also a response to two other requests. So if that was you, ✌️😗 y’all were on the same page, congratulations. This is also my first song-based fic, although all of my works are (very, very loosely) based on songs. That’s why they have such insane titles😅 ANYWAY that’s enough talking from me. Enjoy!

i fancy you

i love my hometown as much as Motown, i love So-Cal

Richmond in London is very different from your hometown in Southern California. It’s colder, for one. And older. Things in California don’t have the same extended history as they do in England. You’re here visiting family for a couple months, although your cousins are trying to convince you to stay longer. 

“What do you really have waiting for you in California?” Holland asks.

“Uh, the beach. Sun. Great Mexican food.” you respond.

Holland isn’t buying it. “When else are you going to be able to live here? We can help you get a job and all that, not a huge problem.”

Holland is very convincing. You decide to stay for a year, single year, and see what happens.

Holland is four years older than you, and has always been the cousin you’re closest to. You’ve had a long-standing bond since being the two eldest sisters in your family. Holland takes you to clubs and introduces you to her friends, including a Miss Keeley Jones who thinks you are “abso-fuckin-lutely adorable.” 

“You have to bring her to a Richmond match, babes,” Keeley says. “Lots of fit footballers.” She winks.

You ask Keeley of she’s dating a footballer.

“Oh god no,” she shudders. “A coach.”

You don’t really see the difference.

saw the dimples first and then i heard the accent

It was a good match, even you can tell. The Richmond team played seamlessly, passing the ball back and forth without letting the other team even touch it. Their conductor of sorts, the one mediating the passes, was crazy. He never seemed to get tired, anticipating his teammates’ moves and those of the opposing team. It seemed like he was always five steps ahead of everyone. Holland notices you watching him and pokes Keeley.

“You like Jamie?” Keeley laughs. “Makes sense. Anyone with eyes likes him. He’s right fit, too. Good in bed, shit with feelings. Well, used to be. Still fucking cocky.”

That’s interesting. “You’ve been with him?” you ask.

Keeley gives you a 50/50 hand motion. “Sort of. Don’t really count it, do I? Was with him at his fucking worst. That’s why Roy fucking hates him.”

“He’s much better now,” Holland chimes in. “Something happened last season and he stopped being such a dick.”

“Holland!” you reproach, laughing. “That’s not nice!”

She and Keeley shrug. “It’s true though, innit?”

You don’t know if it is, because when you first see Jamie up close in the club later that night, he seems perfectly fine. You see a flash of a smile, a dimple, then he says something (you don’t know what) but his accent is… something else. It’s not like Holland’s, or any of your family, but you know enough to pinpoint it to Manchester. 

“The accent got you, didn’t it?” says a voice near your ear and you yelp as Holland slides her arm around your shoulder.

“Gets the best of us,” says Keeley, grabbing your hand. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

She drags you over despite your protests.

he likes my American smile, like a child when our eyes meet, ‘darling i fancy you’

Regular dinner dates are scary, but dinner dates with a Premier League footballer are downright terrifying. 

You made Holland help you figure out what to wear, and when she showed up at your aunt’s house she had Keeley in tow.

“Heard you’re in need of a bit of a makeover,” she grins. “Lucky for you, that’s my specialty.”

Keeley and Holland have brought some of Holland’s dresses and you’re in a dark green one that “does fucking wonders for your hair, babe.”

Keeley did your makeup while Holland curled your hair and just like that, you’re ready to go.

You groan, “God, I fucking hate first dates,” while shaking out your arms. 

“It’ll be fine,” Holland promises, and she’s right.

It’s more than fine. It’s fucking fantastic.

“I like your smile,” Jamie says. “Fuckin’ American, it is.”

You laugh. “What does that even mean?”

Jamie shrugs. “It’s bigger. Brits are more reserved. Like Roy. You met Roy yet? Biggest fucking twat I ever saw,” but he says it with such affection that you’re sure he means something else.

His eyes are electric, blue and dazzling. They betray his every thought and feeling and right now you feel like if you hold his gaze any longer you’re going to say something completely stupid. 

Turns out your not the one to say something stupid; he is.

You’re walking back to his car, holding hands and swinging them in between you when he stops and says, “Darling, I fancy you.”

You grin and he returns it. He asks, “Was that British enough for you? Feel like you got the whole experience?”

“Definitely,” you say. “Was I American enough for you?”

“Dunno,” he replies, “Got to test one more thing.”

His lips are very soft on yours.

met all of his best mates, so i guess all the rumors are true

“This is Isaac, Colin, Dani, and Sam.”

Jamie is introducing you to some of his team. You’ve been dating for a month now, and your first picture together just popped up in the papers the night before.

The boys of AFC Richmond were pretty sure Jamie was seeing someone, but they didn’t know who it was. Jamie had set up this dinner thing a while ago, it just so happened that the tabloids got to you first. 

It’s not even that great a picture honestly, but you’d been around Nelson Road enough that the boys were able to recognize you. 

It’s a little unnerving to meet them, what with Isaac’s intense stare and Dani’s wide, wide smile. You’re grateful Colin and Sam are acting normal.

“We have an American coach,” Colin says in an attempt to break the ice. It does, because you’re all laughing at the absurdity of his attempt. 

“We have heard very much about you,” Dani says and you wonder if he ever stops smiling. It feels so weird and so normal to be at Jamie’s house with a pile of food and FIFA queued up on the TV, ready to go. You figure that if you’re meeting his friends, Jamie must be at least a little serious. He finds your hand and squeezes it under the table as Isaac cracks his first smile of the night. It’s weird dating a footballer, but you think you can get used to it.

babes, don’t threaten me with a good time

Jamie’s house is the largest you’ve ever been in, and it used to be strange that it was only just the two of you, clattering around that big home. 

It’s a cool night after a warm day so you both decided to lay in his backyard under the stars. 

It feels so much like something you’d do as a teenager, and you tell Jamie as much.

“Used to sneak on me mum’s roof,” he tells you. “Didn’t even do dumb shit, I’d just go to look.”

You lay there in silence for a few moments until you feel something tickle your side.

“Jamie!” you shriek.

“I didn’t do nothing!” he protests. “Must’ve been a bug.”

You don’t believe him, but you don’t push it until you feel another tickle.

“Babe!”

“Babe, it weren’t me, I swear,” he says and you really don’t believe him, especially when he tickles you again less than a minute later.

You laugh. “Fuck you, Jamie Tartt.”

He smirks. “Babe, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Hm, maybe I want a good time.”

Jamie’s grin widens and he sits up. “You know where the bedroom is, love.”

you know i love a London boy

“I don’t fucking get it,” Jamie says. You shrug. 

“I literally don’t either,” you say. Your dad leans over to Jamie. “So basically…” he begins.

He’s halfway through his explanation when Jamie pokes you. “Babe,” he says, “can we switch seats so I can hear your dad better?” You chuckle then wiggle your way into Jamie’s seat while he gets into yours.

“Why the fuck is it called ‘football’ if it’s with their hands?” Jamie asks.

Your dad shrugs. “Not a clue, son, not a clue.”

The game progresses and one of the teams scores a touchdown.

“Hold the fuck up,” Jamie says. “Why did their score change that much?”

“I know this one!” you exclaim. “Different types of goals get different points. And there’s something called a lateral which has to do with moving backward I think?”

You dad just shakes his head with a grin and doesn’t attempt to clarify. 

Your dad spends the second half explaining everything to a very focused Jamie, and he asks questions the entire car ride home. It’s funny have Jamie here in America, staying at your parents house and seeing where you grew up. 

When you’re finally back home and in bed, you pull him as close as you can and whisper, “I love you very, very much. You know that, right?”

You can feel Jamie smile against your hair. “I love you too, very fucking much.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 24 “Windy Mountain”[Episode List]

Another summer, another camping trip for our heroes… and an even smaller tent than last time. On the mountain, the sounds of nature finally meet their match as Dave’s farts reach new heights in terms of loudness and power.

POV: Tim

Windy Mountain “Rise and shine, bro!”

I was woken up by a sudden thunder, a thunder which was accompanied by a peculiar scent. Considering how I could see a clear blue sky outside (somebody opened the window in my room), as my eyes adjusted to the light I recognised Dave’s ass in a pair of white basketball shorts hovering over me, effortlessly erupting a powerful morning blast directly on my face.

I probably woke up halfway through the rip, which was already around 10 seconds long. A short morning fart, for my friend’s high standards. The stench hit me and triggered my flight or fight response, effectively waking me up more efficiently than any alarm clock could. I pushed my friend’s ass away (as he kept farting), trying to remember what year it was.

“Alright, alright. I’m awake!”

Dave turned around and greeted me with a smile. 

“Come on, we’re right on schedule.” he stated.

“Should I thank you or your ass?”

Dave simply looked up, making a funny facial expression, and ripped a quick loud one.

“Yes.” he simply replied, and left the room.

Those were natural, not even on command, but honestly who could tell the difference? Dave always had a fart ready, like you could ask him out of the blue to rip one and he’d probably be more than happy to go beyond your wildest expectations. One of his many talents: the incredible farts are like the cherry on top of this wonderful friend I’m lucky to have, a cherry that pleases my embarrassing and disgusting kink, a kink that, for some reason, my bud is completely okay with, getting some good immature laughs every time he teases me.

Like last year, the four of us (the other two being Greg and Adam) decided to get in touch with nature and go camping for a couple of days, like the hypocrite city slickers that we are. However, we’re pretty good at planning stuff like this, making sure it won’t interfere with our respective jobs and whatnot. 

As Dave told me earlier, we were indeed right on schedule: it wasn’t even 6:00 AM and he was ready, a role-reversal compared to the last time we went camping, as I’m usually the one who hates being late. A quick shower, some casual clothes and I too was ready, just a shirt and pair of black shorts, whereas Dave was sporing a grey t-shirt and his signature, “summer style” camo cargo shorts which, given the context, immediately triggered my kinky ass as I just remembered how my friend mercilessly blasted me in our tent last year while wearing those.

I hated… that I fuckin’ loved it.

While farting wasn’t by far our main topic of discussion (believe it or not), I like to think that Dave too remembers… because he’s just a nice mixture of “the best bro you could ever ask for” and “your worst bully”. Or, much more realistically, he just doesn’t remember because while he does find the act of teasing me utterly hilarious, it’s not like our lives revolve around his farts.

Unlike last year we were actually much more independent as our other two buds travelled to our destination on their own, a relatively colder place where we could avoid this summer’s high temperatures, somewhere on a mountain not far from here. We’re hiking to some interesting sights, the most important being a big, lesser known waterfall located at higher altitudes and deeper into the forest. 

We packed our stuff and as the Sun was setting we got into the car, Dave being the designated driver. My (much more important) role was choosing the music for the trip and sometimes checking the map. A true duo of rally drivers.

During the trip, me and my bro chatted about some random stuff and about one hour flew by. No traffic, no road works or anything, just a long but peaceful trip.

“Oh by the way.” Dave suddenly said, changing the subject. “When Dana and I went camping last year…” 

He seemed embarrassed but couldn’t help but laugh. Knowing him, that was the kind of laughter he’d do whenever he did something stupid.

“Yes?” I asked, being annoyingly inquisitive on purpose.

“We broke your tent.” he simply said.

“Oh.” I replied, not caring that much.

Yes, after our trip last year, I let Dave and Dana bring my tent on their own trip. I totally forgot about it and it was a very cheap product anyway. Plus, I saw Dave putting a folded up tent into the trunk earlier this morning, so it’s not like we were gonna sleep with the bugs tonight.

“It was an accident, I’m sorry.” he said.

“You’re the worst person I ever met.” I replied, the sarcasm being almost tangible.

“I totally forgot about it.” 

“Me too actually.” I admitted. “How did you break it? I deserve to know.” I asked, acting like I wanted to know how my grandpa died.

“Crazy sex obviously.” my friend said, with a smirk. 

I stared back at him until he told me truth.

“Ok… I accidentally hit it while going in reverse.”

“How did it even happen?!” I yelled, amused. “Why was the car there in the first place?!”

“Girls, you know… she didn’t want to walk back to the car.”

I stared back at him again.

“We had beers in the trunk.” 

“Unbelievable. Truly made for each other.”

We both had a good laugh at their laziness, and I made sure Dave knew it was fine: he bought a new tent after all, so we’re good.

“The new tent is a bit smaller though… not that you mind, right?” he said, and winked at me.

“Oh yeah, show me the infamous crazy sex you’ve been talking about.” I played along.

“Well that, obviously.” he joked. “But I was thinking more of… you know…”

He leaned a bit while driving and, as much as he could, pointed his camo-clad ass towards me; the fart was, well, one of his average ones, long, loud and proud, the sound partially muffled by the seat and car’s own noises, but I could still hear it clearly. A firm, strong, 7 seconds display of cocky manliness from my bro, something I pretend to be used to but for a number of reasons keeps surprising me somehow.

The smell hit me but the cars’ windows being open made it bearable.

Before I could stutter something, he sat back normally and resumed talking.

“Just like last year, you know.” he laughed.

He actually remembers it. The fact that he does gives me a mix of feelings. I remained silent, trying to focus on the road ahead, which he noticed.

“Aw come on, don’t act like you hate it, you hypocrite.” he playfully said, patting my shoulder. “You know you can relax when I’m around, right?” he then asked, a bit more seriously, keeping his right hand on my shoulder.

It took me a bit to answer that simple question, Dave being so open-minded he almost leaves me speechless.

“Yeah I know man. Thanks.” 

“Good.” he said, again patting my shoulder.

This man’s patience is infinite. 

And just like that, we resumed talking about the usual stuff, as if my kink never existed. I feel like Dave accepted my fetish more than I ever did with myself.

——

A few hours later we reached our destination, at around 10:00 AM, the mountains towering over us being so high we could see the peaks covered in glaciers. However, the town where we left the car was not at high altitudes, so while the weather wasn’t as hot as back home, you could still tell it was summer, a particularly hot one nonetheless, as some of the locals told us. From the small town we then begun our hiking towards a place called “Windy Mountain”, making sure our phones still got signal so we could keep our other two buds posted on our location.

As we got higher and higher, the temperatures got a bit lower, but still pleasing, despite our heavy backpacks.

“Call me hypocrite.” I said.

“I already did a few hours ago I believe.” Dave quickly replied.

“I’m just saying… I don’t blame you for parking the car next to the tent, when you were with Dana.”

“Ahah what, feeling tired already?” he mockingly said, tired.

“I could do this all day bro.” I boasted, lying.

“Well no worries, Greg and Adam set the camp right next to that river.”

Dave pointed to a location not really far from us, a bit more downhill than where we were, and I could indeed spot two people in the distance, which I assumed were our buds waiting for us. The view as a whole was also really nice, with the mountain overlooking the entire scene.

“You think they can hear us?” I asked.

“Only way to find out.”

My friend shouted our buds’ names, his voice echoing in the entire valley, but the two people didn’t seem to have any reaction. It was my turn to shout, but once again, nothing.

“Yeah it’s them.” Dave said. “I’d recognize Greg’ piss-yellow shirt anywhere.” he pointed out, as I too noticed that small yellow spot by the river.

“It’s weird they couldn’t hear us.” 

“Let’s see if they can hear this then.”

Dave simply stood where it was, which was surprising considering the sheer amount of gas he started ejecting from his ass. The fart almost fake-sounding, but it was loud and powerful, my friend effortlessly showing off his skills, easily surpassing any natural sound around us. The fart truly echoed everywhere, and as the 9 seconds blast finished, I could still hear it propagating all over the valley. An impressive, almost terrifying display of what my friend is capable of.

Funnily enough, the guy in the piss shirt did seem to turn around; he then waved at us.

“Nice.” I said. “You probably scared the shit out of every animal in the valley, but nice.”

“It’s called ‘asserting dominance’, Timothy.” Dave said, acting all serious. “The valley now knows who’s in charge.”

“Wow I feel so safe now.” I said, letting my sarcasm do the talking… while trying to ignore my boner.

——

The moment we arrived, Greg and Adam fetched us beers and something to eat, just some snacks, as it was too early to set up a barbecue anyway. We started setting up our camp like we did last time: our two tents being on the opposite sides, facing each other, with a fire pit in the middle, not too close, not too far away. 

“Isn’t that tent a bit too small for you two?” Greg noted, while rummaging through the snacks.

“We don’t need a bigger tent to compensate you know.” I replied, very maturely.

“Also, me and Tim like to snuggle in those cold summer nights.” Dave added, hugging me from behind. “Right, honey?”

I shook him off. “Oh yeah…” I played along. “Whisper me something soft and sweet, my stallion!”

What my ear received however was anything but a gentle whisper. Dave was really enjoying the beer and he decided to let me (and everyone) know by belching directly into my skull, the scent of yeast and water hitting my nostrils. My bro wants to make sure he can destroy me from both ends, if you know what I mean.

“Serves you right.” Greg snickered.

Like a Terminator, Dave changed his target and let me go, power-walking towards our snickering friend. Before Greg could beg for mercy, he grabbed his head and burped straight onto his face, earning mature laughters from me and Adam.

“The good news is that you’re probably scaring bears off.” Adam commented. 

“He’s ‘asserting dominance’” I explained, making finger quotes.

“He’s the true alpha.” Adam added, sarcastically.

“He’s making me puke.” Greg managed to say, just as Dave’s belch ended.

Once this very mature display of manliness was over, my bro joined us in setting up the camp, with his classic smirk drawn on his face, pretty proud of making Greg almost lose it.

——

After setting up the camp we ate something, nothing too complicated, just some sandwiches and fresh water, because in the afternoon we planned to go hiking; the destination was this beautiful waterfall located deeper into the woods and at a higher altitude, a true sight to behold. Due to this however, the climate there was colder, and the temperatures started to lower even in the valley (where our camp was) due to the Sun hiding behind one of the tall mountains looming over us.

In our tent I was setting some things up before the hike, like the GPS on my phone, and pulling some things out of my backpack to avoid bringing something needlessly heavy with me. My back was facing the tent’s entrance but I could feel someone coming inside.

“Everything’s alright?” Dave asked. 

For all the immature, sometimes gross pranks he plays on us (…you know what I mean), Dave was actually the smartest around here, and the one we trusted the most when it came to organizing trips like these. Just because he acts silly, it doesn’t man he’s stupid.

“Yeah man. All set.” I said. “If we die, they’re gonna find our corpses in no time.” I joked.

“That’s the spirit!” my friend cheered.

As the Dave got into the tent, I realized how smaller than the last one was indeed. The fact that my bro was taller and generally “bigger” than me, body-wise, didn’t help. There was room to breathe, lay down and all that stuff, but a bigger tent would have definitely been better. 

My bro got on all fours to look for some of his own stuff and, due to the small size of the tent, accidentally brushed his camo-clad ass all over me more than once. This stuff can happen to everyone, so I just ignored it, though it was hard not to think of what that same ass is capable of, considering the person who belongs to.

“Looking for something?” I asked, turning to him, though my head was basically talking to his ass.

“Yeah, my rain jacket.” he said, while rummaging through his own backpack.

“Oh right, the waterfall.” I remembered. I too had a rain jacket after all.

“Nevermind, found it.” he told me, giving me an OK I sign.

I kept checking my stuff, his camo-clad ass still literally next to me. I noticed Dave’s hand now patting his own butt, like we all do when we can’t find our phones in our back-pockets.

“What are you looking for now?” I asked, without even turning to his ass, even though my boner really wanted me to take a closer look.

Dave didn’t answer, though I felt his hand pat my shoulder, then my hair.

“Your head, actually.” he said, trying not to laugh.

He quickly pulled me and planted my entire face into his ass, holding it still. As my nose touched the warm fabric of his cargo pants, I felt his buttcheeks relax and, surprise to no one, a fart came out, a loud blast that made my teeth shake for how strong and loud it was. The gas went down my nostrils and eyes, making me choke, but Dave’s firm grip on my head was merciless. As my bro kept his position on all four, he raised one of his legs a bit, easing the blast out, actually making him get even louder. He finally let me head go as he did this, but my kinky-self didn’t move at all, enjoying the blast until it was over.

And indeed it was over, at around 11 seconds, a fart fueled by beer and snacks. I heard my friend laugh as he gently pushed me away using his own ass. The turned around, with his usual smirk.

“It’s just too easy with you.” he said. 

I didn’t say anything, turning my attention to my backpack again. Despite Dave’s best (worst?) efforts, I was always embarrassed by this. My bro probably noticed this and stopped the teasing, getting ready himself for the hike.

As I mentioned, the temperatures were getting lower, so Dave changed clothes accordingly: he was now wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt and the aforementioned rain jacket.

“Piss yellow? How the tables have turned.” I mocked him, commenting the color of the jacket.

“It’s ochre, you swine.” he said.

——

We were hiking in single file, with me being the last, in the woods, the temperatures getting lower; the mood was great however, and we occasionally improvised songs from a certain epic fantasy as we felt like we were marching towards a dark volcano or a dragon-infested mountain. The landscapes certainly helped the illusion of an epic tale: it was just a damn beautiful place; despite the Sun being still obscured by the mountains, we could still it was a picture perfect day, weather-wise: we couldn’t have chosen a better day to go camping and hiking.

My gay and kinky ass kept distracting me from truly appreciating the beauty of nature, as Dave was the one walking in front of me. Regardless of my fetish, Dave was a great-looking guy, so I couldn’t help but to stare at him for a few seconds whenever I could. My eyes would obviously land on his jeans-clad ass more than once, which were a bit loose but also wrapped nicely around his powerful butt as he walked. Disgustingly enough, I wished he could fart on me while wearing those, but I won’t deny I’d love to ask, but I will never do it, I’d feel like I’m crossing some boundaries I’m not supposed to cross, because at the end of the day Dave is straight.

I can at least enjoy the view… and considering that the human body is, well, not artificial, you can technically say I’m still enjoying the scenery nature had to offer.

——

The hype paid off: the waterfall, the main reason we came up here in the first place, was absolutely incredible. We were speechless, so stunned we didn’t even think to take a picture of it the moment we got there. We kept walking, following a route that would get us right in front of it, millions of small droplets of water already dampening our faces and clothes. This never-ending wall of water going down the mountain was a beast, and a loud one truth to be told: we had to yell because we couldn’t hear anything unless we stood really close to each other.

“I’m speechless.” I yelled everyone.

“What?!” everyone replied.

“I said that I’m speechless!” 

“Then why are you talking?!” Greg screamed back.

We didn’t have anything else to say as we stood in front of that wonderful display of nature, letting the water do all the talk. Finally we decided to become a boomer’s worst nightmare and pulled our phones out, taking pictures, posting stories and selfies. I saw Dave making a short video-call with Dana, even though the two could barely hear each other (but knowing them, that was the entire joke) while the other three of us settled for posting our pics on social medias.

It was still daytime (around 5:00 PM) but after about 20 minutes admiring the scenery, we decided it was time to hike back to the camp. 

Also, we were starving.

“You two want to make out or what?” Adam yelled, noticing me and Dave staying behind.

I explained (screaming like a demon) that Dave needed to send a couple more pics to Dana, but the phone’s signal was unstable, so I was waiting for him to not leave him alone there.

Adam gestured a “whatever” and he and Greg disappeared in the woods around the waterfall. 

After a couple more minutes, which I spent sitting down admiring that cathedral of nature, Dave put his phone in the backpack and sat next to me, at first in silence.

“I gotta take Dana to this place.” he thought out loud.

We kept sitting there, the loudness of the water rushing down the only thing we could hear despite ourselves. I decided to ruin the moment by reaching for something in my backpack.

“Beer?” I said, handing a can of beer to my bro.

“Always.” he replied.

We had a quick toast and enjoyed the view a bit more.

“Man that’s loud.” I commented, the waterfall’s noise starting to piercing my ear-drums.

Dave slowly turned to me, sporting an exaggerated smirk.

“Challenge accepted.” 

I guess it was his turn to ruin the moment.

He quickly stood up, now towering next to me, and I could once again admire that beautiful denim ass. He wasn’t gonna fart in my face, not there at least, but for some reason he just wanted to do it. It wasn’t because of me, I’m pretty sure: the guy just enjoys showing off.

I didn’t stand up, and just stared at Dave… waiting, until he turned his head down to me with a cheesy smirk.

“You can’t hear it?” he yelled.

I instinctively stared at his ass and focuses. I could barely hear it: it was one of his well-known farts, loud and proud, but he still couldn’t beat the waterfall.

Trying to hide my massive boner, I simply gestured my ear, as to say that I couldn’t hear it. My friend just laughed and I could see his eyes narrowing, as if he was forcing more gas out.

And truth to be told, I could hear the fart getting louder, still not as loud as the waterfall obviously, but damn that must have been incredible to hear in all of its glory.

Dave kept standing still, relaxing his ass muscles and pushing what was probably one of his longest and loudest farts out. I could notice the droplets coming from the waterfall being blown farther away once they got close to his denim ass, a sign of powerful that blast was.

Now I could hear it properly, which my friend noticed, as he once again stared down at me sporting a wide, silly smile, immaturely proud of his fart. Really putting the “ass” in the whole “asserting dominance”-thing he had going one since we got here.

I thought I was ruining the moment with that beer, but Dave is better at everything I guess.

The hardest thing (besides my penis) was fighting the urge to simply plant my face into that ass, so I could properly enjoy that massive display of farting-talent; I couldn’t complain however, since Dave is basically a terribly wonderful enabler for my fart kink.

Now I couldn’t hear the waterfall anymore, only the fart; that fact that I was right next to the source of the blast certainly helped, but that was impressive either way. Dave was visibly exhausted: that was too much even for him (and, probably, me), so he sat down next to me again, sighing in relief, and the fart ended. How long did that last anyway? Not only it was loud, it was extremely lengthy. If I had to guess, that was probably around 60 seconds! 

I tried to focus again on the waterfall, while Dave proposed another toast.

“To us.” he said, sounding as corny as you think.

“Really?” I replied, skeptical.

Dave simply laughed in response.

“You’re a disgusting weirdo, Tim.” he said, smiling, but those words didn’t hurt me at all, because I knew he wouldn’t say things like that to hurt me. “But takes one to know one.”

“Wait.” I was confused. “What does that mean?” 

“Don’t get any ideas now.” he quickly stated. “I just wanted to remind you how weird all of this is.” he took a sip of his beer. “How hilariously weird.” he laughed.

Dave, a straight guy, a good friend. Yes, I was the weirdo of the duo, but he doing what he does for me can be just as weird and the fact that he just doesn’t care only proves even more what a great bro he is, being ridiculously open-minded about all this stuff.

“You didn’t have to, you know?” I told him.

“Teasing you is hilarious.” he admitted. “Thanks for the laughs.” he patted my back.

I simply decided to remain silent, probably the best decision, and let the waterfall once again do all the talk, as the millions of droplets of water made our clothes soaking wet. Dave asserted his dominance, but the waterfall definitely had the last word.

——

Back to the camp, we quickly put some sausages with “Adam’s special sauce” on the barbecue (I’ll save you the mandatory jokes) and had a nice dinner all the 4 of us together, planning on what we were gonna do the next day; probably something simpler, not deep in the woods: the town were we left the car had a couple of good restaurants so like the bunch of city slickers we are, we decided to hang out there the next morning.

It was a windy night, but it wasn’t that cold outside, so both me and Dave lay down in our tent, next to each other, without sleeping bags. A small lantern lit the inside of the tent with a warm light. My friend was lying on his stomach, still wearing the long-sleeved shirt and the jeans from before, which I sadly immediately noticed. 

Dave’s face was even more lit because of his phone inches from his nose, which he was using to message Dana, as the continuous tapping and notifications sounds confirmed. Honestly, that was kind of annoying.

“Bro…” I whispered. “Can you… please, you know?” I said, hoping to sound just as annoying.

“Mh?” Dave replied, distracted by all the messaging.

“Please?” I repeated.

Dave smiled and resumed the noisy tapping. “Yeah sure, give me a minute.” 

“Nice.” I thanked him.

I simply laid down, staring at what can we consider the “ceiling” of our tent. That was a good day, we should actually do it more often.

“Alright.” Dave put his phone down, after indeed a minute passed. 

However, he kept moving for some reason. He laid down on his back and turned his entire body so his legs would be next to my head. But then, he cocked his denim legs up and made those go over my head, now fully showing off his denim ass right next to my face, which looked like a wall of jeans given how loose (almost sagging) it was.

“Dude, what the fuck?!” I almost yelled.

“Huh?” Dave said. All I could see was his denim ass, but I could tell he was confused.

“What the Hell?” I kept asking.

“Bro. You literally asked for it.” he explained.

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah you did!” he insisted, this time laughing a bit.

That felt surreal.

Then I realized.

“I was… I was talking about all the tapping, dude! If you could put that damn phone on mute!”

We remained silent for a couple of long seconds, then Dave broke the silence by laughing like an idiot.

“Sorry bro, I totally thought you finally had the guts to just ask for it ahah.”

“I would never!”

We kept talking like that, with my head inches from his ass, Dave just casually lying down like that as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Well…” my bro finally said. “Do you want me to fart or not?” he whispered, as we both remembered that Greg and Adam’s tent wasn’t far from us, even though they were already asleep.

The way he just casually asked got me massively aroused already. How in the world I manage to have a friend like him is beyond me, beyond my wildest dreams.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do anyway.” he then said.

Indeed, we were in the middle of nowhere.

“Okay…” I finally found the courage to speak. “But only if you want to.”

Dave laughed.

“I don’t want to fart in your face, bro.” he said, reaching for my head, pulling it even closer to his denim ass. “I want to fuckin’ end it. Ready?”

That was a rhetorical question. The blast that greeted me was massive, my face shaking due to the power of that fart. Whatever sauce Adam put on those sausages really messed with my friend’s stomach, which was already infamously powerful as well all know. The stench was unbearable and the entire tent shook because of the wind Dave was shooting out of his ass.

The natural blast kept going for about 12 more seconds, with my friend letting my head go halfway through the rip, knowing that I wasn’t going anywhere. At around the 16th second mark, the fart finally ended, leaving an invisible gas cloud engulfing the tent. The smell hit my bro as well, but he was basically immune at his own poisonous attacks.

Without moving his ass, he slightly got up, staring down at me from beyond that wall of jeans, with a silly smirk, checking for my reaction, which was awkward and speechless as usual, something that he’d always find amusing.

“Are you ok there, Tim?” we heard Greg yell from his tent.

Both of us laughed like idiots this time. “It’s all good!” Dave yelled. 

Maintaining eye-contact with me, with his ass still inches from my face, he started to suck air in. The facial expressions he made were just as hot as the sounds he was producing from his ass.

“Asserting dominance?” I casually asked.

Dave laughed again. “Nah, just making a thirsty bitch’s dreams come true.” he joked.

Once again, I wasn’t offended, nor Dave’s words were ill-intentioned. We always made fun of each other after all, and considering what was happening… I honestly deserved that.

My friend reached for my head one more time, pulling it close to his denim ass, now completely sagging, my nose rubbing against the red fabric of his sweaty boxer shorts. This time he was blasting me on command, but honestly there were no different from his natural ones. He was indeed really good at quenching my thirst, I couldn’t deny that.

It was a series of mid rips, loud and about 3 seconds long each. I wish Dave always had nothing better to do than blasting me, to be honest. I again heard our other friends’ yelling something, but the sound from Dave’s farts was so loud it reminded me of the waterfall.

The tip of my cock dampened as the barrage ended with a longer 9 seconds rip, which almost teared a hole through my friend’s red boxer.

He finally let me go and he resumed his previous position, lying down next to me.

“Dave…” I said. “I’ll never understand why you do it, but thanks.”

“I swear I’m gonna kick your ass if you keep saying that.” he replied, pushing me a bit.

I tried to relax, as if nothing happened, another thing that Dave was much better than me at. I closed my eyes and focused on having a good night sleep… but I heard all that tapping again.

“Really?” I said, turning to him.

“If you can handle the noises my ass makes, you can handle my phone, you hypocrite.”

“I… you… you KNEW I was talking about the phone the whole time!”

Dave simply turned to me, sporting the most annoying smirk he could mess me with.

“It’s just too easy with you.” he said one more time, and winked at me.

Truly asserting dominance, he raised one of his legs and a ripped a quick, loud one, effortlessly.

At this point I was just blushing like a fool. I turned my back to him to avoid eye contact because I was a mess. My bro is such a teasing bastard and I both hate and love him for this, but damn it’s getting way too hot in here. 

Luckily, the cold windy night helped cooling me down, even though there was more wind inside the tent than outside, because of Dave.

Maybe that’s why they call it “Windy Mountain” (yes, you knew it was coming).

End of Episode 24

#fart story #eproctophilia #davefarts2 #gayfarts #malefarts #fart kink

[stardust-sprinkler]

College!AU Touya

“Bad Boy Who’s Always Good to His Girl” Series

Summary: To Dabi’s chagrin and your absolute joy, he introduces you to his crew.

Meet the L(osers) O(n) V(icoden)

When he first introduces his friends to you at a party, the whole crew’s instantly sporting grins and grilling you for new material to roast Dabi with. He rolls his eyes, but it makes you laugh—so he lets it slide.

Later the same night, Dabi catches Shuichi spending just a minute too long staring at your cleavage while you were distracted by a very animated conversation with Toga. Shigaraki has to elbow him sharply to snap him out of it and tips his head in the direction of a very pissed-off Dabi, who pulls you further onto his lap while scowling. (Don’t get Shiggy wrong, watching a fight break out would be funny as fuck, but his head is already swimming and the noise isn’t worth the entertainment.) Shuichi wisely selects this moment for a smoke break so Dabi’s ire can simmer down from murderous to a much milder hazardous.

One night, when it’s just Dabi hanging out with his friends, they’re giving him some shit over the inordinate amount of jewelry on his hands at any given time. Shiggy tosses out some sort of stupid throwaway joke about how Dabi’s never gonna give you a ring, despite having a thousand of his own.

Without missing a beat, Dabi says, “No, I’m gonna marry the hell out of that bitch.”

They all freeze and stare at him—how exactly does one say “bitch” with goddamn adoration…? Wait, woah, wait, TODOROKI TOUYA GETTING FUCKIN’ MARRIED—

When they still haven’t moved for a second, Dabi rolls his eyes heavily, “Not right now, dumbasses.”

(The moment he leaves, a corresponding betting pool is spinning out of control—a week? Four months? A year? ‘Never, he’s just talking out of his ass?’ The possibilities: endless—the collateral: ranging from 2k to a left ear.)

Bonus: The walk home from meeting them.

“I liked your friends! They care about you, in their own way, yknow?”

“…Those motherfuckers would sell me out for a few ounces and a carton of cigarettes.”

“That can’t possibly be true.”

“Shigaraki hit me with his car once—”

“ON ACCIDENT??”

“…”

“I said, on ACCIDENT , right??”

“He claims.”

You blinked, jaw still open.

“…but I’d just beaten him like five straight times at Mariokart, so the timing—”

“DABI!”

“Quit yellin’, lemme kiss ya.”

Hey my lovelies! I’ll be posting a response to a “Dabi meeting y/n’s parent(s)” prompt soon, so throw me any more request in the meantime. Follow for more if you like~

#dabi hcs #dabi is touya #dabi x you #touya x you #college au #college!dabi #shigaraki tomura #bnha hcs #bnha #mha touya #mha #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya x y/n #dabi x reader #dabi is a todoroki #meet the crew #bnha toga #college

[spidereggs888]

MIGUEL IMPREGNATES EVERYONE IN A 69 FT RADIUS!

🤰🫄🫃🕷

/j 💀

Miguel and You

Miguel O’Hara & y/n, any gender or non gender. Very casual writing style. TW Dark humor, dangerous situations, 18+. Y/n are sorta attracted to Miguel (why else would you be here?) but he doesn’t know you lol

ACT 2 | BLACK MARKET DEMONS

This has a drawing

If you haven’t read ACT 1, click this

•°《🕷》°•

You can’t remember how much time has passed or what you were doing. Those freaky eyes fade from your vision, and now you can barely see your own legs and shoes. It’s dark. Horror movie dark. You hear a scuffling sound from nearby. This so feels like a b-horror where the main character keeps surviving somehow. You hope this is the case.

“Dis shit’s useless!”

As your vision returns, you squint to the side and see someone’s back to you, crouching on the ground with a laptop. You assume it’s the guy who led you down here, but who the hell is he? And how does he know you?

You check your surroundings without moving your head too much in the hopes you’ll find a clue. You appear to be under the maintenance level of Nueva York, since there’s pipes all around the walls, all filled with the deafening roar of ocean water. This is far below your home level, down in the bottom where Nueva York was called New York. The place stinks of rot that would have made you gag if you weren’t already used to the dumpster near your apartment cube.

Through all the steam hissing you hear the familiar clinking sound of your data sticks.

“Fiddy grand here…. Four dere… not enough…”

This fucker is probing through your savings! It’s not much to him but you need it for your bills!

“Oh shock it!” He grumbles. You see his head turn, so you immediately return to your hypnotized pose. You can hear him clamber over and lean in close. His breath stinks of rationed mineral chips, food people buy when they are facing starvation. Alchemax wanted to save face in the public eye years ago, so they made those nasty mineral bars to fight starvation. You made it a point to never eat them since Speshall told you what’s in them. You feel bad for this black market demon. He’s probably also down on his luck despite his skill set.

You don’t feel sorry for him for long. He briefly presses something metal against your ear, and with a click sound he administers a sharp jab. You flinch but try to remain in a fake stupor. He rubs something against the wound, and you feel warm blood trickle down your lobe. He Sméagol-crawls away to his laptop light and you carefully squint his way again. You can’t see what he’s doing but you hear the clinking of glass.

You finally recall his voice again. He was following you after you parked your car before going in for the O’Hara interview. He must have been trying to snatch you up in broad daylight, because that’s how fast the black market demons are.

“No illnesses… a lil’ iron deficiency but dat can be overlooked…”

Oh fuckin hell, he intends to sell your organs.

You move your hands and see they are taped together. Your pants are stapled together (who the hell even does that?!) and you are stuck on your bum. You raise your gaze ahead of you and see a man in the same pose as you, except he doesn’t look well at all. In fact, there’s a dark pool at his stomach and his pants are drenched.

Holy shit!

You nope the fuck out of there and the demon hears you. He slams down his little science project and chases after you. Your pants are ripped from resisting the staples. You dash down the dark alley of tubes and pipes. He almost grabs you but he is hit with steam.

“Augh my fuckin eyes!”

You keep running. You can feel a cool breeze coming from somewhere. You have to get to the street. You have to get away. You left your data sticks behind but so what?! He’s AFTER you!

“DON’T LET ‘EM GET AWAY!” he screams.

Multiple freaky masks and eyes appear in the darkness! More demons! They are clambering out of their dwellings. You run past one of them flaying a body under a red light. You don’t stop to investigate, you keep running. The air smells even more rotten this way, a blend of ocean water and dead bodies. You keep running, your legs burning. Damn the sedimentary lifestyle of your office job. You are out of shape and trying to run for your life.

More creepypasta masks appear from the dark. You stare straight ahead. You can’t look at them. They mean to stop you. They mean to tear you apart. One grabs your scarf and you spin out of it. One grabs your jacket and you slip from the silk sleeves. Your lungs are on fire. You escape between stacks of broken monitors, shoving them behind you to slow down your assailants, but you are getting slower, too. Your path is getting wider, but also darker. There’s very little light here.

You stop at a completely dead and dark end. You can’t see anything in front of your face. You try to quiet your ragged breaths. You can hear the demons getting closer, but if you run more, you risk crashing into something you can't see.

“Turn around!” the demon demands.

You do nothing except stare bug-eyed into the darkness.

“Turn AROUND! Are ya deaf?!”

The vast darkness is barely illuminated by all the masks that strobe behind you. You can see a ledge before you, with nothing visible down below. What a drop off!

“LOOK AT ME!”

He grabs your shoulder and turns you to face him. He’s even closer now, his weird eyes pulsating black and white.

“Das right… look into my eyes…”

You feel your senses numb again. Your mind goes foggy. Maybe it was better to jump than face the horrors of the demons who will tear you apart. Then you hear someone else moving in the dark.

“Found you.”

Your demon is grabbed by the neck. Near him a whole illuminated bodysuit of a man materializes from the darkness. Bright red designs light up his massive chest and shoulders, and his mask has abstract eye marks that emote into a scowl as he tightens his grip on the demon’s neck. You feel as if you are trapped in the deep ocean where no light reaches the floor and you are witnessing one of its denizens about to be devoured by an even bigger one.

A giant red palm pushes you away onto the ground. You crumple down and watch the demon being raised off his feet like a rag. He is gasping for air and thrashing his pathetic legs around.

“You guys wanna see something?”

The mask of the larger man vanishes, but you can’t see many features with the strobe light of the demon’s copypasta mask. What you can make out are a set of terrifying fangs, a gaping maw opening unnaturally wide at the demon who makes a strangled shriek. You hear a nasty chomp sound, like someone taking a bite into a roll of hamburger meat! The demon kicks his legs helplessly, which looks even more horrible in the strobe light. The other demons bolt, and you instinctively lay down as they dash around you for their own escape. You try to ignore the icky gasping sounds. You hear a low, deep chested hum of satisfaction from the bigger predator. You try not to look, but you hear no more sputtering and kicking.

It’s over. The attack is over and the demon is not moving. Even his mask’s light dims in defeat. You close your eyes, unsure of what to expect next. All you know is that you do not want to be the center of attention. Your eyes snap open when you hear the demon's body fall to the ground.

“Lyla, scan the body.”

“He’s alive. The venom is doing its work.”

“And the other one?”

“Also alive. Probably still under the effects of the hypnosis.”

“That should wear off soon. We need to get back to the surface.”

“Affirmative! I’ll map out the quickest route!”

No fucking way. Accent and everything, even down to having an AI helper named LYLA. If WTF was a sensation, you would be feeling it now.

The black market demon is dragged away. You raise your head and see the large fellow wrapping the demon up in a bright red web. No fucking way is this happening! He’s rolling this guy around and around like a dead fly. There is no other person this could also be!

This man, Miguel O’Hara, has been moonlighting as the illusive vigilante Spider-Man!

You should really be more discreet with your spying but you can’t help it! Spider-Man stands upright, his whole suit fully illuminated with tech not yet known to the public. Dark blue and bright red, the patterns akin to the original Spider-Man who lived a hundred decades or so ago, except more minimalist to match the 22nd century aesthetic with a touch of ancient Mexican design. His mask re-materializes but you didn’t need to see his face to know who he was, there’s too much personal evidence to be mistaken. He stands proudly at 6’9” feet, like a beacon in the darkness. Then you hear a weird gurgle coming from him and he doubles over.

“Eugh!”

“I told you they added cream again. Why did you drink it anyway?”

“I was in a hurry.”

“Haste makes waste! You ended up spending an hour in the bathroom, which canceled your SM society meeting.”

“Not everyone was there anyway- Dios Mio I think I’m dehydrated…”

He groans then comes over to you and grabs your bound hands. With surgical precision he scratches off the tape with claw-like protrusions from his fingertips. You don’t move. The last thing you need is for him to know that you know him. You don’t know what to do with this information right now, it’s too much!

You are lifted off the floor with ease. You keep your eyes closed but wish you could see what’s going on. He cradles you in his giant arms and you assume he must be checking you over. It’s like being hugged by a couch.

“A scratch on the ear… no severe damage.”

You hear a small sound of indifference in his throat before you are rolled around in webbing, round and round like a burrito.

He slings you and the demon onto his shoulder like a couple of grocery bags, and you come cheek to cheek with your attacker. You scowl at his stupid face. His creepy eyes are all crossed and his jaw is slacked with his tongue poking out, so you turn your head away discreetly. Your savior walks a bit, jostling his luggage around to get comfortable before lunging straight up.

You can hear screaming from below. The demons didn’t run away out of fear; they fell back for reinforcements. You peek down and see their hypnotic faces flashing up like angry ghosts from outer space. As you and your company ascend higher, projectiles fly up, nearly hitting you in the head.

“Over twenty black market demons are on your tail,” Lyla announces.

“Got it.”

Spider-Man throws you and the demon straight up and you let out a yelp. The world is spinning out of control and you try not to feel sick. This must be what it’s like to be a shirt shot out of a t-shirt cannon. You are at the mercy of the bright red web pinning your arms to your sides as you fall back down to earth like a corn. You catch a glimpse of what’s going on below and see red streaks of lights. Demons are being flung all over the place, their projectiles not fast or strong enough to stop this even bigger monster from tearing through them.

Gravity is merciless, but before you can land anywhere more red webs fly at you from the dark, snagging you and your company on a light pole. You look down and see some of the demons below trying to reach you, scaling the light pole with crackhead energy. There is a loud ringing sound and the pole vibrates for a split second, making your teeth rattle.

The light pole shifts, cut in half like paper by something red moving lighting fast. The demons screech to each other (something about getting the hell out of there), and you are too stunned to scream for help as the whole metal pole is now falling. [Do you know how freakin big metal light poles are? Just walk up to one, they are actually ginormous. Blew my goddamn mind.]

The pole crashes down and gets stuck across two large machines, the top end jammed into the massive machinery. The webbing took all the shock of the fall, so you and the demon are dangling like a pair of converses on a telephone wire. You jerk your head around as the demons come crawling like ants, their pursuit hindered by the violent shaking of the metal pole. One flings herself close and grabs you by the head, and you lock eyes with her freaky face. She got mouths where her eyes should be!

The she-demon is knocked away with a nasty slap sound, ragdolling away into the vast darkness.

“-- Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii—------”

Your hero is slapping the demons around, just pimp-slapping them all over the place.

“¡ESTUPIDO!”

*THWACK*

“¡PENDEJO!”

*SLAP*

“¡VETA A CASA CON MAMA!”

*POW*

“BYE BITCH!”

*SLAP*

(that last one had their whole mask slapped off. Contacts went flying, too.)

The demons get the hint and refuse to be humiliated further. They scatter off in the dark, and you can hear cursing and swearing as they go back to their deep dark dwellings.

“THAT’S RIGHT! ¡LARGATE, FUCKERS!”

He crouches on the metal light pole with great balance and listens as the demon squalling grows distant. He huffs with satisfaction.

“Shocking idiots…”

Spider-Man crawls his way across the shaky pole and retrieves his spider sacks with people in them. He leaps off as the machine finally rips through the pole, sending it falling all the way down into the darkness. Spider-Man listens to it hit the bottom.

“Okay, we leavin’ this ass-crack of the city for real this time.”

“A few of those people are critically injured,” Lyla reports, “I saw someone’s eye pop out.”

“Well I guess someone’s gotta keep an eye out, right?”

You always heard OG Spider-Man was a notorious wise-cracker, but this guy goes a little darker with his brand of humor. He was right about one thing.

Fuck those guys.

•°《🕷》°•

You and the demon are plopped down on the ledge of a building.

"Alright, time to put you back where you came from. And I'll just leave ugly here-," he says, hanging the black market demon upright on some wrought iron decor, "Even if he wakes up and frees himself, he'll still be stuck on this roof... unless he decides to jump off... then Godspeed, heh heh."

He takes you into a one arm embrace and scales down the side of your apartment using his web as a cord. Your face is being mushed into one of those monster pecs of his, and you try not to protest the fact that you can't breathe well. You hear a crash of glass.

“Yeah, your foot just went through a window,” Lyla announces.

"Ah shock... I'll pay for that sometime. This must be the bedroom."

He kicks in the rest of the window and deftly slides indoors, holding you against his waist. You barely open your eyes and see, by the arrangement of LED lights, you are home in your one-room studio apartment. He plops you down on your bed and rips off the red webbing.

“Yeah, you are in for a throbbing headache tomorrow,” Spider-Man says, keeping his voice low.

You are still pretending to be asleep as you hear him poke around at your stuff. You can hear your apartment hub terminal activate. You wonder what he’s doing messing with that.

“I’ve ordered nausea and pain relief to be delivered to this address,” Lyla confirms.

“Good. Those visual-hypnotic masks do some nasty damage. They need to get booted from the black market somehow. You got any ID on cara de moco?”

“Jeff Landers. Lost his apartment in Queens. Pretty much plinko’ed all the way down.”

“Ah, uh huh.”

“His last known location was in the Thor Memorial Housing,” Lyla continues, “his caseworker was the last person to see him.”

“Little did they know he’d go from praising Thor to harvesting organs,” he says, a little amusedly.

“He had a bad history of abuse from his father and lived in poverty. Can you really blame him?”

You hear Spider-Man walk near the foot of your bed. There’s a pause.

“I do blame him,” he finally concludes, “you can have the worst upbringing but still try to be a decent person. His shitty life doesn’t warrant torturing other people. He coulda been more like this one here, doing everything within reason to get by while still being a good person…”

He means you.

“Whelp, time to go torture that dummy. Gotta find out where he got that stupid mask.”

You can hear him stepping over your things and slipping out of the broken window. As soon as he leaves, you spring up and run to the window. You watch this giant man scale up from below. You didn’t mean to or expect it but get a direct buckshot of his backside for a moment [Why the heck is his suit so TIGHT? WHY?! You never seen a crotch so sculpted like that, what the fuck. Do he know this?! Is he aware he looks practically naked?! It’s like his suit is painted on- ]

He jumps from your apartment to the adjacent building where he left the black market demon. There’s no mistake of who he is, especially with that body, but now he’s gone and you are left to pick up the pieces both literally and figuratively. Now what the hell are you gonna do?! Your phone and your lanyard of data sticks (basically your wallet) are still down in hell with the other demons!

There’s no time to lose. You must cancel all your credit cards and change the passwords on every account you own, because it’s not like those demons are gonna pay your bills for you!

Turning on your computer interface in the wall, you video-call your landlord. The only thing you can really explain to him is that you busted the window when you were moving furniture around. He’d never believe Spider-Man kicked it in. You find that Spider-Man is cool in more ways than just looks, your landlord thanks you for a forwarded payment with the attached note sorry about the window.

After allowing him 10 minutes to lecture you with no interruptions other than a nod or sound of agreement, you close the video with him, then begin the long hunt down of all your credit and banking connections. You use your email to recall every important account. You even find some that are out of service and close them down. It’s a humbling experience, but not in the same way as being kidnapped by that black market demon. You feel like you are dissecting your life choices, reviewing things you hadn’t thought of in a long time. You unsubscribe from the health newsletters you don’t even read anymore. You delete the emails you swore you were gonna read later. All of it, fuck it, throw it in the trash. Guilt chain letters be damned, they will have to get their money from someone else, because you won’t ever be rich enough to become a philanthropist.

You are satisfied to some degree. You look out the window Spider-Man left through. Even though he met you as Miguel O’Hara, how did he find you? How did he know you were in trouble? You’ll have plenty of time to think of that in the shower, since you smell like sea water and dead skin particles.

.°˖✧🖫✧˖°.

The next morning, you reactivate your old phone after your mother sent you some money. She’s always offered, and every time you refused, but this time you didn’t need to be spending all of what you have left. You send her a text thanking her and promising to pay her back. Afterwards, you open a video chat with Speshall.

“Hey!”

“Sup, poser?!” She sings back. You were always caught off guard by her humor, but you needed that shit today.

“I had the most fucked up day, yesterday!”

You spend the next thirty minutes telling her what happened. She laughs, she screeches, she squawks, and she groans. Then you get to the horrible parts with the black market demon, then the larger-than-life rescue from Spider-Man.

“He musta been spying on their asses or something”, she says, “how else could he know you were in danger?!”

That is a pretty good question. It must have everything to do with his identity as O’Hara. You both exchanged information, after all. Maybe he was tracing your phone? But no, you decide not to tell her about this, about the possible correlation between Spider-Man and O’Hara.

“No idea but I’m glad he showed up.”

“Yeah, maybe you were in the right place at the right time or whatever. Hey, what do you have planned for dinner? My boyfriend flaked, maybe you can come over later. Hang on, I gotta make sure he’s really not coming tonight-“

Her voice drowns out as your mind shifts to thoughts of O’Hara. Did he remember who you were? He must have, right? Maybe he will also take pity and hire you, now that he’s seen your pitiful house. And what’s more, what if you become some kind of keeper for him?! Maybe knowing who he really is might be a kind of bargaining chip for getting hired? No, that’s something Brody would do, the goon. No, Miguel O’Hara’s secret identity is good as safe. Besides, he thinks you are a good person! You need to keep being that. You feel glad to have covered for him.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

“Huh?”

“I sent you some money! Check your email!”

“Oh!”

You open your inbox and see a few new notifications. Money from Speshall, a newsletter from Maglev Motors that you kept the subscription to, and an email from Alchemax Business Bureau. You click on that first, it might be important.

Employee 2232

By request of the CEO of our parent company, you are no longer scheduled for the meeting in the major temp office of Alchemax Business Bureau. We apologize for any inconveniences this may cause and wish for the best in your future endeavors in your department. This is by no means a termination to your current occupation. Thank you for your time.

— Management

“Oh no no NO!”

“What is it? Did the money not go through?!”

You sit back and put your hands on your head.

“O’Hara just canceled the meeting!”

__________________________________________

Next: ACT 3 | INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv #pencil drawing #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel & you

[toshidou]

Prologue // Snakes in the Grass

Series Masterlist

Pairing // Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Word Count // 1.3k

Tags // reader's call sign is Viper, descriptions of injury, blood, swearing, hallucinations, mentions of past relationship.

AN // the beginning of the my first series is here and i couldn't be more excited omg T^T also, in case it's unclear, any dialogue in italics is from the past, rather than the present.

The asphalt tastes bitter from where your cheek is pressed to the floor, ash cascading through the air in thick waves, obscuring your vision from the wreckage that undoubtedly surrounds you. In your delirious state, the sight reminds you of the first snowfall in childhood, precious memories of agape lips, catching delicate crystalized water on an outstretched tongue. Bloodied hands reach up, fingers shaking as you disturb the air above, fascinated at how the ash swirls in intoxicating patterns before settling against rubble. 

It’s childish. You’re cognizant enough to recognise that much, despite having your body thrown at least 10 metres back, at the mercy of the C4 that detonated in the room adjoining yours. What you’re increasingly worried about is the way the room shifts before your eyes, hallucinations, no doubt, but convincing ones at that. 

The wrecked armchair opposite you transforms from tattered, cheap blue fabric, to deep brown leather, an imprint of the man who used to occupy it seared into the sunken seat. The wallpaper now a heart wrenchingly familiar shade of maroon, rather than the dull grey you’re sure lined the four walls before the explosion tore them apart. It’s ironic, that the room your concussed mind has conjured would be the one you were left utterly broken in for the first time, the only difference now being that it’s your brain and body that have been left devastated, rather than your once naïve heart. 

It sparks memories you’ve long since pushed to the darkest crevices of your brain, of torrid days filled with vicious arguments, insults with impact like whips, striking for nothing less than blood. 

And all because you wanted the life you find yourself existing in presently. Maybe he had been right, that this was never a path meant for you. But you still can’t bring yourself to ever regret your decision to join the SAS, notwithstanding any of the physical consequences. 

Even if it was a decision made out of pure spite. A choice made to hurt the man you once called yours. Your Simon. 

You blink, the vision before you unwavering despite the tears that blur the world around you, distant voices that echo against shredded concrete transform to those of your past, as though you needed salt rubbing into fresh wounds. 

“I’m not having this same argument with you, over and over again, it's like fuckin’ groundhog day.” 

God. It feels fucked up, the way you’re almost relieved that your mind can still remember how he talks, the way his accent curled around words like sandpaper, rough and gritty; how that same intonation ground you down until you were but dust, slipping through his solid fingers.

“But that’s just it, Simon, it’s not an argument, it’s my life! I get to make the decisions about what I do with it, not you. Never you.”

You sound so bitter, your tone not dissimilar to the acrid tang that currently lingers against your tastebuds, a bitterness that tainted the words that filled your brain, far too sour to swallow, leaving you no choice but to spit them out, burning irreparable holes in a relationship you once cherished. 

“Does my opinion not matter in the slightest here? You’re talking about joining special military forces, it's not gonna be some walk in the park, it's serious, dangerous shit.”

“You know I never took you for a fucking hypocrite, Simon. Maybe me signing up will give you a taste of what I’ve been having to deal with for the last four fucking years—" 

You flinch preemptively, all too aware of how this conversation ends, but still dreading having to live through it once more.  

“All it takes is one stray bullet, one missed IED, one simple fuckin' mistake! Can you just stop being so stubborn for one second to see that I can’t risk losing you?”

Cracked fingernails dig into your scalp, pulling and scratching at your skin as though it were possible to drag the thoughts out through the ash-caked strands of your hair.  

“No more,” You wail to a vacant audience, tears breaching your lash line and cascading down dirtied cheeks, your broken body wracking with tremors where it lays discarded against debris. But the voices don’t listen, too wrapped up in an argument that ended half a decade before to hear your whimpered plea. 

“You keep assuming that I can’t handle it, that I’d keel over on the first day of training. Don’t you trust me?”

The silence that follows isn’t a sign you’ve finally been freed from your shock induced torture. It’s an eerie quiet that has haunted you for far too many years. Present in every room you occupy alone, clinging to you like a shadow, no matter how much you try to outrun it.

“You don’t trust me. Do you.”

A statement. Not a question. Even then you knew this was the beginning of the end.

“Don’t go spinnin’ this on me, this isn’t a matter of trust—”

“It’s entirely about trust, Simon, and your complete inability to feel it! God, if you’d just open up and let me help you for once then maybe we could work past this, but you’re a closed book, all the goddamn time, and I can’t fucking deal with it anymore.”

“If you join the SAS, you will never see me again.”

Succinct. To the point. Like a sniper round through the skull, one shot, leaving one body. Except his round had been doused with agony, aimed to kill with the utmost pain and suffering. Simon had always wielded the power to break you, though you never could have predicted that he’d use it.

He had been right though. The moment you recoiled, shaking hands revealing the acceptance letter you’d held clutched in a white knuckled grasp from behind your back, he'd turned, and strode straight out of the door, never to be heard from again. He left you bleeding out in the living room you once shared, your heart ripped straight from your chest, tossed unceremoniously onto the floor as though all the years he cradled it next to his amounted to nothing.

He had left you to suture the gaping hole in your torso alone, shaking hands desperately trying to fix the damage he had wrought; like a tornado, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake, not a trace of its existence once the dust settled.

And here you lie, years later, the messy stitches desperately clinging to still-raw flesh; frayed edges being the only indication any time has passed at all.

A crackle sounds from your crushed shoulder.

“-ome on Viper, do you copy? If you don’t answer in the next minute I'll call you in as MIA and take your PS5.” 

Fucking Macintosh, that little bastard.

The joints in your legs ache as you push yourself into an upright position, willing away the shake in your arms as you plant your palms to the cracked floor and shove, stumbling onto your feet with as much grace as a new-born deer. 

The voices have gone now, the room returned back to the desolate destruction you’re far more familiar with than the walls you once shared with him. With a shuddering breath, you begin to limp over loose detritus, shaking away the remaining dregs of the past with every uneven step, clearing the tear tracks from your cheeks with rough wipes of bruised knuckles.

Simon had been right about many things over the course of your relationship, many of which you still refuse to admit to this day. But you’ll make him live to regret ever doubting your ability to fight, to survive.

You are still here, alive and breathing, in spite of his damning ascertainment of your life expectancy. And more than that, you’ve managed to garner quite the reputation. A master of stealth, nimble, agile, with a strike that is nothing short of lethal. A true snake in the grass.

Your fingers come to grasp around your receiver, steely determination flowing anew through your veins.

“This is Viper, I copy.”

// Next Chapter

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